Tag: remembrance

8.1.26

116 months into your precious life … 116 months gone today.

Nine years old. Blue belt in Kenpo Karate, working toward his next belt. These photos were taken during one of his belt tests. One photo captures the gauntlet kick, where the students stood in a line taking turns receiving a kick from the Sensei while another line of students behind them held each person steady so they wouldn’t lose their balance or be pushed backward. A tradition that every student anticipated with a mix of excitement and hesitation. No one was ever quite eager to be the next one up—but once it was over, there were always grins, laughter, and a sense of accomplishment.

These photos remind me that before he was a Marine, before he became a coach, before he encouraged others to become stronger versions of themselves… he was just a little boy with big dreams, a huge heart, and a determination that seemed far beyond his years.

It was here, at karate, that his dream of becoming a Marine truly began to take shape. The Marine Corps poolees would often come to the dojo to work out alongside the students, and Morgan looked up to them with admiration. Watching their discipline, strength, and commitment planted a seed that continued to grow until the day he earned the title of United States Marine.

As he grew older, Morgan developed not only as a martial artist, but as a leader. By his final years of training, he was assisting with classes and helping teach other students. Even the adults referred to him as “Mr. Morgan.” He was only 13 or 14 years old, but he had already earned their respect—and their trust. In fact, he even had a key to the dojo. Looking back, it was another glimpse of the man he would become—someone who found purpose in encouraging others, helping them grow stronger, and leading by example.

It’s easy for time to blur the memories, but photos like these bring me right back. I can still picture the excitement on karate nights, the concentration on his face as he practiced, and the pride he felt every time he reached another milestone.

Looking at these photos, I don’t first see the Marine.

I simply see my little boy.

And I smile, because even then, so much of the man he would become was already there.


Morgan’s story didn’t begin with tragedy. It began with life—full of dreams, determination, kindness, and love.

That’s the Morgan I hope you’ll remember.

I love you.
I miss you.
You should be here.

MoM

Before the uniform… there was this little boy.
— The Daly Chronicles ❤️

4.1.26

112 months into your precious life .. 112 months gone today.

Today I’m just ignoring the fact that it also represents April Fool’s Day. I feel like I have no “foolishness” left—or what is left is buried deep.

I remember the school project these pictures are from—early Spring 2006. You were tasked with creating a homemade instrument, and we decided on a cigar box guitar. Gramps had the cigar box and the tools, so we pulled him in to help. We brought Trevor along too—your best friend for life. I still have that “guitar” upstairs, stowed away (I brought it out for a picture). And it still has a nice tone to it! One of those projects—like all your keepsakes—that were supposed to be handed back to you someday, maybe even passed down one day.

That day will never come.

I was just having this conversation with a friend a couple weeks ago—what will I do with all your things? All your memories? I’ve kept just about everything from the day you were born, and I still find myself holding onto anything connected to you. Time will tell…

Your game room looks just as it did 10 years ago. I finally brought your PS4 and VR up to the living room. It hadn’t been turned on in a few years and needed quite the update. It took me 10 years to move it, even though the thought came and went so many times. Doing things like this throws me down Alice’s rabbit hole, and I often get stuck there. Maybe that’s why I stopped playing in the game room—why it took me so long to move it.

The bigger part of me didn’t want to disrupt your space.
The most recent part of me thought, why not?
You can always put it back.

So now it sits on the entertainment center, covered to protect it from dust—I know how much it meant to you. I’ve used the VR twice since bringing it up here last week—Tetris. And, I might add (not sure if you’d agree, lol), I prefer my Meta Quest 3 over the PS VR. 🙂

I still can’t get into your PlayStation account. Who knows what birth date you used when you set it up—you were underage at the time. And getting back into mine? That took a minute too—and not without tears. Everything feels like a task, and somehow it all connects back to you… to this grief journey, in one way or another.

Looking back at that mop of hair—you were in a “let’s grow it out” phase. Nothing major—the brief black hair phase was yet to come. I think a lot of it had to do with Logan—you looked up to him, followed his lead. He was your big brother, after all. But wow… a head of hair. Just like Mom.

I talk to you every day. Do you hear me? Do you see me cry?

Grief.
And a decade coming up.

I love you.
I miss you.
You should be here.

Mom.