Lindsey's Light

Today I received the following email from a friend of Lindsey's. I asked her if she would allow me to post on Lindsey's blog. She approved. I hope you enjoy this as much as I did. I was deeply touched.
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Sandy,

At Central Methodist, we have a magazine of the arts entitled Inscape. I found out last night I received the Thomas F. Dillingham Award for Non-fiction Prose. The reason I'm telling you this is because it's about Lindsey, and I wanted you to read it. Don't get me wrong, I feel honored for winning, but I didn't write to win for me. It's for her. So here it is.

Lindsey’s Light

Focus on that cross up there. “…and she was a beautiful young woman…” You’re stronger than this. “…her smile lit up a room…” Do. Not. Cry. Do. Not. Cry. “…she loved it when she used to visit camp…”

I lost it.

My attempt to maintain the typical stoic face I have when tragedy strikes failed miserably. Chaos filled my body, but I remained stable for my grief-stricken friends who surrounded me. Instead, I stared down at my shiny, black dress shoes.

Saturdays aren’t meant for wearing church clothes.

Drops of salty water burned as they streamed down my face and formed a puddle on my shaking hands. The pounding sound clogging my ears was not from my knees bouncing on the pews. But rather it was my throbbing heart, beating faster than a wolf’s when inches from its prey. The preacher’s words haunted my thoughts as they echoed throughout my brain… “She WAS…her smile LIT…she USED to visit…” Why did he keep using the past tense?

Lindsey Marie Morris. She was 25 years old. Stubborn and clever, Morris never looked like she’d lose a battle. Optimism sprouted from her inner core, and her face always had a smile. She didn’t frown often—only when the “damn Chiefs” would lose or a restaurant didn’t offer ice cream, her favorite food group.

She didn’t frown when the doctors told her she had a brain tumor at 13. Instead, she put her faith in God and encouraged others to do the same.

She didn’t frown when, after ten years of remission, doctors again told her she had a brain tumor.

She didn’t frown at her wedding, which was moved up several months because of her health, even though she knew her marriage to Greg, the love of her life, would be much shorter than she wanted or anticipated.

She didn’t frown when she organized and packed all of the supplies for her future classroom and later donated everything to a new teacher.

When she was still able to write in her own blog, she didn’t frown when she wrote, “Greg and I were supposed to have four kids, buy a house close to my parents, and grow old together.” Instead, she thanked God for answering so many of her prayers.

She didn’t frown when she came to camp for one evening last summer, knowing it would be her last visit.

She didn’t frown when she could no longer speak, especially to her family and close friends.

She didn’t frown when I fumbled with my words and barely hugged her on that stifling morning in late August, the last time I saw her living.

My eyes shift from the computer screen to a glowing picture on my left. The frown covering my face changes into a smile. She IS a beautiful woman. Her smile LIGHTS up my dorm room. She WILL BE VISITING camp this summer because she will be in my thoughts and heart.

A picture of Lindsey resides on my desk and allows me to never wonder if I imagined that grin.

My life is brighter because of the light of her smile.


It was nice to see the blog updated yesterday. I'd been checking everyday since last winter, so it became a habit. The past couple months I kept checking and hoping there would be a new post. I can't believe it's coincidence that I get the award the same day you update. Something little, but still makes me happy.

God Bless,

Brittanee