109 months into your precious life .. 109 months gone today ..
Top: New Year’s Eve 2014 – Morgan grilling steaks in below 0 temps with his friend. Bottom: Christmas Eve 2025 – My oldest Logan, myself, and Morgan in Spirit
The piano plays—dramatic, then soft—each note carrying the weight of years gone by. It pulls me backward into my youth, into moments stitched together by laughter, by ritual, by people who once filled the holidays and now live only in memory. The music opens doors I didn’t ask it to, and behind them are faces I miss, voices I strain to hear again. Especially yours, Morgan.
The season has a way of magnifying absence—of turning silence into something almost audible. And on this first day, the day that holds both an ending and a beginning, the weight of it settles heavier. December 1 will forever be yours. January 1 moves forward anyway.
As Greensleeves plays, a performance unfolds in my mind, one meant to be witnessed rather than explained. I imagine an audience holding its breath, bracing themselves for the emotion they sense is coming. They know the time is near—near for reflection, near for grief, near for that familiar ache that arrives without invitation. I’m dressed in an elegant, flowing gown, surrounded by darkness that isn’t frightening, only reverent. It is a quiet solemnity—the kind that understands loss.
Somewhere beyond me, an orchestra swells—strings rising gently, then falling away—carrying what my hands alone cannot. The music becomes a language for everything I cannot say: the love that remains, the longing that does not loosen its grip, the memories that return each season like faithful ghosts.
This is how I meet the first of the month. This is how I meet the new year.
Between note and breath, I play on—for you, for the years that shaped me, and for the enduring truth I continue to learn: love does not end, even when the song grows quiet.
108 months. 108 months without hearing your voice. 108 months without being able to hug you or kiss your forehead. 108 months of not feeling you muscle-block me in passing.
I have a book to write-someday. But my mind is chaos. The carousel of memories spins and spins, and sometimes it stops—just long enough to drop me back into a moment, a feeling, a flash of you. Then it’s gone, swallowed by tears. By grief. By the kind of grief that is so deep it drags me under.
I cannot explain the depth. It’s darkness. It’s suffocation. My reach out just barely breaking through. And yet-somehow-something grabs my hand, pulls me back, reminds me to breathe.
It’s a repetitive thing, this rhythm of life. A cycle of ache and reprieve. Bittersweet suffering. The suffering that proves the love I have for you. It describes what cannot be broken, even by death. If I did not suffer, it would mean that I did not love. Love-the evidence of how deeply you are woven into me.
Today I decorated the Christmas tree. It should have been done sooner, but I’ve been stuck in the mindset of not moving forward.
Today I display your flags. A flag that honors the young man who stood tall in his dress blues, who carried the weight of service heavier than anyone should. A flag that remembers not just the Marine, but the son, the brother, the friend who gave pieces of himself until there was nothing left to give. And a flag that tells the world you are forever in heaven standing among warriors of light.
Nine years gone. Nine years of silence where your voice should be. Nine years of grief that never lets go.
The tree glows, the flags fly, and I sit here in ache-holding you in memory, in love, in honor-as the tears continue to drop.
You are remembered, Morgan.
Your comedic personality. Your kindness, inspiration, and encouragement to family, friends, and strangers. Your beautiful smile and the Herbert impression. Your love for amphibians. Your Gainz and dedication to self-improvement. The nerdy side of you enthralled with Pokémon, Magic, and D&D.
And the countless other things-your smile, your voice, your strength-millions of fragments that made you whole and made you unforgettable.
I loved you then, I love you still, and I always will.
There was a time I mostly kept quiet at work during work hours and to management — regarding work related issues, in hard moments, even when things were clearly unjust or when my heart was breaking. I stayed silent to keep the peace, to avoid ruffling feathers, to be the dependable one who didn’t rock the boat and just carried on.
But that silence, more than once, and ultimately in the end, came at the price of a life.
The day my son asked if I was coming home for lunch still lives in me. A burning ache that never fades. A wound amongst wounds that I carry every day. I told him no—I had already missed work after his car accident just days before. But something about that moment lingers deeper than words. Maybe part of me already knew. He’d been struggling for a year and a half, and my heart had been quietly bracing for what I couldn’t yet name. That exchange changed me. It reshaped how I see everything—what truly matters, what doesn’t, and how silence can steal more than sound.
For years, I thought keeping quiet was the right thing — that it showed strength, professionalism, control. Working remotely has only deepened that tendency. Most of my communication happens through email and Teams — words without tone, faces behind screens — and it’s easy to retreat, to stay small, to just keep producing.
