Tuesdays with Morrie

by Mitch Albom

Morrie would walk that final bridge between life and death, and narrate the trip.

He wrote bite-sized philosophies about living with death’s shadow: “Accept what you are able to do and what you are not able to do”; “Accept the past as past, without denying it or discarding it”; “Learn to forgive yourself and to forgive others”; “Don’t assume that it’s too late to get involved.”

“You see,” he says to the girl, “you closed your eyes. That was the difference. Sometimes you cannot believe what you see, you have to believe what you feel. And if you are ever going to have other people trust you, you must feel that you can trust them, too—even when you’re in the dark. Even when you’re falling.”

“The truth is, Mitch,” he said, “once you learn how to die, you learn how to live.”

“You know what that reflects? Unsatisfied lives. Unfulfilled lives. Lives that haven’t found meaning. Because if you’ve found meaning in your life, you don’t want to go back. You want to go forward. You want to see more, do more. You can’t wait until sixty-five.

So many people with far smaller problems are so self-absorbed, their eyes glaze over if you speak for more than thirty seconds. They already have something else in mind—a friend to call, a fax to send, a lover they’re daydreaming about. They only snap back to full attention when you finish talking, at which point they say “Uh-huh” or “Yeah, really” and fake their way back to the moment.

“Don’t let go too soon, but don’t hang on too long.”

“Forgive yourself before you die. Then forgive others.”

“Tell you what. After I’m dead, you talk. And I’ll listen.”

“Death ends a life, not a relationship.”

I want to tell him to be more open, to ignore the lure of advertised values, to pay attention when your loved ones are speaking, as if it were the last time you might hear them.

“I heard a small sad sound, And stood awhile among the tombs around: ‘Wherefore, old friends,’ said I, ‘are you distrest, Now, screened from life’s unrest?’ —‘O not at being here: But that our future second death is near; When, with the living, memory of us numbs, And blank oblivion comes!’ ” —THOMAS HARDY, “THE TO-BE-FORGOTTEN”

Deep inside, it was not dying that truly rattled Morrie. It was being forgotten.

Taking just makes me feel like I’m dying. Giving makes me feel like I’m living.”