In the fall of 1994, Morrie came to the hilly Brandeis campus to teach his final college course.
He could have skipped this, of course. The university would have understood.
Why suffer in front of so many people? Stay at home. Get your affairs in order.
But the idea of quitting did not occur to Morrie. Instead, he hobbled into the classroom, his home for more than thirty years.
Because of the cane, he took a while to reach the chair.
Finally, he sat down, dropped his glasses off his nose, and looked out at the young faces who stared back in silence.
“My friends, I assume you are all here for the Social Psychology class.
I have been teaching this course for twenty years, and this is the first time I can say there is a risk in taking it, because I have a fatal illness.
I may not live to finish the semester. If you feel this is a problem, I understand if you wish to drop the course.”
He smiled. And that was the end of his secret. ALS is like a lit candle: it melts your nerves and leaves your body a pile of wax.
Often, it begins with the legs and works its way up. You lose control of your thigh muscles, so that you cannot support yourself standing.
You lose control of your trunk muscles, so that you cannot sit up straight.
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