But I’ve learned that silence doesn’t protect anyone; it just hides the truth of who you are.
So in this past year or so, I made a decision: I’m done staying quiet. My voice deserves to be heard. My feelings are valid. I hold the right to speak up and the resolve to advocate for myself when something doesn’t sit well or feels off within my work environment.
Recently, when I voiced a clear concern about my role, one of the responses I received—raw and seemingly deflective—was along the lines of, ‘Maybe it’s the way you come across that leads people to ask (someone else) instead of reaching out to you at work.’ (not verbatim). That old pressure to shrink crept in—but I didn’t give in. I spoke up with disagreement; Because if something isn’t being communicated to me, how am I to know to correct it?
I’m not that quiet person any longer. I’ve earned my voice. And if speaking up makes people uncomfortable, maybe that says more about the environment than it does about me. There’s more I could say—more that still stirs beneath the surface. You learn to pick your battles. But this moment? It won’t be filed away.
It’s disheartening, to say the least, that such a statement came from upper management—and that HR said nothing at all. That silence didn’t just echo. It reverberated through everything. And though I have found my voice, I’ve come to see that speaking up here no longer matters. It’s not worth the energy, weighed down as I am by this ongoing journey of grief and struggle—not because I’ve made peace, but because I’ve shut down. My words feel lost beneath a heap of unresolved issues.
So I’m searching. For something better. For a place that sees me and truly backs their culture. For a reason to raise my voice again—and be heard.
For the past 106 months, I’ve marked each first of the month on Facebook with pictures of my son and a few words — a small ritual that’s become part of how I carry him forward. Each post has been a mix of reflection, remembrance, and whatever emotions that month brought with it.
Somehow it never clicked until now; that I’ve never shared those here, in this blog I started around the time he died. Maybe I wasn’t ready. Maybe Facebook just felt simpler — a smaller space for big feelings. And if I’m honest, I know somewhere along the way I lost my “flare” to write — or maybe just the energy for it. But now, 107 months in, it feels right to bring those words home.
Moving forward, I have every intention to add these reflections here each month. Some may be short, others longer — depending on where I am emotionally at the time — but all will be heartfelt and honest. These posts have always been my way of staying connected to him, sharing him, never forgetting him, and now they’ll have a place to stay connected to each other, too.
107 months into your precious life … 107 months gone today …
The season has started—the one that echoes your final presence with us. Fall has settled. Your birthday has passed. Thanksgiving and Christmas are on their way… And then comes the in-between. The in-between those last holidays, when you just couldn’t hold on any longer. It hurts. The struggles never cease. But you visited me not too long ago— an actual visit. I haven’t felt that since shortly after you spread your wings to fight for God’s army. “I love you mumma,” you said at age 3—clear and loud. I love you too, Morgan. So very much.
Hello? “Hi Mom … I wanted to call and let you know that I am OK.”
Oh Morgan! I have so much to tell you – to share with you! So much has happened in the last five years. We adopted a new cat. Her name is Hella. I wonder if you would like her as much as you liked your favorite Willow. And Logan; he is doing phenomenal! He perseveres for his well-being, happiness, and everything he strives for. You two are a lot alike in this aspect. I think he pulls strength from you. He has been determined, dedicated, and healthy. He works hard for what he has .. oh, and he brought a new puppy to our family! His name is Knox. Logan liked my name I picked for him. You know Logan .. all about the dollars! So, Fort Knox – Knox is his name. He is an American Bully. Yes, I had to pick a unique name like always with our pets. You made light fun of this in the past (with Seven’s name, and Hazel’s), but these are the small significant things that make us “us”! You might think he’s obnoxious – one of your favorite identifying terms. Maybe rather extreme; probably more so annoying; at times, though I think you would think he’s cute. You have probably already given him a nickname, like Chubs, or something along those lines! Debo, Phelix, and Seven are all coming to see you in the next couple of years; their health is aging, and it makes me sad. But I know they will be so excited to see you, and I think you will be too. Grams is still working. Do you see her every day? Tell her to retire already!
I walked a 20-mile Ruck Veteran’s Day weekend. Were you walking with me? Could you hear me talking to you then? I did! Complaining and babbling. And asking you for strength to make it to the end. It was rough but I carried through; for you. Do you see your friends often? Engagements, weddings, babies … I see and follow these milestones and put us within them; wondering; dreaming. I spent time with Haley in October. We don’t talk often. I know you are with her always. I wonder if Drew would like you. He doesn’t like guys 😉 She came with me to Titletown for a remembrance event. I know, I know .. the GB Packers. But did you see us holding your Honor and Remember Flag? And all the support out there?
