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Never Forgotten, Always Loved This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

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I walked into history with a bounce in my step for it was the day before Thanksgiving break, and half-days were the quintessence of excitement for high school students—at least, for me. Truthfully, though my memory might serve me wrong, it was a rather dreary day, but the weather did nothing to suppress my anticipation for the holidays, which was heightened even more so when I discovered a substitute sitting behind the desk instead of my normal teacher. My long-time friend Ciarra walked in and sat in front of me, talking about something that frankly I don’t entirely recall. We were both in good spirits when another girl, my friend Alyssa, walked into the classroom.

“Did you hear the bad news?”

That gave me pause—I looked at her oddly. “What?”

She spoke, and a buzzing filled my ears, my thoughts clouding over like murky water, for she could not possibly have said what I heard. Moments later, I was running to the guidance counselor in tears, her words repeating over and over in my head.

“…Morgan? She hung herself.”

I barely remember the rest of that day, except that it was filled with sobs and hugs from everyone that knew about the news.

Morgan was three years older than me and had been a senior in the flute section when I was a mere rookie freshman—however, I had met her when I was in 8th grade during the annual Middle School Night Football Game. Her red hair and eyeliner had put me off a bit at first, but she brushed aside those original impressions, telling me to “look for the football player that had the cutest butt.” It was absolutely freezing that night, but I enjoyed it thoroughly—mostly because of Morgan. She was probably the only person who did not treat me as just an 8th grader, rather as an equal. She was the one who ignored the game itself and spent her time talking to me and others around her, the one who joked around with my older friends Hannah and Amy, the one who always knew when it was time to “retreat inside the glove.”

The most memorable experience of the night was when she asked me who “that kid in your grade with the earring” was, pointing him out for me.

“Oh,” I replied. “That’s Nigel.”

Without pause, she said excitedly, “OH MY GOSH, LIKE NIGEL THORNBERRY?”

I laughed and said yes, and from that moment on, every time I saw her, she’d come up and whisper, “Kristen. It’s Nigel.”

But now she’s gone.

Suicide. It’s not something that you think about daily. Sure, I had heard about students who had committed suicide—students who I had not known or met. I had always been sad for their families and friends who had to deal with the death of a loved one—but it never occurred that one of my friends might decide to end her life.

Especially not Morgan, one of the most upbeat, crazy individuals I had ever met.

She had once made a bet with Amy, another friend, who was a year older than me. The terms? If Eric asked Morgan out by a certain point in time, then Amy got to dress Morgan up in clothes that Amy would normally wear… but Morgan would never touch. If he didn’t, Morgan got to dress Amy up in clothes that Morgan would normally wear… but Amy would never even think of wearing. They were practically opposites in dress, so the outcome was sure to be interesting.

Morgan was so confident that she would win.

“When I win, I’m going to take you into the back of the store and make you touch all the icky black stuff back there,” she declared wickedly. It made me laugh, and Amy went on about how she would dress Morgan in stuff from Aeropostale and Hollister.

Then there was the other time when Morgan had dressed up for a picture that she would be entering in the art show—as a gypsy. She jingled when she walked, and when she was done, she was attempting to creep back to her first chair position in the band room, going slowly to minimize the jingle. Our band director just paused rehearsal, looked at her as she stopped for a moment, and said, “Oh, just sit down, they’ve all seen you already.” And with a somewhat-sheepish expression, she hurried and sat down.

But now she’s gone.

Her last facebook status read, “Dreams do not come true, and love doesn’t exist.”

I beg to differ.

When I went to the viewing the other day, the line of loved ones and friends that came to see her was out the door.

Everyone said tearfully that she looked gorgeous, when she was living… and now.

A group was started on Facebook. “RIP Morgan.” The membership is over 500 people.

Another one—“Friends Against Suicide,” started by a friend of Morgan’s.

So many people loved her, cared about her, thought she was absolutely amazing. Why couldn’t she see it?

There will never be answers, as much as we want them. We can only forgive her and hope that she found what she was looking for that she couldn’t find here.

I miss and love you, Morgan, and your best friends, regular friends, and family members do too.

Dreams do come true…
Love does exist…

The memory of this amazing, talented, and beautiful young woman will remain in people’s hearts forever… never forgotten, and always loved.





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