Blog 8

I came back the next Tuesday. I was flying from Detroit to Boston, to go sit alongside a dying man. My visits with Morrie would be more talking. We talked about life and love. We talked about his favorite subject, compassion. I had seen bags from Bread and Circus and figured that Morrie must like the food there. I went to the market to buying fresh food take-away from Bread and Circus. When I entered Morrie's study area, I lifted the bags and showed him what I had gotten. After I put the food down onto the kitchen table, I looked for signs of the disease's progression. Morrie's fingers worked well enough to write or lift his glasses. But he couldn't lift his arms higher than his chest. He spends more time in his study than the kitchen and the living room. He kept a bell near his side, if needed to "go on the commode" he referred to it or when his head needed adjusting. He would shake the bell and Connie, Tony, Bertha, or Amy, his small home care worker would come in. I asked Morrie if he felt sorry for himself. "Sometimes. I give myself a good cry if I need it. But then I concentrate on the good things I still have in my life."