I put that flag out for today. I hope it is seen by all that pass. Gosh, there are a thousand and 51 things I want to tell you. Not that I haven’t told you them during the “in the moment” times, but you’re on the other end listening right now. Like all the times you have been honored and remembered; being carried, memories shared, messages from friends I’ve never personally met but bonded with. So much love and positive impact because of you. You should be proud of yourself. As I am.
We made our new tradition pizza again for Thanksgiving. We also watched the Cowboys game this year. It’s a first in a long time since you went away. It’s just never been the same. You know, I stopped doing traditional food because you never got your requested ham in 2016. I think of this every year. So does Grams. The little things that we wish we could change. Logan makes the dough from scratch. You would like it! I wonder if Logan’s friend Timmy would drive you nuts.
It has been said that one is not supposed to ask their loved one for signs, but will you visit me? Will you send me more signs of your presence? I don’t ask often, and I know you’re busy fighting the good fight (as you are and forever will be a soldier), but I would certainly cherish it. If only I could hold and hug you again. Give you that kiss on your forehead as I walk past the recliner. Remember when you came to my side shortly after you left us? To have that again would mean the world to me Morgan.
Did you see Logan’s new truck? Do you like it? It’s dirty already. But it’s his work truck and it’s another grand accomplishment he has made. I know you are proud of him! Oh, and Isaac’s mullet! Well, as you probably know, he had to cut it off for wrestling. But he was sporting one! And Senri Morgan. I hope that melted your heart. I bet you are her guardian angel. If you haven’t talked to Trevor lately, maybe you should. I think he needs your voice every now and then.
I’m sorry Morgan, my grief and sadness has affected my memory. My thinking and thoughts. I can’t remember everything I want to say or tell you right now and I know once we hang up thoughts will start emerging and I’ll be so upset that I couldn’t remember when I needed to.
~silence~
Morgan? …….. Morgan? ……… hello? …….
And I slowly hung up the phone as I awoke from my sleep. All my random, out of time sequence reflections and I didn’t get to tell him everything I wanted to. Like asking his thoughts on Biden, Covid, and how the World has seemingly gone mad. Talking about my struggles with both health and mental health that I continue to have – not that he would want to hear it, but he always had supporting feedback for me. About the rest of our family and how everyone is doing. Sharing the simple joys that only he and I would understand. Everything. Just everything. How do you fill 5 years of memories, happenings, every day-to-day moments in one phone call? It seemed I had forever. And then it was silent. Him telling me that he called to let me know that he is okay. That is real. But the rest? Did he hear me? I can only believe that even though that call had ended after he said his few words, that he has been present and continues to look on and be a part of our lives every day. Taking in all the craziness, both heartfelt and heartbroken. Guiding us silently. Surrounding us with his love and hearing us. Hearing me and everything I have spoken to him.
I often say that nothing has changed. This still stands. It is still as yesterday. Today, five years ago he was in class at NWTC as I write this. The last text I would receive was at 1:23p. By 3:38p the sirens went by my work window; he had already left us. This timeline never fades. The flashbacks never fade. This pain never fades. My grief never fades.
I forget things. A lot. Grief brain, as I’ve stated many times, is REAL. Add a dose of heavy-duty anxiety, post-traumatic stress, and continuous shots of sadness to this and voilà: Complicated grief? Maybe. I carry some of these characteristics, but not all. Struggle. Another infamous verb. Very real. Consisting of lack of concentration, trust, loneliness, and intense empathy that brings on all sorts of affliction. All that continues to brew within me regardless of what I do for self-help. I often want to leave and be with Morgan. Not to continue the pain within my family and friends, but to cease my own. This is why I understand Morgan’s choice. I live it. He was in a tremendous amount of pain. His service in the military hurt him. I won’t get into the what if’s and why’s about that. That is my private time. With my own mind. But I understand his anguish. I hold the same. It is wearing and it whittles away at your mind, body, and soul.
The things I do know and remember right now:
Morgan should be here. He is loved. He is missed. He continues to touch others in an influential way. He left everlasting inspiration.
He’s missing. I can’t find him. Where is he? He’s not in his bed. He’s not in this house. Could he have gotten out the door? At such a late hour of the night? It’s winter. It’s cold. So very cold out there. Did you look Shanen? Did you look outside?
