JMJ. My dear mother, God rest her soul, passed away this last April 15. It was sudden and unexpected but understood. Mom was not in the best of health. Her daily existence could not have been pleasant. She leaves behind six kids who miss her immensely and 13 grandkids (I believe) who will never understand fully how much she really meant. She left behind, too, a husband, who, though mentally failing, misses her so much.
I was the first of the children, the experiment, I guess. For two young people groping their way through a new life, I think they did a pretty good job. They gave me a deal of intelligence, a questing mind, and a love for the truth though I did not always tell it. I have fond memories of amazing self-sacrifice on their parts. We lacked for no material needs but we did not always have the extras. We were left to our own devices in terms of entertainment. At the end of a long day, there was not a lot of energy left to distract the kids. We entertained ourselves with our imaginations, the bare essentials which God gave us, and all without batteries or electricity.
I must explain the reason why I don't grieve for her. There are general and private revelations. The general ended with the death of the last apostle, St. John. Private revelations continue to the present time. In the 1930's, our Blessed Lord appeared on a number of occasions to a Polish nun by the name of St. Maria Faustina Kowalska. He asked that an image be painted of Him and that a certain set of prayers be prayed to Him at the time of a person's death. In exchange He promised that He would extend the dead person His Divine Mercy--a final opportunity to repent of one's sins.
On the way to Huron, Ohio, after learning of Mom's passing, I prayed those prayers for that Mercy. I'm sure she accepted His offer. Mom was one canny customer and in her own way loved Him very much, I'm sure. She's in a better place now, one where her love and beauty will be appreciated by all the saved, not just her kids and those who loved her so much. Gloria Deo! I love you, Mom.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Memories
JMJ. In a way I wish that I resided outside time as God does. I have so many wonderful memories of my past and I just know that if I tried really hard they would once again be fresh before me. I know intellectually that there are many who grew up in dysfunctional families. Mine was not (to the best of my knowledge.)
I am the oldest of six children, born of Jim and Bonnie Morgan. Dad worked for NASA for so many years, and Mom, who was educated a teacher, raised us by day. Dad early joined, and (I believe) helped form Pack 112 of the Cub Scouts of America. He was an early Pack Leader. Mom was a den leader and devoted a lot of time to our activities. It was she who taught me to drive, Dad being a little too up-tight for such a venture. Mom was always so much more laid-back. She reminds me so much of the Blessed Virgin Mary. I could always go to Dad for whatever I wanted but I knew that I stood a whole lot better chance of getting what I wanted if I went to him through Mom.
My next younger sibling is my brother, Ted, four years younger than I. I vaugely remember holding him as we brought him home from his birth at Lutheran Hospital. I have twin sisters, Lori and Beth, a younger brother, Steve, and a youngest sister, Susan. We don't see each other a whole lot but I know that we are connected in a way that transcends normal channels. We have just lost our Mother and this connects us even more closely.
As busy as Dad was at work, he devoted a lot of time to the Cub Scouts. I have so many happy memories of our newspaper drives and our Halloween candy sales. He taught me woods-craft and to camp out. He taught me so many things, always through a wonderfully wry sense of humour.
Every summer I spent a few weeks with my grandparents in Kalamazoo, Michigan. My fondest memories of those summers were when my next younger brother, Teddy, was old enough to be there, too. We swam in Lake Michigan, ate smoked fish from her waters, and roamed the halls of the Kellogg mansion where Grandma's Red Cross had its headquarters. Mom and Dad had the devotion to give us these memories.
We grew up across the road from a couple (childless) who allowed us to call them by their first names, Al and Caroline. Ours was a neighborhood of diversity unseen by those who call for it now. I grew up next to a family of Canadian Catholics who occasionally took me to Mass. Two doors down there was a family of Japanese-Americans. Mr. Jim served our country during the Second World War. A Nesei Warrior. Miss Alice, his wife, taught me to dance as do the Japanese. I wore a hapi coat and spoke a few Japanese words.
There were two black families on our block in Berea. Down the road there was a whole black neighborhood. Ours was a completely integrated area long before the idea had ever been broached. Long before Martin Luther King, our block had two black families on it and our elementary school was totally integrated. In high school I dated a Jewish girl.
Those halcyon days are long behind me. Polarisation has taken place, the feeble biases of my parents and grandparents have given way to out-right animosity on the parts of so many of my friends and acquaintances. My hope is in the Lord Who alone can unite all of His creatures. I despair of ever seeing that time but I look forward to it. Through Him all things are possible. My hope is in Him.
I am the oldest of six children, born of Jim and Bonnie Morgan. Dad worked for NASA for so many years, and Mom, who was educated a teacher, raised us by day. Dad early joined, and (I believe) helped form Pack 112 of the Cub Scouts of America. He was an early Pack Leader. Mom was a den leader and devoted a lot of time to our activities. It was she who taught me to drive, Dad being a little too up-tight for such a venture. Mom was always so much more laid-back. She reminds me so much of the Blessed Virgin Mary. I could always go to Dad for whatever I wanted but I knew that I stood a whole lot better chance of getting what I wanted if I went to him through Mom.
