Morgan’s happy walls…all 4 walls were full of lots of color, and wonderful memories 

Packing away Morgan’s belongings began last night, and today I continued.  Her lifetime of memories and prized possessions, along with most all of the necessities for her life right here in one room, just missing one important piece – Morgan.  Morgan’s walls were her “happy walls”, covered with pictures and cards, and every image of things she had cherished in her life.  Each and every one with a story of its own, dress up day at grade school, a hike with friends, miniature golf with dad, or a real pirate ship with mom and dad catching the sunset, even if it was on a lake.  Her paintings, a string of Christmas lights with a cartoon character for each light, postcards, inspirational photos and sayings – so, so many memories of happy times for Morgan.

Today I started to pick the pieces of her enormous collage off the walls.  One memory after the other – and so many that we had shared together.  At first a tear came with each, then it was sobs.  How could this have happened!  I demanded from the empty room.  Why was Morgan taken from us?  I ached for an answer, and would call Steve to share how I felt, wondering if there was any way to speed up the process.  Even though I knew the answer already, we had been told it would be weeks before the last results would come in.

We were also told by the detectives that the Forensic Pathologist was really good, very thorough.  He would have answers, and I trusted every assurance I had been given.  It’s really quite impossible to think your youngest baby has been trusted to the hands of anyone, but the best.  So I filled my waiting with sharing the memories she chose to find as happy ones with every piece I removed from her wall.  After all the close moments Morgan and I had together here was quite a different moment.  Putting anything into a proper perspective was so impossible.

Steve joined me at some time and we worked independently but together and shared in the grief.  I am not sure if it was then or at some moment in the near future that we resolved to move as soon as we could.  Morgan never bursting into the house with her latest excitement was indelibly etched into the front door of this house, and walking past it knowing that would never again happen was so terribly difficult.

After a few days now of sorting her room it still had not yet begun to show any signs of being emptied, but the stack of boxes in the entry sure grew.  We had to go really slow and inspect everything.  Then we had decided there was no sense putting them anywhere else, because soon they would be packed onto a moving van.  Over the following weeks our house became boxes destined for another place, and I found some comfort in that.

Steve and I were so very grateful for the years we had Morgan in our lives and for this entire nightmare to become part of our past could not happen soon enough.

We were told that for the stalker, or the responsible party in the invasion of Morgan’s privacy, or whoever he, she or they were there would be an urge to return at some point soon after her death, and that urge may be strong.  We should be alert for the possibility.  But we were no longer wanting to be hyper-vigilant any longer, now we were just numb.   We listened to advice like this, but found it very difficult to maintain anything close to the same vigilance we had when Morgan was still alive.

Other’s were helping us by watching the neighborhood for this sort of possibility, and they did see some curious events.  But, as with Morgan’s stalking it was more a glimpse of uncertainty instead of staring right at an answer.

The truth never changes, and it was my firm belief in that fact that helped us through this time.  There was a truth out there, and while it might not come as soon as I wished, it would eventually arrive and it would not change – the truth is always the truth no matter how much others might want it to go away.  It would always remain there, waiting to be fully exposed.

I remember sometime during the packing up of Morgan’s room I began to think of the things that were not being done.  Like no one was calling me for a list of Morgan’s doctors, especially the specialists she had seen.  They held such knowledge of Morgan.  The question grew until I called the detectives to ask if I should put together a contact list for someone.  But I was assured that as far as they knew they already had everything they needed.  I remember wondering how, but not asking why.

Life was a delicate balance then, engaging enough to keep moving, but not too much.  Too much seemed to bring a wave of realization and instant sorrow.  I felt guilty at times, feeling that Morgan had been the one who suffered and paid the ultimate price, not me.  Allowing myself to grieve was at times unstoppable, and at other times an incredibly difficult challenge.

As Steve and I made headway in her room there had been no further questionable discoveries.  In the first days there had been quite a few, but now as we dug deeper into drawers and corners of closets there were only Morgan’s things as they had been.

Besides that which we had found had not generated much, but we were used to that.  Investigations seen on TV, with teams spending entire days searching was obviously just a fantasy because compared with the real life we had come to expect nothing even remotely close to that was happening.  As far as law enforcement and the Coroner’s office went, Morgan was only allowed so much time, and it certainly had not increased with her death.

It seemed as if all were waiting for the, “Tox report.”  So naturally I worried, what if there was nothing found?  Would they have to go back and start over?  But by then we had cleared a good percentage of her room, and packed it all away.  The detectives had assured me it was fine, and it was so hard to know I was doing the right thing no matter what I did.

Steve had a plan that at the time seemed so perfect.  He had a banker box marked evidence and a box of baggies.  Every time we would find a memory chip, jump drive, roll of film, and anything else that we surmised could be evidence someday, not even knowing if a crime had been committed, it would be placed in a baggie and marked with a sharpie as to where it was found.

At least this way if Morgan’s death turned out to be nefarious, all would not be lost.  And for the next week it seemed that all possibilities were still in play.

