Chapter 19 9th Tuesday Love

The leaves were starting to change color and as I was driving to West Newton, the golden and reddish browns were beautiful.In Detroit, the newspaper's labor standoff dragged on, with each side accusing the other of failing to communicate.Watching the TV news is just as frustrating.In rural Kentucky, three men threw a tombstone off a highway bridge and smashed it into the windshield of a passing car, killing a teenage girl as the family was en route to religious worship.In California, the trial of Simpson's murder of his ex-wife is drawing to a close, and the whole of the United States is almost obsessed.The high-hanging TV in the airport broadcasts CNN news, allowing you to learn about the latest progress of the trial before boarding the plane.

I called my brother in Spain several times and left messages to him, saying that I really have something to tell him, and I have thought a lot about the things between us brothers.A few weeks later, I got a short message from him saying he was doing well, but sorry he didn't want to talk about his illness. For my old professor, it wasn't about the illness, but the illness that was killing him day by day.After my last visit, the nurse came and put a catheter in his penis to guide his urine into the diaper at the foot of his chair.His feet needed attention all the time (he couldn't move them, but still felt pain, another cruel little irony of ALS), because his legs wouldn't rest on the foam pads unless they were at a fixed angle. It felt like someone poked him with a fork.Often in the middle of a speech, Murray would have to ask his visitor to adjust the position of his legs a little bit, or to adjust his head so that it was more securely nestled in the hollow of the pillow.Can you imagine yourself not being able to move your head?

Every time I went to see him, I felt that he was more limp and slumped on the recliner, and his spine was completely attached to the curve of the recliner.But he still insisted that someone lift him out of bed every morning, put him on a wheelchair, push him to his study, and put him on a recliner, surrounded by his books, documents, and potted hibiscus on the windowsill.He didn't change his true colors, and he was able to say something about this matter. He said: "I came up with one sentence that sums it all up. tell me the story. Lying in bed, you are dead. He smiled.Only Murray could laugh at such things.

"Nightline" program staff, and Ted.Capel himself had called him. They want to come for another visit.He said: "But they said wait a little longer. What are you waiting for?Waiting for you to draw your last breath? Maybe.In any case, the moment is not far away. don't say that. terribly sorry. I don't like that much because they're waiting to paralyze you further. You don't like this because you care about me. He is smiling.Mitch, maybe they're using me for drama.it does not matter.Maybe I'm using them too.They help me get my message out to millions of people, I can't do that on my own, can I?So it's the best of both worlds.

He coughed, which turned into a long, dry dry cough, before spitting out a mouthful of phlegm on his crumpled toilet paper. Anyway, said Murray, I told them not to wait too long, because then I'd have no voice at all.I might not even be able to talk when this thing hits my lungs.I can't talk for too long now, I have to take a break from time to time.I've turned back a lot of people who wanted to see me.Mitch, there are so many people coming, but I'm so tired.If I can't concentrate, I can't give others the help they need. I looked at my tape recorder and felt a little guilty, as if I had stolen the few precious minutes he had left to talk.Should we stop?I asked: Does this make you too tired?

Murray closed his eyes and shook his head.He seemed to be leaning against each other, waiting for the pain from somewhere in his body to pass.No, finally he said: You and I have to go on.As you know, this is our last paper. Our last paper. We have to do it right. I think back to the first thesis we did together in college.Of course, that was Murray's idea, and he said I was doing well enough to graduate with a thesis honors, which I hadn't even thought of doing. Now our teachers and students reunite and do the same thing again.At first, it was just an idea. A dying old man would tell those of us who are alive and well what we should know, but this time I was not in a hurry to finish the thesis.

Murray said: I was asked an interesting question yesterday.When he was talking, he looked at a piece of patchwork cloth hanging on the wall behind me. It was a gift for his 70th birthday from a friend. Each piece of cloth had birthday wishes from each friend, such as: Come on, good times No. 1 in Wang, Murray's mental health. I asked, what's the problem? Am I worried that I will be forgotten when I die? oh?Do you know? I don't think I will.I have had deep and intimate relationships with so many people.Love keeps you alive, even if you die. It sounds like the lyrics "Love keeps you alive".

Murray smiled.Maybe.But Mitch, don't you sometimes hear my voice when you get home with all these conversations we've had?When you are alone?Maybe when flying?Maybe while in the car? I admit, I will. Then you won't forget me as soon as I die.You think of my voice, and I'm alive. Think of your voice. It's okay if you feel like crying. Murray.Since my freshman year, he has been trying to make me cry, he always said: One day I will let you understand. I would answer, yeah, yeah. He said: I decided what to engrave on my tombstone. I don't want to hear about tombstones or anything.

Why?Are you uncomfortable? I shrugged. forget about it. No, come on, what do you decide to engrave? Murray pursed his lips.I thought of this sentence: Teach others tirelessly until death. He waited for me to chew through the sentence. Teach people tirelessly until death. He asked: how? Very good, I said, very good. Every time I walk into the room, the smile on Murray's face always makes me feel like a spring breeze.I know he doesn't do this only when I'm here, but he has a knack for making every visitor feel like the smile is for him alone. When he saw me, he would say in his slightly slurred but high-pitched voice: Ah, it's my brother.This greeting is just the beginning.When Murray is with you, he is really with you.He'll look right in your eyes and listen to you as if you were the only one in the world.What a better world it would be if the first thing we saw every morning was not the face of a waitress or a bus driver or a boss but someone like Murray.

