He stopped, and for a moment we both just looked out the window. I tried to see what he saw.
I tried to see time and seasons, my life passing in slow motion.
Morrie dropped his head slightly and curled it toward his shoulder. “Is it today, little bird?” he asked. “Is it today?”
Letters from around the world kept coming to Morrie, thanks to the “Nightline” appearances.
He would sit, when he was up to it, and dictate the responses to friends and family who gathered for their letter-writing sessions.
One Sunday when his sons, Rob and Jon, were home, they all gathered in the living room.
Morrie sat in his wheelchair, his skinny legs under a blanket. When he got cold, one of his helpers draped a nylon jacket over his shoulders.
“What’s the first letter?” Morrie said. A colleague read a note from a woman named Nancy, who had lost her mother to ALS.
She wrote to say how much she had suffered through the loss and how she knew that Morrie must be suffering, too.
“All right,” Morrie said when the reading was complete. He shut his eyes.
“Let’s start by saying, ‘Dear Nancy, you touched me very much with your story about your mother.”
“And I understand what you went through. There is sadness and suffering on both parts.”
전체재생
다음페이지
문장검색