Outside, the sun was shining and people were going about their business.
A woman ran to put money in the parking meter. Another carried groceries.
Charlotte had a million thoughts running through her mind: How much time do we have left? How will we manage? How will we pay the bills?
My old professor, meanwhile, was stunned by the normalcy of the day around him.
Shouldn't the world stop? Don't they know what has happened to me?
But the world did not stop, it took no notice at all, and as Morrie pulled weakly on the car door, he felt as if he were dropping into a hole.
“Now what?” he thought. As my old professor searched for answers, the disease took him over, day by day, week by week.
He backed the car out of the garage one morning and could barely push the brakes. That was the end of his driving.
He kept tripping, so he purchased a cane. That was the end of his walking free.
He went for his regular swim at the YMCA, but found he could no longer undress himself.
So he hired his first home care worker—a theology student named Tony—who helped him in and out of the pool, and in and out of his bathing suit.
In the locker room, the other swimmers pretended not to stare. They stared anyhow. That was the end of his privacy.
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