I’m in the deep snow. I can see the fence to my right, but its dimensions and presence are so much more prominent than the reality of this backdrop. Is this important to the meaning of this? There are drifts before it. I step off the porch to become closer to it. The sky is midnight blue and wintry. The wind is gently blowing. Just enough for the snow flurries to waft thru the night air; feeling the tiny specs against my cold cheeks. I step over the first drift and the light of the moon guides me to a contour in the snow. My mind is racing and I’m calling out. It seems my calls are both silent and soft-spoken. I am not screaming like I think I should have been upon awakening from this. “No. Noo. Nooo! Oh Morgan…” The tears, which are still present when I awake, are heavily flowing from my eyes. How? Why? I don’t understand. All of these thoughts are intertwining themselves at once as I pull his bundled up body out of the drift. He is frozen; his body in a naturally preserved state. In his little snowsuit. Hood, knit hat, and scarf. Bundled up as if I had lovingly prepared him to brave the winter harshness.
He must’ve been one, two, or maybe even three years old. The way I held him close to me after picking him up. The length of his body against mine. The softness to his skin and angelic features of his little boy face. These felt details tell me so.
My mind is becoming coherent. I am on the verge of becoming groggily awake. As I venture to this state, he is ever so slightly opening his eyes and his stiffness is subsiding. I can feel him turning limp in my arms. The heat of my body warming his. My heart is melting and the relief that is washing over me is incredibly unexplainable. I open my eyes and lay still for quite some time. Processing what I just experienced.
Why was he all bundled up to be found in the snow, me not knowing he was there and not where he should have been; tucked safely and securely in his bed? I understand the backdrop of this. It took place in our apartment and yard where we lived when he was that age. How could I warm him back to life? What does this mean? What is he trying to tell me? What am I trying to tell myself?
How do I interpret this?
So vivid and alive. The realness of the front door, porch, and fence where we once lived. The winter hue of snowy detail. The intensity of the worry, fear, and pain enveloping me. The stiffness of his little body and the physicality of holding him, warming him, and revitalizing him.
Was this a dream? I have had a handful of dreams in the time Morgan has been gone. They have always involved both Morgan and Logan. I don’t recall a dream with Morgan alone. And sometimes it takes a period; a day or more, before details start to emerge from where I assume are being kept tucked away. We don’t lose what we’ve dreamt. I believe this. Yet, this dream, if such, held not a waver in recollection.
Was this a visit? I had a visit from Morgan once. He came to me shortly after his death. It was a very special visit full of peace. I felt him next to me as our time was ending. The pure love of mother and son. A visit I will never forget and one I yearn for again. Could this have been? I’ve read that visits are remembered. Visits can represent any age. Visits are realistic. But he was not at peace in the beginning. Or was he? There is something to this that has me conflicted.
It is 39 months today that Morgan has been transitioned from this earth. Is there a correlation to the timing of this? Or, is it merely coincidence?
Perhaps being frozen in time is the significance. While calendar pages and clocks continue to turn, my heart and mind remain in yesterday.
Nonetheless, it is a new memory to ponder on this journey. To ponder until it’s time to file away. Where, momentarily, it too will remain frozen.
Today you are 27 years old. Today I reflect, as I often do. I reflect on the happy heartfelt moments. I reflect on the milestones; 26 past birthdays, your achievements, graduation and all the in-between. The trials and tribulations, the rocky roads and unintended detours. All the things that have built you to who you are today. All the moments that you have both blessed me with and been blessed with yourself. And especially today; the day you entered my life twenty-seven years ago.
A solid 9 pounds and 15.5 ounces. Alert and developed. As if you had already been in this world for a few. A significant part of your nature. Ahead of the times. Ahead of yourself.
You too, were Battle Born. Born fighting for your life. Spending the first two weeks of your being in the hospital with serious infection. Your powerful will to survive. It broke my heart to leave you behind every day until you were healthy enough to come home. This angel given to me, tugging at my heart, the bond even stronger now that you had arrived. And unbeknownst to both of us, this was not the only fight for your life that you would embark on.
You gave me the title of Mom. You changed my entirety for the better, and for this I thank you Logan. And I embrace it. As I embrace you. Every breathing moment.
You are a Nurturer. A Protector. A Sensitive Soul. Amazing qualities you have carried these 27 years and will continue to do so; I know in my heart.
You are a beautiful man.
Brazen. Bold. Outspoken. Sometimes lacking a little couth, but not with harmful intention. Though no holds barred, you have everyone’s best interest in mind, always.
