Page 38 - 2020-21 Roll of Remembrance 5781
P. 38
From Tuesdays with Morrie, by Mitch Albom
Morrie, I said softly.
“Coach,” he corrected.
Coach, I said. I felt a shiver. He spoke in short bursts, inhaling air,
exhaling words. His voice was thin and raspy. He smelled of
ointment.
“You…are a good soul.”
A good soul.
“Touched me…” he whispered. He moved my hands to his heart.
“Here.”
It felt as if I had a pit in my throat.
Coach?
“Ahh?”
I don’t know how to say good-bye.
He patted my hand weakly, keeping it on his chest.
“This…is how we say…good-bye…”
He breathed softly, in and out. I could feel his rib-cage rise and
fall. Then he looked right at me.
“Love…you,” he rasped.
I love you, too, Coach.
“Know you do…know…something else…”
What else do you know?
“You…always have…”
