Chapter 27 graduate

Murray died on Saturday morning. His family is by his side.Rob had come back from Tokyo - he was going to kiss his father good-bye - and Jon was there, and of course Charlotte and her cousin Martha, whose poem at the unofficial funeral had been deeply Deeply moved by Morrie, the poem compares Morrie to a "gentle sequoia."They took turns sleeping next to his bed.Morrie was in a coma for two days after the last time I saw him, and the doctor said he was going to go any minute.But he dragged on a rough afternoon and a dark night. Finally, on Nov. 4, when his loved one had just left the room for a moment — to get coffee in the kitchen and, for the first time since he was unconscious — no one was by his side — Morrie stopped breathing.

he's gone. I believe he did it on purpose.He didn't want to have a tragic moment, he didn't want people to see him dying and not erase the terrible memory, just like he couldn't erase the horror left by the telegram announcing his mother's death and his father's body in the morgue. Same as memory. I believe he knew he was in his bed; his book, his notes, his little hibiscus were all by his side, and he wanted to go in peace, and he did go in peace. The funeral took place on a wet, windy morning.The grass is wet and the sky is milky white.Standing around the pit, we heard the lapping of the river and saw the ducks fluttering their feathers.

Although many people wanted to come to the funeral, Charlotte still didn't waste it. Only a few relatives and friends came to the funeral.Axel Laderabi read several poems.According to custom, Morrie's younger brother David -- who was left lame by polio -- swung the shovel and sprinkled the dirt over the grave. As Morrie's ashes were laid, I looked up and looked around the cemetery.Morrie was right.It's a really nice place, trees, grass, slopes. "You talk, I listen," he said. I secretly tried it and, to my delight, found the imaginary conversation so natural.I looked down at my watch and understood why.

Today is Tuesday. "Father walked in front of us, Singing the new leaves on the trees (Children believe that the coming spring I will also dance with my father)..." --A poem by E. E. Cummings, Read by Maury's son Rob at the funeral