Morgan relaxing in her car, enjoying the view

Morgan was scheduled to sign up for courses to become a certified yoga instructor today, over the past few days her little friends had missed their babysitter. Instead she was being made up for a viewing for all of the family and friends that had not seen her in a while and wanted a last chance.  I didn’t like the idea – I knew it was just the body she had once inhabited and now her soul was no longer in it – but I agreed and now here we were.

Detective Rob had assured us that it was perfectly fine to have her cremated as they had gotten everything they needed already from her autopsy.  Detective Megan had made sure that all of her electronics containing pictures were returned for there use in the Memorial that we would have tomorrow.

We had the OK to go back into her room and had so far only gone in to check on her cat.  We had gone through the cameras quickly to see if there was any very obvious event to be reported immediately, but there was not.  It was just too painful to watch them, so it was very cursory at best.

Steve and I were really uncertain about how the investigation would go forward at this point.  We were confident there would be one, and it was hard to imagine remaining calm and detached for the next few weeks until the results of the autopsy were back, but so far we had.  Stopping the tears was another thing altogether – we couldn’t stop the tears, and neither could others that were with us at all times.

That night at the viewing it all changed as my sister noticed something that nobody else had so far…Morgan’s nails.  It’s strange how things happen – I didn’t want the viewing, but had agreed, and now this happened.  Morgan had a French manicure done the day before she was killed, and her nails had been perfect.  Steve talked to her the night before we found her, and was quite sure they were still perfect.  Now they we far from perfect, three nails on her right hand (and yes, Morgan was right handed) looked like the tips of her nails were either cut or torn off on an angle.  It caused a minor commotion, and looking back now I guess that is part of dealing with death, you really don’t want to look hard, but you have to.

This seemed at the time like a simple question to answer…maybe the Forensic Pathologist cut them for evidence.  Look at pictures of her nails at the house and at the morgue and this discovery could be something to follow up on or be dismissed.  Well one year, one month and a few days later we still have no answer.  The Forensic Pathologist told me over the phone that he did not cut her nails.  And I have asked many times for the pictures that will show what condition they were in at what time.  The pictures just have never been produced.  Now that we are scheduling a complete review of her death we will have to have them, and at least that question can be put to rest.

Someone brought up with Detectives Rob and Megan the thought that K might show up at the memorial.  It has happened in some cases, they were aware of it, and promised to be on extra alert should that happen.  Two of our friends with concealed carry permits were also animate that they be “prepared too”.  I didn’t want to think that we needed armed guards for my daughter’s memorial service, and I avoided the thought completely.  If he did come by I never heard about it.

In another twist of fate, which has come to be expected in Morgan’s case, her memorial was held at the same place where K attended grade school.  Former classmates, and teachers all remembered him well.  Not for being “squeaky clean” as his “manager” at City Market told the detective, but for his behavioral issues, his violence, and bullying, and what was described as “a strange creepiness”.  It seems that even way back then K was establishing a reputation.

The ceremony was a fitting glimpse into the life of Morgan.  Steve and I were obviously far into uncharted territory, and we were doing our very best in our own way to survive this, learning things we so dearly wish we never had to.  And all these lessons we continue to learn over a year later.  We knew Morgan would be so sorely missed, just how much we hadn’t even begun to realize back then.  It would be months, many months before we realized just how much it would take to even have a hope of moving on with our lives.

By now I had decided that I could absolutely not stay in the house any longer, and moving to the one we had selected when Morgan was alive with a stalker was also out.  The front door had become my enemy, a portal through which Morgan should step through beaming her Morgan smile at any time, but never would again.  Steve and I discussed the crime scene aspect with Detective Rob and Megan, Steve was willing to keep the house for as long as was necessary, but we were going to move as soon as that could be done.  Detective Rob said if we could move tomorrow it would be fine with him, and that was reassuring.

Something of unspeakable horror had happened at the house.  Being away from that place was important, and finding out what did really happen was also very important.  Our first order of business then became finding our next stop in life.  And knowing that was the plan gave me the strength to venture into Morgan’s room with a mind toward packing it all up.  It was a very tough venture that first time, and I can’t say it ever became any easier.  Even empty, and stripped to the bare walls I could imagine her in that room dancing, singing, cleaning, decorating, rearranging, and every other little Morgan thing she did.  And the worse part was trying to not allow my mind to think of what happened to her that last night of her life.

Today is January 22, 2013, and my mantra has become truth – why can’t people tell the truth?  Why is it in such short supply these days?  I know if they don’t tell the truth it will eat at them for the rest of their lives.  I know – I remember a case a long time ago when someone was on their deathbed, and confessed to a crime that had not been solved for a long time,  he said he would not die with it on his conscience, and when he did confess the truth the others involved were both arrested.  The sad thing in that case is there were others that knew different pieces of the truth, but kept it to themselves all those years – why?  I have just finished a list of letters I must write, letters to remind people of the truth – especially for those who might have lost their way, and are just in need of a little reminder.  It does not consume me as it has in the past, but Morgan is with me every day going forward – and for that I am so grateful.