My next younger sibling is my brother, Ted, four years younger than I. I vaugely remember holding him as we brought him home from his birth at Lutheran Hospital. I have twin sisters, Lori and Beth, a younger brother, Steve, and a youngest sister, Susan. We don't see each other a whole lot but I know that we are connected in a way that transcends normal channels. We have just lost our Mother and this connects us even more closely.
As busy as Dad was at work, he devoted a lot of time to the Cub Scouts. I have so many happy memories of our newspaper drives and our Halloween candy sales. He taught me woods-craft and to camp out. He taught me so many things, always through a wonderfully wry sense of humour.
Every summer I spent a few weeks with my grandparents in Kalamazoo, Michigan. My fondest memories of those summers were when my next younger brother, Teddy, was old enough to be there, too. We swam in Lake Michigan, ate smoked fish from her waters, and roamed the halls of the Kellogg mansion where Grandma's Red Cross had its headquarters. Mom and Dad had the devotion to give us these memories.
We grew up across the road from a couple (childless) who allowed us to call them by their first names, Al and Caroline. Ours was a neighborhood of diversity unseen by those who call for it now. I grew up next to a family of Canadian Catholics who occasionally took me to Mass. Two doors down there was a family of Japanese-Americans. Mr. Jim served our country during the Second World War. A Nesei Warrior. Miss Alice, his wife, taught me to dance as do the Japanese. I wore a hapi coat and spoke a few Japanese words.
There were two black families on our block in Berea. Down the road there was a whole black neighborhood. Ours was a completely integrated area long before the idea had ever been broached. Long before Martin Luther King, our block had two black families on it and our elementary school was totally integrated. In high school I dated a Jewish girl.
Those halcyon days are long behind me. Polarisation has taken place, the feeble biases of my parents and grandparents have given way to out-right animosity on the parts of so many of my friends and acquaintances. My hope is in the Lord Who alone can unite all of His creatures. I despair of ever seeing that time but I look forward to it. Through Him all things are possible. My hope is in Him.
Ashes to Ashes
JMJ. My beloved mother passed away this last Wednesday at the age of 84. She was an amazing woman. I find it hard to grieve for her, though. I have absolute faith in Christ's Divine Mercy as communicated to us through St. Maria Faustina. Soon after learning of her death, I prayed the Chaplet of Divine Mercy. Mom was not a dumb person and in response to our Lord's offer of His Mercy I'm sure she answered with an emphatic "yes!" She resides, I'm sure, beyond a thin veil which separates our life from those who have gone before us. As surely as I write these words I know that she hears me give her my thanks for the life she gave me and the love which saw me through so many dark spots in my life. Through His grace, Mom, one day I hope to greet thee again. I love you now and will always do so. Thank you for everything. Your loving, Jimmy.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Heroes
JMJ. Ed Freeman died in August of 2008 at the age of 80. He leaves behind a legacy that few of these days could emulate. He flew an un-armed Huey helicopter in Viet Nam, and in 1965, at the Battle of the Ia Drang, made 14 landings at LZ X-Ray to remove wounded GI's because medi-vac helicopters had refused to fly into that hell of enemy fire. For this action he was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honour. Our Lord said, "Greater love hath no man than that he lay down his life for a friend." Mr. Freeman certainly didn't even know these men and was fortunately not called to make that supreme sacrifice. All he knew is that they needed him. He was a volunteer.
Nowadays, who could measure themselves against this measure? Precious few, I imagine. My wife, though, is one. She has had MS for over 20 years. Each day she awakens with numb limbs and precious little energy. Despite this she gets herself out of bed. She transfers to her electric wheelchair and goes about her few activities of the day. She transfers to the toilet, she transfers to the bath-tub, and if she has the energy she occasionally prepares our dinner. If the weather is clement she walks our dog, Linus, and plays with our ferrets, Chloe and Casper.
Contrast these daily acts of bravery with those of a president who believes that the unborn have no rights, that those babies born in spite of botched abortions do not deserve life, and who believes that euthanasia is correct. God help this poor country.
Nowadays, who could measure themselves against this measure? Precious few, I imagine. My wife, though, is one. She has had MS for over 20 years. Each day she awakens with numb limbs and precious little energy. Despite this she gets herself out of bed. She transfers to her electric wheelchair and goes about her few activities of the day. She transfers to the toilet, she transfers to the bath-tub, and if she has the energy she occasionally prepares our dinner. If the weather is clement she walks our dog, Linus, and plays with our ferrets, Chloe and Casper.
Contrast these daily acts of bravery with those of a president who believes that the unborn have no rights, that those babies born in spite of botched abortions do not deserve life, and who believes that euthanasia is correct. God help this poor country.
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