111 months since March changed us forever…
Once again, I wasn’t able to find photos for this month’s post. For years, I believed entire stretches of pictures had been lost, so I learned to improvise. When I came across the long-missing box of developed photos tucked away in the basement last year — untouched since we moved into this home nearly 17 years ago — I thought I had finally recovered all those missing years. But as I move through them month by month, it has become clear that January 2006 is still MIA. The month that marks 111 months simply doesn’t exist in photographs (which I find hard to believe), or it’s hiding in some other very secretive place, waiting to surprise me at the least expected moment.
So instead, I return to the moments I do have — the days of March 2015, just before everything changed.
Every part of the year — every month, every day — feels like the rebirth of unfolding events. I think that is why the first is so prominent to me. Many see it as a new beginning, a turning of the page, or the simplicity of a refresh.
The first, to me, is none of those. It is a cycle of replaying unfolding events in my mind. Date by date. Milestone by milestone. Worry by worry. Interwoven with the good and everyday aspects of the life I’ve come to know.
And then there is March — the month that carries its own weight. None of us knew what this journey would bring. And as a mom, of course I didn’t want to see you go, but I supported your dream one hundred percent.
The weekend before you left for boot, you had the guys over to make your final D.I.P. video. You played cards, laughed, and were the same goofy, fun-loving kid everyone knew you to be. None of us could have imagined how profoundly those first steps onto the infamous yellow footprints would change the future — for you, and for all of us.
The weekend you left, we all went to Red Lobster for a going-away, good-luck dinner together.
The following morning, we drove you to the Green Bay recruiting office — where hugs were given and goodbyes and I love yous were shared. The Morgan we knew left with you that day, never to return the same.
I remember a talk we had once, after you were finally home — after you had experienced the things that broke you. You told me you wished that I had stopped you that day — that I had told you not to go. At the time, I wanted to say those words, but only for my own sake. I didn’t want to watch you leave. Not knowing what was to come, I don’t believe you would have listened, and who was I to try to sway your dream? You didn’t share much more after that.
Hindsight… if only.
So, you see, it isn’t only the firsts, but March as well. March marks the beginning of the time frame in which the unraveling unfolds — and where I slowly come to understand the limits of what love, distance, and hope could reach.
Writing these posts are never easy. Memories hurt — even the good ones. Every first of the month pulls me back in time. I carry a quiet expectation of perfection, even though this story has never been neat or finished. Someday, a book may hold the pieces in a way that feels complete. For now, I’ll let the moments I do have speak for themselves.
I love you.
I miss you.
You should be here.
~ Mom
Morgan J. ~ PFC Daly USMC
Daly Chronicles 