A little each morning, a few tears, and that’s all.
I thought about all the people I knew who spent many of their waking hours feeling sorry for themselves.
How useful it would be to put a daily limit on self-pity.
Just a few tearful minutes, then on with the day. And if Morrie could do it, with such a horrible disease...
“It’s only horrible if you see it that way,” Morrie said.
“It’s horrible to watch my body slowly wilt away to nothing.”
“But it’s also wonderful because of all the time I get to say good-bye.” He smiled. “Not everyone is so lucky.”
I studied him in his chair, unable to stand, to wash, to pull on his pants. Lucky? Did he really say lucky?
During a break, when Morrie had to use the bathroom, I leafed through the Boston newspaper that sat near his chair.
There was a story about a small timber town where two teenage girls tortured and killed a seventy-three-year-old man
who had befriended them, then threw a party in his trailer home and showed off the corpse.
There was another story, about the upcoming trial of a straight man who killed a gay man
전체재생
다음페이지
문장검색