Mary Anne Morgan Blog

365 Project Day 338: I See Her Dancing

Posted on 07. Dec, 2011 by maryanne.

Canon 5D Mark ll,70-200 2.8L, 150mm focal length, 2.8 aperture, 1/60 shutter, 1250 ISO

(*Caveat~ the photos in this post are of Salena and Sean Donnelly, who graciously agreed to help me try to express my heart for this post by posing for me. The words are not about them, but I love them dearly!)

 

I lost a dear friend this week. Or should I say, the world did. She was an incredible woman, full of years and wisdom. And laughter. I think I will always remember her laughter.  I can still hear it lilting and lining the edges of her words, her blue eyes sparkling. She had the heart of a child, even in her later years.

I heard about her passing yesterday and my heart sank. And yet simultaneously, I felt something else along with the grief. I sensed a deep joy rising up in my spirit for her. It was a unique feeling, this sadness edged with joy.  I mourned for my loss, for the loss of everyone who ever had the joy of knowing her, but I as I began to think about her, really think about who she is and was, I knew she was happy. Truly happy.  I see her dancing in my head. I know she is dancing, and that laugh of hers is echoing throughout eternity, mingling with the worship of heaven.  I wanted to portray that here, for her, and for those who are missing her deeply. (Thank you, Salena and Sean for allowing me to photograph you to try to depict that.)

I see Daisy dancing. At last in the presence of her Savior, and again united with her beloved husband, who went on ahead of her many years ago. She missed him deeply. I see them dancing together, young again and full of the life and vigor of youth. This is the joy of heaven, of giving our hearts to the only One who can save us. I feel sure she will know the words “well done, good and faithful servant”, and they will go deep into her being. It is what her life was about. Faithfulness. How she loved the Lord Jesus. How everyone loved her. Artist, teacher, prayer warrior, fighter, mother, friend, mentor, painter, encourager.

Daisy. Oh, how the earth sighs with your passing. But those of us who hold eternity in our hearts, we know.

We know you are dancing. So,dance on. We will be with you soon, and we rejoice with you as you breathe in your reward.

We love you, and we are anxious to hear your laughter ringing in our ears again.

Ecclesiastes 3:11 ~ “He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end.”

 

 

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365 Project Day 288: Fighting to Stay Open

Posted on 16. Oct, 2011 by maryanne.

Canon 5D Mark ll, 100 2.8 macro, 6.3 aperture, 1/125 shutter, 100 ISO. Alien B800 behind subject at 1/16 using 30 degree grid, Alien B800 used to left of subject for front lighting at 1/32 using 20 degree grid.

 

Compressed and under pressure, my heart feels as though a shadow has been cast over it. Is there an elephant standing on my chest? I feel like I cannot breathe.

This is how grief grips me in the month of October. I do not look for it, but it always seems to find me. Ten days from this one marks the anniversary of our baby’s death. I feel my heart curling into itself, trying to be so small it cannot feel the pain. I am fighting to stay open as I listen to this song, the words ringing right and true.

I want to be present, to not allow the pain wash me away, to dissolve me. I feel it could. My chest hurts from not breathing, from holding back tears, from retracting my heart. It just hurts.

This is not who I am. Open and compassionate, full of life and love, this is who God made me to be. I feel lost all closed up like this. I have lost my footing in grief’s slippery slope downward.

So bear with me. This is where I am. God is still here, and He will hold me until the storm passes.  He will hold you too.

My heart, all of our hearts, ache for eternity, when all will be made right.  Yes, all will be as it should be. Someday soon.

 

Revelation 21:3-5 ~” ‘I heard a voice thunder from the Throne: “Look! Look! God has moved into the neighborhood, making his home with men and women! They’re his people, he’s their God. He’ll wipe every tear from their eyes. Death is gone for good—tears gone, crying gone, pain gone—all the first order of things gone.’ The Enthroned continued, ‘Look! I’m making everything new. Write it all down—each word dependable and accurate.’ ” (The Message Version)

 

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Unclear

Posted on 02. Dec, 2010 by maryanne.

Last night my Annie posted a blog that bowled me over. She wrote about a time that is a blur to me, but very clear to her. She wrote about the Christmas of 2005, three months after I lost our baby. She talked about decorating the tree by herself, at the age of 15, and quoted some excerpts from her journal at that time. My mother’s heart hurt so deeply as I read her words and experienced that season through her young but intuitive perspective. Tears streamed down hot cheeks as I wondered where I was. What was I doing?

