Author Archives: mc767b

Music has always been a big part of who I am.

It sparks something inside me that expresses the words I can’t say. It’s been an outlet for my feelings, emotions and creativity.

Music is a form of art. The kind of art that’s weightless and flows like wind through the trees.

The kind of art that makes you feel something, not through your eyes like most art, not visually pleasing, but through your soul, veins and depths of your heart. It allows us to imagine what we want. We see what we want to see. When we hear a song it opens our imagination to what could be seen. Music allows us to be the artist. 

Ever since I was little, I’ve loved music. If I were ever to be found, it would be sitting at the piano or singing in my room. I’ve never learned to play the piano. I’ve always preferred to play by ear or watch youtube tutorials. 

I have this fear that if I really truly learn how to play, it will hinder my instinctive ear for the notes… that’ll I’ll lose my gift for hearing something and being able to feel in my being exactly where they come from without a second thought.

I read something when I was younger about how a piano is like life. The white keys are the good times and the black keys are the bad times, we can stick to just the white keys, but that limits us. Stumps our creativity. If we really want a piece to shine, we need both colored keys to make that happen. The good and the bad times are what makes life one heaven of a piece.

There’s so many different genres of music:

Rap

R&B

Country (my fave)

Classic

Worship music (also my fave)

Pop

Jazz

Reggae

Rock

Just to name a few. 

I’m very persnickety in my music choice… I like things where the instrumental portions make me feel something. When a note is smoothly echoed in the background of a somber song, or when the strum of a guitar is sustained to dig deep into your emotions, or when the keys of a piano are so gently played that it rings a sort of peace through your soul.

I went to a Zac Brown Band concert a few months back and there’s one part in a song that gives me the biggest goosebumps. I can’t explain how beautiful hearing it live was, but if any of you have any interest please listen to “Colder weather” by ZBB and listen from 1:20-1:30 and you’ll hear what I’m talking about. Those notes are some of my favorite notes in musical history. I don’t know why haha, but I love them.

It depends on the song, but often times, I prefer the live versions of a song. It gives a more raw touch to it. It hasn’t been touched up and perfectly put together in a studio. It’s raw and beautiful as is. Sometimes the words or tone they’re being sung in vary on what the artist is feeling that day and I love being able to hear those first hand. 

All in all, I’m very thankful music is an earthly gift we’ve been given.

-Morgan

Before I start, I’m aware that most of my posts have been centered around my family, but right now in life, that’s what seems to take up the majority of my thoughts and feelings, so expressing that here has been so freeing. 

Today is my brother’s birthday, so this topic only felt fitting. 

Family– defined as “a group consisting of parents and children living together in a household.”

That definition in my opinion is trash. I understand what it’s conveying, but those aspects don’t define what a family is. I have a lot of people I would call family and I’m so grateful, but that also doesn’t mean that some weeks the pain of not having a real “family” anymore doesn’t completely suffocate me in it’s clutches. That pain isn’t something I think I’ll ever fully get past. 

I won’t share the gruesome story that went down, but if you’ve read any of my last posts, you know there’s been a lot of hurt, but also a lot of yearning to hold onto any shred of family that’s been left in these small hands. This week in particular has me drowning in my own tears and the sorrows that surround what’s left of the Courtney family. I haven’t spent Christmas with my whole family since I was 13. My siblings haven’t all spoken on good terms in years. We haven’t had a family picture in 8 years. 

Do you ever experience the kind of sadness that physically makes your heart hurt? It stings and feels like a few breaths have been taken from your lungs in a second. It feels like not much in this world could hurt more. That’s what I’ve been feeling all week. I’ve cried in my car almost every day. Like really. Ugly. cried.  I’ve had to leave my desk multiple times just today to wipe my eyes. I’ve let myself though… I’ve let myself feel this pain and embrace it, maybe I’m hoping if it comes in one big wave and I let it hurt, it’ll eventually fade? This’ll be the last breakdown? The last feeling of heartbreak?

Can’t be. 

The lyrics from “In the blood” by John Mayer, sum up a lot for me. 

“How much of my mother has my mother left in me?

How much of my love will be insane to some degree?

And what about this feeling that I’m never good enough?

Will it wash out in the water, or is it always in the blood?

How much of my father am I destined to become?

Will I dim the lights inside me just to satisfy someone?

How much like my brothers, do my brothers wanna be?

Does a broken home become another broken family?

Or will we be there for each other, like nobody ever could?

Will it wash out in the water, or is it always in the blood?”

