, lighting up the hardwood floor. We Рhad been talking there for nearly two hours. The phone rang yet again and Morrie asked his Рhelper, Connie, to get it. She had been jotting the callers‟ names in Morrie‟s small black Рappointment book. Friends. Meditation teachers. A discussion group. Р Someone who wanted to photograph him for a magazine. It was clear I was not the only Рone interested in visiting my old professor—the “Nightline” appearance had made him Рsomething of a celebrity—but I was impressed with, perhaps even a bit envious of, all the Рfriends that Morrie seemed to have. I thought about the “buddies” that circled my orbit back Рin college. Where had they gone? Р “You know, Mitch, now that I‟m dying, I‟ve e much more interesting to people.” You Рwere always interesting. Р - 10 -
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