She opened the freezer and there was even more. “Morrie can't eat most of this food.
It's too hard for him to swallow. He has to eat soft things and liquid drinks now.”
“But he never said anything,” I said. Charlotte smiled. “He doesn't want to hurt your feelings.”
It wouldn't have hurt my feelings. I just wanted to help in some way. I mean, I just wanted to bring him something...
You are bringing him something. He looks forward to your visits.
He talks about having to do this project with you, how he has to concentrate and put the time aside.
I think it's giving him a good sense of purpose...”
Again, she gave that faraway look, the tuning-in-something-from-somewhere-else.
I knew Morrie's nights were becoming difficult, that he didn't sleep through them, and that meant Charlotte often did not sleep through them either.
Sometimes Morrie would lie awake coughing for hours—it would take that long to get the phlegm from his throat.
There were health care workers now staying through the night and all those visitors during the day,
former students, fellow professors, meditation teachers, tramping in and out of the house.
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