I believe in putting your mind to it, Murray said: It means that you should be with the person in front of you.Mitch, as I speak to you right now, I try to focus on our communication.I wasn't thinking about what we were talking about last week, or what was going on this Friday, or about being on Capel again, or about what medicine I was going to be taking. When I talk to you now, I have only you in mind. I think of him talking about this idea in a class he taught on group process at Brandeis University.I laughed to myself at the time, thinking that this is some kind of college course.Learning how to concentrate?What's the big deal?I know now that this is far more important than almost anything taught in college.

Murray motioned for me to give him my hand, and when I reached out, I felt a surge of guilt.The person in front of me can actually live in self-pity all the time, feeling that his body is withering day by day, counting the few breaths he has left.Many people have much smaller problems, but they are so self-absorbed that if you talk to them for more than half a minute, their eyes become wandering, their minds start thinking about other things, they need to call a friend, send a fax, Think about your lover.It's not until you finish speaking that they suddenly regain their attention, say ah-huh or ah, and return to this moment absent-mindedly. The problem, Mitch, is that everyone is in such a hurry.Murray said: People don't find the meaning of their lives, so they run around, busy looking for it.They think about the next car, the next house, the next job.Then they found that these things were also empty, and they went on about again. I say, once you start running, it's hard to slow down. It's not that hard either.He shook his head and said: Do you know what I do?When I was still driving, if someone tried to overtake me, I would raise my hand He tried to do this, but his hand could only be raised slightly by a dozen centimeters. I'd raise my hand as if to say no, but then I waved my hand and smiled.Instead of pointing your finger at them, you let them pass with a smile on your face. Do you know the result?They will often smile back at you. Seriously, I don't have to drive that fast.I'd rather spend my energy on people. When it comes to it, he does it better than anyone I know.When people told him something tragic, his eyes would get moist, and when they told a bad joke, his shrunken face would be full of smiles.He never hesitates to paint the emotions that we baby boomers lack.We are all good at gossiping: Where is the house? , Where is the high school? , but to really listen to what others say, not to sell something to the other party, not to lure them into a trap, not to buy people's hearts, or to satisfy our own vanity, how many innocent moments like this do we still have now?I believe that many of the guests who visited Murray in the last few months of his life came not only because of their concern for Murray, but also to receive Murray's concern for them.The little old man was suffering from sickness and death, but they got what they had always wanted from him, someone who could listen to them. I told him that he was the ideal father figure in everyone's mind. He closed his eyes and said: I have personal experience with this The last time Murray saw his father was in the funeral home.Charlie.Schwartz was naturally silent, and he used to read the newspaper alone under the streetlight on Tremont Avenue in the Bronx.When Murray was young, Charlie would go for a walk every day after supper.He was short, with a ruddy complexion and gray hair like many Russians.Murray and his brother David looked out the window, and he could be seen reading the newspaper with his back against the street lamp, and Murray wished he would come into the house to talk with them, but he almost never did.He's not going to send them to bed and kiss them goodnight on the forehead. Murray swore to himself that if he had children in the future, he would love them well and do these things for them.Years later, he got married and had children, and he did what he said. While Murray was raising the two children, Charlie still lived in the Bronx, going for walks after dinner and reading his newspaper.One night he went for a walk as usual, when two robbers approached him a few blocks from his home.A robber drew his gun and shouted: "Get out the money!" Charlie was so frightened that he took out his wallet, threw it away, and ran away.He ran several blocks until he stopped at a relative's house and collapsed on the porch. He had a heart attack and died that night. Murray was notified to identify the body.He flew to New York, came to the municipal funeral home, and the staff led him down the stairs to the cold morgue. The staff asked: Is this your father? Murray looked at the corpse in the glass cabinet. The person inside was the one who scolded him, raised him, and taught him how to make a living. When his mother died, he asked him to forget her. Murray nodded and left.He later said the eerie morgue left his mind blank and it was days later that he shed tears for his father. Even so, the death of Murray's father still made him mentally prepare for his final day.He knows one thing, he wants to shake hands with his family and friends, talk and laugh, pat shoulders and kiss cheeks, these things he can't do with his parents, he will never leave any regrets. When the dying moment comes, Murray hopes that the people he loves will be by his side so that he can leave with a smile on his face.He didn't want his loved ones to receive a phone call or a telegram, or to see him one last time through a glass case in a cold, gloomy basement. ◇◇◇ In the rainforest of South America, there is a Deshana tribe. They believe that the energy between all things in the world is fixed and communicates with each other. It will always be full and full. When the Deshana hunt to feed themselves, they believe that the animals they kill leave gaps in the spirit world, but when these Deshana hunters die, their souls fill the gaps.If no one dies, there will be no newborn birds, beasts or fishes.I like this view of the world, and so does Murray.The closer he gets to the day of farewell, the more he seems to feel that we are all creatures of the same forest, that what we take from nature, we must give back to nature. He said: This is only fair.