I don’t remember many details from that season. I remember faces. Beautiful people that shuffled quietly into my darkened room to pray, to encourage. I have a little box that I have saved that contains precious gifts that friends gave to me as they uttered words of love and empathy.

Notes from my husband.

And an ultrasound of my son the last time I saw his heart beating. I remember seeing every little vertebrae and marveling at God’s attention to detail. It is my one photo of him. Something tangible that says he was here with us for awhile. I never got to hold his little body, or feel him kick, but he was here. He was and will forever be a Morgan.

When my dad came to see me, I was still lying in that bed. Not just from depression, but from illness that shook me to the core and nearly took me away. There were tests, and surgeries, and the days blurred from one to the next. He came at Christmas time, and I could see on his face the helplessness a parent feels when a child is hurting. He carried in his hands a colorful little house. “To bring some color to your world”, he said softly. It did. I kept it on all the time.

There was a little front porch and warm lights inside too. It was a home, decorated for the Christmas season. I held it to my chest, wanting to absorb the cheerfulness it possessed. He put it on my dresser so I could see it all the time. My daddy. He brought me all the family and home and color that he could to hold onto. I won’t forget it.

I bring it out every year now, as the darkness recedes from our home, and its colors shine brighter every year. I always think of my dad when I do, and I can still hear his voice, “to bring some color to your world.” It did Dad, and still does.

Annie says she does not regret decorating the tree by herself that year. Chris says God brings beauty through pain. Yes, He does. While I still ache to hold my unborn son, I treasure and savor the moments I have with my family. I hold onto moments like I did that colorful little house, feeling warmed and brightened by them.

This year, we all decorated the tree together, except for my Annie, who is at school. We did text her while we were decorating, sending her photos. She wanted us to name it, but we have yet to do so. She liked Fitzwilliam. Katie suggested Margaret. I don’t know, we will see. Seems like I am gaining more and more clarity every year.

What is coming into focus, is God’s great faithfulness. He never ever changes. For this I am so grateful. I am learning to rest on that stability, although our lives are always changing. He is good, and we can run into Him.

“For great is his love towards us, and the faithfulness of the Lord endures forever.” ~ Psalm 117:2

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Weary

Posted on 28. May, 2010 by maryanne.

To say that it has been a rough week seems ridiculous to me. Words like “rough” or “difficult” pale in comparison to the grief and pain we have witnessed and felt in this past 10 days.

Twelve days ago I saw a status update by chance on Facebook that our dear friends who were in Maine on vacation needed prayer as their 18 year old daughter was missing while on a kayaking trip with a friend. I don’t check Facebook that often these days, but I was so glad I did. We immediately started to pray and make phone calls to get more details. It was not good. Irina McEntee and Carissa Ireland had left that Sunday afternoon (May 16th) for a short afternoon kayak/adventure to a nearby island and were supposed to return several hours later. Irina was a trained kayaker and had done this very trip so many times. When they did  not come home as planned, Irina’s parents called the coastguard. After searching all night, they found the girls the next morning, still in their life jackets several miles from their original destination. They could not be resuscitated. The agony of hearing the news trickling in over those hours was so difficult to bear. We hoped and prayed until we heard the final the reports, still unwilling to believe. I could not speak for hours, and still find it hard to put words to my feelings. My kids were also in shock.

What makes this story even more unbearable is that Irina’s brother Oleg,16, died in a tragic accident just the spring before. How much can these parents endure? My heart has been overrun with shock and pain and just the weight that grief brings, especially over the loss of a child. No one can make sense of it, so we will not try. We will love, though. We will love and be present for our friends. We will pray through the hours of the night. We will carry their burdens as our own. It is our honor.

The photo above was taken after Irina’s Life Celebration Service. That is what her parents called it, and that is what it was. Several came to Christ at her service as they gave an invitation at the conclusion of it. She loved her Jesus, and that was apparent in her life and in her death, as many spoke of this young woman’s quiet conviction to follow God, and her beautiful and bright smile.