“Does a broken home become another broken family? Or will we be there for each other like nobody ever could?” Those words in particular get to me. The “we” in that line reminds me of my siblings, but it doesn’t seem like that will be our reality. Some of us are close, but it doesn’t look like all of us will ever be in a room together on good terms again and I wish so much that I could change that. That I could fix everything. But I can’t. And that’s okay?? No. It’s not, but it has to be. I have to be.

I know this is the life God gave me, I’m thankful for it, I really am. I’ve grown and learned so much, and I know I’m growing into the believer that Jesus wants me to be, but, this process, this growing and *letting go* hurts. Those words– letting go. Those words themselves hurt. I don’t like letting go of things. Getting over and moving on has always been a difficult idea for me. But isn’t that the thing about life? It’s not meant to be easy… 

So, in honor of my big brothers golden birthday today that he’s celebrating in North Carolina, here’s a picture of him and I. A picture of when life was a little less big and these ideas of letting go weren’t as heartbreaking. 

-Morgan

The other night I was up writing really late and I kind of felt a wave of sadness sweep over me. I knew I should go to bed, but instead, I pulled out my old memory box. Bad idea… so many tears, happy and sad ones. So, tonight, I decided to pull out the same box and search a bit into its contents. 

I found a few letters from my oldest sister, Shelby. She would always send us notes even when she lived at home, she’d sneak them into the mailbox so we’d have a surprise when we picked up the mail that day. She always called me “baby girl” in them and she still does to this day, and it almost always brings tears to my eyes. She’s my big sister, but has always been more motherly to me than anyone.

I found an empty bath and body works hand sanitizer bottle. It was a gift from a boy I had the biggest crush on in highschool… he had the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen and 17 year old Morgan was in awe of this sweet country boy. Times have changed, and him and I are best friends now. I was actually sitting with him at school just this morning, like we do every Monday and Wednesday. I think keeping that little bottle reminds me of simpler times, when getting a bottle of hand sanitizer from a boy you liked could make you so happy.

I found a birthday card from my dad on my 19th birthday. This was when he and I never talked, never called, texted, nothing. He wrote a small note in the bottom corner that said “my phone works”… that one got me… I’ve always been a pretty sentimental and emotional person, but man, that just got me more than something usually would.

I found a gum wrapper with a scene drawn on the inside by my best friend Hannah. I remember she gave me a piece of gum when we were driving somewhere a few years ago and then decided to draw us in the car on the gum wrapper, I didn’t even realize I had it, but I’m glad I came across it tonight of all nights. I had been feeling a little sad about our friendship… but, finding that little wrapper tonight reminded me that we’ll always have each other, even when life gets busy and sad. 

The last time I saw my mother was fifteen years ago… everything suddenly turned hazy and I can hardly hear the words of the doctor. “Mrs. Cooper, do you understand? Your mo-” I trail off and a million memories flash through my head, I get taken back to the day she brought home my favorite barbie doll and I remember it like it was yesterday.

The house was perfectly clean as she walked in the door after having been gone for hours. “I brought you something sweetie!” my eyes widened as I saw the beautiful doll in her pink box. She had long strawberry blonde hair and a magnetic pregnant belly that attached, she was a mama just like my own. I remember how I misbehaved that day, which was a pretty regular occurrence actually. She told me I could have the pretty doll after I deemed myself worthy of such a gift by behaving for a good few days straight. That sounded like torture to me. After a few days of obeying and dressing myself up in my best attitude, the doll was placed in my possession. She wore a pink dress with green leaves and red roses on it. I remember mom surprised me with a Ken hubby for mama barbie as well. My small self was more than thrilled to have a pretend family of MY own.  

Mom was always bringing us home little gifts, I think I’m most like her in that way. We both feed off of doing kind things for others, maybe it makes us feel useful, or like we can be a small cause for someone else’s joy. Mom and I were two peas in a pod when I was little, I was just like her in looks and character and I was always told that I was “beautiful just like your mama” I don’t see that in me anymore, but I know it’s there. 

As I grew older, mom and I grew apart. I remember the day I moved out like it was yesterday. By this time it was just my sister, mom and I living in our tiny town. My three other siblings had gotten married and moved away and my dad was out of the picture. I had sorted, tossed, packed and given away many things over the weeks prior to moving and when the day came to go, I packed my eight boxes away in my car and headed out without much sentiment between any of us. I don’t think my mom cried. I think my sister was more distraught than mom was to see me go. My sister later went through the biggest rebellious phase our family had seen and dove off the deep-end of depression. I still blame myself. I was the one that left her after all. Who was she going to go to with her problems now that I was gone? Mom? I think she would have sooner died. 

