That’s who I want to be when I grow up”—died of pancreatic cancer at the U.S.Army All I Want For Christmas Is My Son Home Marine Mom Sweatshirt age of forty-four. He was a short, handsome man with a thick mustache, and I was with him for the last year of his life, living in an apartment just below his. I watched his strong body wither, then bloat, saw him suffer, night after night, doubled over at the dinner table, pressing on his stomach, his eyes shut, his mouth contorted in pain. “Ahhhhh, God,” he would moan. “Ahhhhhh, Jesus!” The rest of us—my aunt, his two young sons, me— stood there, silently, cleaning the plates, averting our eyes. It was the most helpless I have ever felt in my life. One night in May, my uncle and I sat on the balcony of his apartment.
It was breezy and warm. He looked out toward the U.S.Army All I Want For Christmas Is My Son Home Marine Mom Sweatshirt horizon and said, through gritted teeth, that he wouldn’t be around to see his kids into the next school year. He asked if I would look after them. I told him not to talk that way. He stared at me sadly. He died a few weeks later. After the funeral, my life changed. I felt as if time were suddenly precious, water going down an open drain, and I could not move quickly enough. No more playing music at half-empty night clubs. No more writing songs in my apartment, songs that no one would hear. I returned to school. I earned a master’s degree in journalism and took the first job offered, as a sports writer. Instead of chasing my own fame.
I wrote about famous athletes chasing theirs. I worked for newspapers and freelanced for magazines. I worked at a pace that knew no hours, no limits. I would wake up in the morning, brush my teeth, and sit down at the U.S.Army All I Want For Christmas Is My Son Home Marine Mom Sweatshirt typewriter in the same clothes I had slept in. My uncle had worked for a corporation soon the cameras were rolling in front of the living room fireplace, with Koppel in his crisp blue suit and Morrie in his shaggy gray sweater. He had refused fancy clothes or makeup for this interview. His philosophy was that death should not be embarrassing; he was not about to powder its nose. Because Morrie sat in the wheelchair, the camera never caught his withered legs.