I am often asked for
copies of the letter
that lead to my appearance on
The Oprah Winfrey Show;
here it is in its entirety:
Aloha e Oprah,
tuesdays with MORRIE has been a treasure, comfort, and inspiration to
me. I have been profoundly affected by Morrie's messages in countless
ways.
Thank you for bringing it to
the screen. Jack Lemmon as Morrie is perfect casting!
"tuesdays with Morrie" by Mitch
Albom
If you will kindly indulge me by reading this long letter, you will know
how deeply meaningful this book is to me and why I am elated that
millions will learn Morrie's priceless, life-altering lessons via the
movie.
Morrie was a learned man, a professor; my father, Andy, dropped out of
the ninth grade to labor in the Hawaiian canefields to help his family
survive the Depression. Morrie's English was impeccable; Andy spoke in perfect pidgin, Hawai'i's
Creole English.
Morrie wrote down aphorisms, bite-sized philosophies, about living in
death's shadows; Andy dealt with the poignant realities, and sometimes
comic and inane incidences of dying, with his own inimitable
expressions:
Morrie: "Accept
what you are able to do and what you are not able to do."
Andy: "`Auwê, no
can do dat anymo'. But try look, I still can do dis."
Morrie: "Accept
the past as past without denying it or discarding it."
Andy: "Pau da
pas' (The past is done). Da pas' is pas'. No can change `em."
Educationally and culturally, Morrie and Andy lived in different worlds.
Physically, an ocean and a continent separated them, Andy in Hawai`i and
Morrie in Massachusetts, yet they were kindred spirits.
They embarked on their life-closing journeys at about the same time.
Both lived with zest, loving books and dancing. Both were powerful
mentors and masterful "Teachers to the Last."
Morrie's death sentence came in the form of a diagnosis: ALS
(amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, often called Lou Gehrig's disease). For Andy, one second, he was an active retiree; the
next, he was struck - as a pedestrian - by a car, driven by a teen under
the influence.
He was thrown a hundred feet. The doctors did not expect him to survive
his head injuries. But just as author Mitch Albom had his special time with Morrie, I was
granted a magical time of celebrating life and learning how to die with
Andy -- my irrepressible dear 'ole Dad.
I live over 2000 miles away. To spare me worry, Dad minimized the seriousness of his injuries. But I sensed something was
amiss and with prodding, Dad confessed that the accident had
"scrambled his brains," resulting in severe insomnia and
debilitating vertigo.
Dad loved taking walks. He loved to read and travel. He did not indulge
me materially; instead he gifted me with travel experiences and books.
When we were not traveling, we traveled in our minds via books. The last
summer I lived with my father, we read James Michener's epic, HAWAI`I together, night after
night. It became our all-time favorite book.
Just as he was a passionate reader, how Dad loved to dance. One of my fondest childhood memories is is standing on his feet, as he
taught me to waltz:
"ONE-two-three.
ONE-two-three.
ONE-two-three."
After
his accident, he
could no longer concentrate to read, take walks, and his dancing days
were over. Detecting telltale signs of depression in his comments, I
became painfully aware that the time to "give back" to my Dad,
who had given so much of himself to me, had become desperately
short.
I must have experienced a "Gary" (multi-sensory) moment.
Impulsively, I struck a crazy deal with Dad. If he would take up the challenge of reading Irving Stone's THE AGONY
& THE ECSTASY, a biography of the artist Michelangelo, with me, my
husband and I would whisk him off on a Mediterranean cruise, an exciting
first time experience for all of us. Minimal walking would be required.
With our very own eyes, we'd see
Michelangelo's masterpieces: the Pietá and the
Sistine Chapel's
ceiling.
During World War II, Dad was a G.I. in the U.S. Army's 442nd Regimental
Combat Team, composed of Americans of Japanese / Pacific ancestry. He
had been thrust in the bloodiest battles of that war.
The prospect of returning to Europe in peacetime -- as a tourist --
might uplift his fallen spirits, I thought. Your classic "pull-yourself-up-by- the- bootstraps" Horatio
Alger character, Dad possessed a keen business acumen, coupled with a
strong work ethic. He spent his adult years as a successful businessman
before retiring. The
accident did little to diminish his uncanny ability to spot and quickly
close a promising deal. Quietly, he said, "You've got a deal."
Although his destiny was sealed with the accident which weakened him, and he was slowly
dying, Dad mustered whatever it took to "unscramble his
brain." I mailed the thick pocketbook to him, and he wasted no time
in reading it. In short order, we were off to Europe.
The gentle listing of the ship plying the blue Mediterranean waters
soothingly rocked him to sleep. For the first time in months, Dad slept
like a baby.
Walking the promenade deck helped him to regain his sense of balance.
Strolling through the seaports of Spain, France and Italy, we filled our
senses with European beauty.
In Rome, we walked up to the Pietá and gazed into the serene face of
Mother Mary. At the Sistine Chapel, craning our necks, we were wowed by
the genius of Michelangelo. Best of all, on board, the beautiful orchestral music worked its magic.
Dad began swaying with the music, and midway on the cruise, he was up
and dancing.
Morrie was right! "Don't assume that it's too late to get involved,"
he said. Or as Dad
would say, "Always get hope. Geev `em! Go for broke!"
After our trip, Dad kept dancing as long as he could. Whenever I'd
fly home, he'd greet me with a huge smile and a dance. As his body declined, he danced with a cane, then with a walker, then
with our hands, then with our eyes, and finally, we danced in our minds'
eyes.
In time, Morrie's body withered, as did Dad's. And just as
Morrie's spirit grew to fill the vacuum, Dad's did too. Morrie was
granted a serene death.
Dad's
soul was peacefully set free at home, surrounded by blooming
orchid plants and artwork, in the company of his beloved dogs, and a
sweeping view of tranquil Hilo Bay, where his ashes were scattered, in
accordance to his wishes.
Working fewer days now, my enjoyment quotient at work has shot through
the roof. Instead of "one of these days when I have time," I
now give public service talks, mentor, commit random acts of kindness
and gratitude, and "give back" to my home state via a Hawaiian
language website: http://www.oocities.org/olelo.geo/, the
Scouts and Hospice.
I remember my spirit by taking nature walks in the local mountains,
reading with savor, journaling, and living a simple country life with my
husband, our dogs, family and friends. I take these words to heart and
act on them:
-
Carpe
Diem! (Seize the moment!)
-
Life
is short; make it sweet.
-
Live
Aloha.
-
Seek
Union within.
-
Express
your gratitude.
-
Give
back.
-
Ola! (Live!)
-
Uplift!
-
Peace,
be still and know…
Morrie's book has a special place on my bookshelf, serving as a reminder
and gentle nudge when I wander from the most important lesson in
life:
We
are here to love and be loved.
We
will be resuming our dance lessons soon. Care to join us? I've invited two angels with winged feet who dance on air, erstwhile
dancing fools on Earth: Morrie and Andy.
Shall we dance?
Me ke Aloha (With Aloha),
D
>> The Show
>> Remembering Your Spirit
Segment
>> Thank You
to Oprah Winfrey and Her Staff
>> Afterglow