My daughter Annie had the honor of speaking at the service, and I would like to include an excerpt here of her beautiful words:

“Images keep coming back to me—the coast in front of the Peaks Island house, grey water crashing into grey rocks, and the green of summer filling up the islands. Irina in long shorts and a red t-shirt, greeting the ocean with wide-thrust arms. Walking the shores in bare feet, she and my brother and Oleg leaping ahead of me to collect the wildly bright orange and yellow buoys that lobstermen had lost. It seems like a dream now—now that she and Oleg are both gone. I can’t get my head around it. I keep seeing her face cracking into that familiar bright smile in my mind—the smile that was like watching the sun leap up over the horizon at dawn—nothing at first, and then a burst of light.

And that was Irina, that was the way her life became.

I remember telling her more than once that God adored her—that you could see it all over her, almost glowing. To me, it always seemed so clear that he had pulled her from a very dark place to show her His love, to give her a life brimming with it. Hers, more than anyone I have ever known, is the story of redemption, of God’s heart for us.”

Her words sank deeply into our minds as we saw Irina through Annie’s eyes, and through God’s.

I twittered my grief often this week.

here are a few of my own thoughts written in fragments as I could not say much more:

~Heart broken   May 17th

~One of the hardest and saddest days for so many today. The McEntees will need much prayer as the days continue.  May 17th

~pictures from Maine on my screen saver today. Makes the sadness deeper. Not fair how life just treks on in the face of tragedy.  May 18th

~tragedy makes me feel so small, and yet I sense the largeness of my God. He is near, and the protector of the broken-hearted   May 21st

~ It’s okay to ask why. Even Jesus asked why when He was on the Cross.  May 22

~Loving and supporting friends in deep grief is such a great honor.  May 22

~Hate this stage of grief. The numbness, the burden, the elusiveness of my own heart. May 22

~Wavering between numbness and deep sorrow. I prefer the sorrow. Numbness doesn’t help anyone.  May 24

~It’s okay to cry, yes even imperative that we do. Those we love are worthy of our tears, the visible reminder that our hearts ache for them.  May 26th

I posted my daughter Katie’s photograph above, because it symbolizes what grief feels like. So exhausting. She could not keep her eyes open after the service. We love our friends so much, and we know they are being carried by their Saviour, who knows Himself the burden and pain of grief. Even God knows what it is like to lose a child, and then, ( praise Him!) have that child returned to Him in resurrection. That is our hope, our lifeline.

So thankful now for the truth and life that we can find in His word:

^“Brothers, we do not want you to be ignorant about those who fall asleep, or to grieve like the rest of men, who have no hope.”  1 Thessalonians 4:13

“For the Lord is close the brokenhearted, and saves those who are crushed in spirit”~ Psalm 34:18

I cannot conclude this entry without a few more thoughts, although I know it is already quite lengthy.

Nearly five years ago on October 26th, 2005 I lost a child of my own.  He was still in my womb and I was 16 weeks pregnant. We named him Benjamin David Morgan.

I will never forget the tragedy of that day or that season, and I will never forget him, as I already loved him dearly, like only a mother (or father) can. Even as I write these words, my heart feels compressed, still needing air and healing in those painful places. I bring this up for a couple reasons. First of all, to be transparent about my own journey, so that I can live my life fully alive. Secondly, as I experienced life with the McEntees this week, I remembered parts of my own journey that were so important for my healing.

After the loss of my child, I went through some depression, and was afraid to be alone. My sweet Chris helped me set up a schedule with people I loved and trusted to come and “sit” with me. When our counselor first suggested it, I was appalled. I felt embarrassed at the thought of having to have people come just sit with me. What would we do? Would I have to entertain them? However, as the days and nights went by, and Chris could not always be with me, I accepted the idea. Now, as I look back, I am so thankful for these people, who left their lives to come and help me stay in mine. My sister Liza took Sunday nights, and I would watch  Extreme Homemakeover with her family, bundled in a blanket on her sofa. So comforting. My friend Susan would take Wednesdays. I always looked forward to hearing her sweet voice as she came in my mud room door. We wouldn’t do anything in particular, but I made it through another night. I love her for that. There were, of course, so many more friends and family members who held my hands and encouraged me to live, to be present again. I cannot leave out my mom, who slept in the chair next to me at the hospital when I experienced complications after the surgery to remove Benjamin’s body from my own. Thank you, mom, for crying those tears with me. I am so thankful for every single person who prayed a prayer, who brought me food, who whispered comfort to me, and who came to “sit” with me in my pain. Thank you. I am in my life because of you.  You are indeed the hands and feet of Jesus. May we be that for Jack and Gerri now.

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