After that, talking to my mother was a rarity and I soon forgot what it was like to even have a mother. The day I got married was probably the hardest. Everyone was always asking “how’s your mom?” “Is your mom doing well?’ “Where is your mom today?” The questions didn’t stop and I honestly just wished I knew the answers. 

Flash forward another 7 years and here I am, I was sitting in my living room this morning with my 3 girls running around playing dress-up, while my youngest, Claire was clenching the same red headed barbie that was given to me when I was young. I had kept it all these years. Maybe I wanted to remember that day or have something that my mother had once held, to feel connected to her someway still.

It was peaceful and cool outside, but I had a strange feeling today wasn’t going to be as peaceful as it felt… I’ve always had a crazy good intuition, maybe I got that from her too. However, this time I played it off as just being paranoid. We were having a great day and the girls’ dad was headed home soon and we were planning on having a family night and “sleepdown”– a tradition taken from when I was little where my siblings, mom, dad and I would take dozens of pillows and blankets and pile them in the living room and watch movies, eat pizza and sleep there. 

It was exactly 5:24 when my phone rang… “Is this Meg Cooper” a distressed, but calm voice said. “Yes it is…” I replied. “Mrs. cooper, you’re going to want to get down to St. Mary’s hospital as soon as possible…. It’s about your mother.”

My husband and I piled the girls in the car and arrived at the hospital 20 minutes after the call. When we arrived I saw my sister on her knees with her head in her hands sobbing while her husband tried to console her. A Doctor approached me and asked if I was Meg, I replied “yes” and he began to tell me how my mother, the woman I was likened to my whole life, was in an accident and didn’t make it. I felt a sheet of something sweep over me…I couldn’t even react… I felt like a stone wall. Still. Silent. The Doctors didn’t seem to think I grasped what they had just told me. “Mrs. Cooper, do you understand? Your mother is gone…” I drifted off into those memories and as I came back to reality, my eyes stung and felt hot as tears welled up. I hadn’t seen her in fifteen years… did she still have her curly brown hair? Were her eyes as blue as mine and her nose as small as I remembered? Did she smell the same and wear the same soft sweater she used to love? Were her hands as small and gentle as I remember them being when she would wipe away my tears? Did her laugh sound like mine? Did she still love to sing? Was ice cream still her favorite dessert and did she still love pineapple on her pizza? I guess those were all things I thought I’d find out one day, but now…

I’ll

never

know.

I sit and close my eyes while a thousand pictures flutter through my mind. I see my sisters, my brothers, our old rooms, the TV in the living room, the couch, then the kitchen. I see my sister Michelle’s face and mine smiling side by side at our great accomplishment of pushing our twin beds together to make one big one. A thousand more images flash, all somewhat significant, but for some reason the image that keeps coming back is empty. Not empty in that it’s a blank screen, but it has no liveliness to it. This image I see, is of the outside of my childhood home. 

We had a beautiful white house with red shutters, a wrap around porch, some big, tall trees in the yard, a raggedy old swing set, a peony bush, a lilac bush, a white clothes line, and the place that takes up most of this image– the big square sidewalk that we used to draw on with chalk. The picture is warm and feels like comfort. The sun is bright and orange, the grass mowed, the sidewalk swept and the day cool. Autumn? Is that what season it is? Maybe it’s around 5 in the afternoon. Dad probably isn’t home and my siblings are probably inside. Maybe my oldest sister, Shelby is making dinner while mom naps. Michelle and Luke are probably playing G.I. Joes, and the cat “Newman” whom I named after the famous NASCAR driver, good ol #12, Ryan Newman, was probably sleeping under the red stool in the living room…. But, why, why am I outside alone in this image? I’m not seen in this image, because, well, it’s from my perspective, but I feel that I’m standing there…alone. 

I think the reason for this image is that I’ve been missing home a lot lately. Not the scary horrible things that went on, but actual home. When my siblings and I were just a room away from each other. When there was always going to be a home cooked meal and a few hugs. 

Guys… we take life too fast. We rush and rush through things to get to the next best things, but you know what? The best things… are right now. What I wouldn’t give to go back to that childhood home for just a moment, on one of our “good days” and watch my siblings all play and dance and get along. Maybe I could see that sweet old cat again, hug my younger self and tell her to try and enjoy the time with her siblings, because one day, she’s going to want to go back.