The strength you carry is phenomenal. You have endured abandonment, brokenness, and troubles that no child or adult ever should. You have survived thru near death experiences and their after effects from both medical issues and addiction. You have had the cards stacked against you by people that were supposed to unconditionally love, guide, teach, and protect you. And here you are. Radiating and courageously practicing self-preservation. Survival instincts. And though maybe not all has been conquered; you continue to persevere Logan. Taking those “life lessons” and wisdom to channel the negative and draw in the positive; striving for victory. Victory of not succumbing to the past; this in itself is an extraordinary feat.
Graced with gratitude. Brimming with determination. Self-powering. Your success in recovering your life is astonishing. You are an inspiration to many Logan, including me.
You are a character. Full of humor. Witty and observational. Able to poke fun and lighten the mood while enlightening all those around you. You are the only one that can bring a smile to my face when I am in the darkest of moods. You have been my saving grace.
I cherish every day we have together and value the opportunity to create new memories with you. As we do, I will continue to reflect on the ones we have. Playing them in my mind like a slideshow on fast forward; repeat. Keeping them stowed away in my inner keepsake box. Pulling them forward and grasping them tight like treasured jewels when needed.
Today you are 27 years old. Today you are clean. Today you are free. Today you are a force to be reckoned with.
Today you are Logan.
I am excited for this next chapter and every one that follows. You should be especially proud of yourself, just as I am of you. I am deeply grateful to have you in my life. I am honored to call you my son.
Time fly’s even when you’re not having fun. Crazy, because it stands still too; everything like yesterday.
It’s a beautiful day for graduation. Just as it was on June 7, 2015, when, four years ago you participated in the Valders Class of 2015’s High School Commencement.
Already graduated five months earlier in order to cash in on your dream of becoming a Marine, which, might I add, you excelled at.
So handsome in your dress blues – standing out from everyone else. My son. A United States Marine. I sat with my eyes on you the entire ceremony as the years of you growing up played in my mind. All the prior graduations: Preschool; marching over the tiny bridge with your little diploma in hand. Fourth grade; when you insisted on wearing a tux because Logan was wearing one for his Eighth Grade graduation. Eighth Grade; sporting an arm cast … which I can’t remember why. Karate? Messing around? This, too, bugs me ..*sigh*.. a memory I should recall but faded.
I watched with intensity as you approached the stage. As you were receiving your diploma, I ran from my seat for that pic as you stepped down, only for it to turn out blurry. One of those things that you never forget when all you have are memories. Standing proud for photo ops with your high school guys. So many classmates wanting a pic with their Marine. The thousands of additional family pics taken afterwards – you and her. You and him. You and those 3; oh wait – we forgot you and him and those 2, and even more at the lake. Memory Keeper Mom. Both you and Logan giving me a hard time about keeping everything and taking moment by moment photos thru the years. Well, I am grateful, and I know you both are now happy for me that I didn’t let either of you out of any of it. Especially you Morgan. I know you were tired and already dying inside but you allowed me to capture what I didn’t know would be some of the last moments.
This date; full of sentiment to me. My heart is warm, yet aches, with the yearning to be able to reminisce these memories with you in reach – so I can hug you tight and tell you in person how proud I still am, and forever will be, of you and your great accomplishments.
You had a goal and dream from such a young age to become a Marine. The impression left on you by the poolees during your time in martial arts/Kenpo Karate was set deep. There was no changing your mind. And I tried! Only because I was scared of the possible outcome of my baby being deployed. Never did I think that possible outcome would have turned out to be what it did. Relentlessly you pushed, and I succumbed and signed the papers for the Delayed Entry Program. I knew you would have went once you became an adult, and I felt at ease after debating with you, oh so often, and speaking with (at the time) SSgt Schneider (who will shortly be promoted to Gunnery Sergeant as of this writing!). He understandingly and gently answered all of my concerns.
People that have not experienced what I have with your death could never possibly understand how much, albeit a memory if you were still with us, events and milestones like graduation continue to bring “happy heart-breaking sadness”.
Our suicide. Yes, ours. It is not just yours. It is mine. It is Logan’s. It is Grandma’s. It is all of ours. It forces me to shy away from the world. New life, new death, and everything in between. The ever-lasting effect of it prevents me from enjoying aspects of life that normally I should be able to be happy towards, at least for the sake of others. It hinders me to express and share the grief and sorrow of loss with others and to provide the strength and support that they may need. Maybe someday I will be able to adjust and experience things in a different light and share joy with and be the rock for the people that mean the most to me. Until then I will continue to solely find solace in the memories I hold and the inspiring mark that you have left on this World.
e in the memories I hold and the inspiring mark that you have left on this World.
Daly Chronicles 