The Jet trails arriving in Colorado

I woke up and remember lying in bed, lying and praying. I could not convince myself to get out of bed, but I was giving it my best try.  Family and friends had arrived yesterday and more would surround us today.

It had snowed last night and it was completely quiet and white outside.  Steve had been given a task by detective Glassmire before he left yesterday, and he was already up and working at it.  I listened to him type and sob, and type and sob. Then I would sob, and tell him to stop it.  Then he would sob and apologize for it.  I wondered if this is what our life has become, either way I was having great problems accepting it.

Steve reminded me that Morgan’s Godfather was coming in this morning and we would be off to the airport soon to meet him.  He wanted to finish the request from detective Glassmire first.

Like many other seemingly simple questions at the beginning became.  This “simple request” would become greatly problematic.  The Deputy Coroner wanted from Steve an email as to any medical type things that Morgan had that they should “look for at autopsy”, it was “anything no matter how minor”.  He didn’t have to do it until Monday, but he wanted to just get it off as soon as he could.

In reality Morgan’s autopsy has already been completed and they are asking an artist for any medical opinions as to his daughters medical conditions which is, of course ridiculous, but it is what they do with the email.  Steve sends them what is the most unbelievable thing.  My advice to anyone in this situation, direct the Coroner to your doctor and stay away.  But not knowing any of this Steve types a short, one page email about things he worried about in Morgan’s life.  I was trusting Steve with this email, like I was trusting the doctor who had our daughters body in his care.

I was up and certain that if I pushed forward hard enough I would get through this.  I wandered out from the room and arrivals from last night had the house in complete control.  I had coffee and cried, because as bustling as the house was it was just a little too quiet.  Flowers and cards lined the bar top and for a moment I wanted to gather them all up and deposit them in the garage.  Instead I began to read them,  Even on the first day there were so many squarely behind Morgan and us, and they promised to be forever.

Steve came out and said he was done, leaving for the airport shortly and wanted me to go with him.  I was voted down and stayed home while Steve went with our older daughter.  It was a different world that day, hard to really explain to anyone just what it was like.  So many thoughts, questions, unknowns, it would be days before my compass got even close to the right direction for me.  Our sister-in-law and our oldest daughter were answering the front door and receiving such wonderful gifts of food from our neighbors – they were all so sad and wanted to help.

As more and more arrived it seemed at first like old times, the stories, the wonder, and the memories.  But then it wasn’t old times at all, it was new times, the horribly sad new times where family and old friends share death.

Morgan’s stalker was hardly mentioned at all when he should have been talked about copiously.  He was still lurking in the shadows of this which he had wrought, and even though we knew his name well – it was not mentioned at all.  Morgan was all that was on every mind there and she was the driving force for the unabated outpouring of love and wishes, and I think that is really how it should have been right then.  There would be plenty of time for the stalker later, after all, it was still a mystery according to law enforcement.

Morgan’s bedroom door still had its piece of police crime scene tape on it and I called the detectives about it.  At first we were told if we could leave it for two weeks that would be good, but now if we needed to go in we could. That day I did not, Steve wanted me to spend a day without thinking of her room and I did.  With everything that was going on I had little time to wonder, what it would look like after an investigation, what it would feel like knowing she was gone.  The kitchen had become the center of the world and for the next day I spent as much time right there as I could.

There was so much love, so much friendship, so much hugging and remembering.  Her friends came, our friends came.  So many came to help us fill an impossible void in our life – that void is still ever so tender, but I will always remember the endless efforts to try and soften the blow amid the endless arrivals and departures of Morgan’s dear sweet friends.

A very close friend of mine bustled in after noon and dragged me to a quiet corner, her words registered, but not fully, and certainly not right away.  She had just gotten off the phone with another of her friends and drove straight to our house to tell me herself.  I thought I realized the importance, but until I told Steve I guess I had not.

This friend of hers had listened to her voice message machine from someone on our street the day before.  The message started about their business meeting needing to be cancelled for the day, and then very excitedly moved to the reason.  He said there was crime scene tape around his neighbors house, the girl living in the house was being stalked, and he had to stay because of the situation.  But he knew who they thought the stalker was, and who he really was.

Steve was wide eyed as I told him, Morgan was dead, but at least ending the stalkers unimpeded rein was a start.  Detective Rob was contacted immediately.  And for the moment we kept the recent revelation to ourselves.  There were far more important tasks for Morgan.  Her viewing, her cremation (I had to remember to ask the Detective if we should do that or not in this case), and then her memorial, that alone would consume the next few days.

Steve had turned off all surveillance of the house after Morgan’s death because, as he put it, there is no more Morgan so there will be no more stalker,  But now he had a different feeling and turned it all back on.  Our visitors all had there own theories of what had happened and how to get to the bottom of it.  So in the middle of preparations for a memorial for my little angel there was also our own version of the first 48 hours taking place.

Morgan was so very special and also so very loved, she would not be taken from us without answers.  And we were still all patiently, silently, all awaiting answers.

Further following up on Friday’s post here is another link to a story on the two young boys who died, and shared the same pathologist as Morgan did.

 More on the Jensen Boys 

There are some statements from Dr. Kurtzman that ring from Morgan’s investigation and the continual assurances that any new evidence would be taken seriously that really troubles me.  The shortcomings of Morgan’s investigation, and the Pathologist being repeated would become very troublesome.