Now, if you read my previous post you’re probably wondering “why the heck would she want to go back if her parents were as bad as she said??” but is it possible… to be so hurt by something and still miss it? Still miss the sound of my mom’s voice, the way she’d laugh, even though I hear it in my own laugh on a daily basis, or the way she’d read us stories at night? Still miss the way my dad would toss us into the air so we could feel those knots in our tummies, only to fall back into his arms again? Still miss the mornings he’d make us his best “steak n eggs” breakfast? Call me crazy, but gosh I miss it. Don’t get me wrong, life was awful for the most part, but I’ve always been one to hold onto the good moments in life and I think that’s what I’ve done here.

So, let’s talk about why in this image I have, this little girl (me) is standing outside alone. Well…..first off, I’m not. I think young Morgan is inside running around in her pale pink velvet leotard she wore like her own skin, I think she’s helping her sister make dinner, chasing the cat and pestering Luke and Michelle who just wanted to blow up the enemies camp before supper was ready. I think 21 year old Morgan is the one standing outside. Looking in, trying to get just one more glance at this place…. This place called home. 

Now, this image I placed below isn’t quite the same as it once was. The old swing set and clothes line have since been torn down, the black railing has been replaced by a new white one, the sidewalk isn’t swept and it doesn’t feel as welcoming, but I did get it to embrace the exact angle of my perception. I also edited it to feel as close to as warm as I imagined. So,  I hope you enjoy this little image of my old home.

-Morgan

” Hate looks ugly on any and everyone. “

A letter to John and Jane.

I’d like to start by telling you both what horrible, worthless pieces of absolute trash you are. You are:

Selfish

Manipulative

Controlling

Abusive

Hateful

Prejudice

Uptight

Unloving

Belittling

Inconsiderate

Callous

Cynical

And…

My biggest heartbreak.

You destroyed my life, made everyday feel like I was grasping for breath when all I wanted to do was let go. You shattered the life I could’ve had. John, you ripped every shred of joy from my hands, bruised my body and heart, left me in a hole of anxiety and depression and went on to make yourself the best life possible while leaving me to drown in the mess you made. How can you live with yourself?!?!? How can a man like you live on knowing the damage you caused?

Jane, you play every victim card in the book, while being the biggest hypocrite I’ve ever met. You may have had a rough life growing up, but it gives you no excuse to ruin someone else’s.

I hope you both know that no matter what you do, you’ll never be able to outrun the things you’ve done. Never be able to rewind and fix things. Never change the view I have of you. Because when I see you, I see the reason for the hell I lived through.

-Morgan

A letter to dad and mom.

Dad and Mom,

I’m writing this to let you know how the things you did impacted me.

You were both the class A example of an abusive marriage. The reason for so many deep rooted issues in your kids’ lives and the reason I doubt myself everyday. Never once did you take us seriously. Never once did you actually care. Never once did you make us feel like the lives we were living were worth it. However… that’s all over and done with now. Dad, you moved states away and are living your best life. Mom, you’re living in a house hours away alone. You’re so alone in life, just like we were when we were young. I think the worst part about everything you guys did… is that no matter how hard I try not to, I always end up feeling bad for you. I end up wanting you both to be happy. Dad, right now I have more of a relationship with you than I do mom and I think that’s because I’m grasping, trying desperately to hold onto any shred of a “father” that I can. I just want to be like the families I see in my friends’ lives. I don’t want to be alone on holidays. I don’t want to walk down the aisle alone one day. I don’t want this “family”. 

I struggle with those feelings on an almost daily basis, but you know what? I. am. Okay. I’m doing so great, I’m living MY best life right now! I have so many people that have become a rock in my life and “families” that I’ve been so blessed to be apart of. I have Jesus, who I’ve learned is the greatest Father I’ll ever need and who I know I’m loved by more than any earthly parents ever could love me. So, I want you to know, It’s okay. Don’t get me wrong, you’re still horrible people. like. really. horrible, but I’ve forgiven you and I want you to know that. I want the burden, if there is even any burden of guilt, to be slightly relieved. I want you both to live happy lives, because the thought of hating everyday is all too familiar and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. One last thing… please, please don’t hate yourselves. Hate looks ugly on any and everyone. It  drags you down and destroys more lives than your own. Love people with the time you have left on this earth. If you couldn’t love us, it doesn’t mean you can’t love others, so please, just love.

Love,

Morgan

This is an example post, originally published as part of Blogging University. Enroll in one of our ten programs, and start your blog right.

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