Nows and Forevers

Melissa A. Morris
Dec. 21, 1958 – June 30, 2022

An angel was born Dec. 21, 1958. Her name was Melissa Anne Morris.

It’s fitting Melissa was born on the shortest day and longest night of the year, for the warmth and light that she brought to life was an extraordinary present to everyone who ever knew her. That was one of Melissa’s many gifts.

She had so many gifts.

To know Melissa was to encounter a human being who was a blessing and a force for good in this world, alive and lovely, a rare and wondrous soul. Missy was so much: intelligent and passionate, courageous and graceful, humble and genuine. I know this. I was first her friend, and then her husband.

Melissa excelled in every role she inhabited, and there were many: first child, daughter, big sister, student, teacher, wife, mother, friend, Christian, hostess, journalist, editor, storyteller, writer. Watching her in the world was a constant display of selfless love and bringing out the best in everyone. Melissa approached every encounter with servant leadership, a chance to leave the other person either a little or a lot better, no matter how short a time. She opened her heart and her home, whether that was in Maine or in the Hudson Valley in New York where she grew up and spent the last years of her life, and made visitors feel welcome.

Melissa brought love, wherever she went.

I saw it so many times, how pure and loving she was to friends, family and strangers alike. She shared coffee, her table, her food, and fellowship. And if you were fortunate enough for Melissa to love you, it was the best present you could ever receive.

She had the most caring eyes, bright and expressive and soulful, and they took in all of you and provided comfort and affection. She had the deepest concern about people. She knew what to say and do in the happiest moments, in the saddest moments, and in every time in between. Her smile made your heart leap, her laugh was joy, and just sound of her voice was comfort.

Melissa blended optimism and realism. She bravely met every challenge – and there were many, her life was far from smooth – with an upbeat and realistic attitude, steadfast as a mother and as a human being. She advocated for her kids, made hard decisions, and faced the big obstacles and crises that would break many others. Melissa often was forced to face those challenges alone. But it didn’t stop her from doing what she knew was best, no matter what the cost.

It takes fortitude to be so brave, over and over, with a hopeful heart and a resolute will. And she never lost sight of what was best for her children, and put them ahead of herself. Her strength, her willingness to stay the course and to do the difficult things, they were even more reasons to love her. She was so wise.

Missy was a loving and dedicated mother, and her dedication to her kids and her extended family was boundless. She gave all, never lost hope, never lost sight of the miracle of life and her responsibility, nor the appreciation of her children. Her kids made her happy, and the smile and light in her eyes when she talked about them or saw them was infectious. Motherhood was one of the many things that she was born to do so well.

Her love of family, both the one she came from and the one she made, was evident. She loved spending time with her kids, her siblings, her mother, her large extended family. She was playful and so fun, so matched and tuned to those around her. The light in her eyes, and all over her face, the way she spoke and the way she talked with her hands, were infectious.

She cooked for family and friends, and even acquaintances, welcomed them into her home, and fed them soup and fostered great conversation. Her home was filled with pictures of family and happy memories of her loved ones.

Melissa’s beliefs as a Christian radiated from her. She was a true woman of faith. She absorbed the Gospel and the example of Jesus and her love of God, and translated it into love here on Earth. There was nothing fake or judgmental about her. And she always strived for more, whether it was studying the Bible, prayer and reflection, or being deeply involved in her church and community.

Living gracefully, humbly, with intent

She was a continual source of energy and cheer, and amazingly present. She was humbly driven to be the best in everything. Melissa was dedicated to her family, her faith, her professions, and to whatever else she set her mind to. She found the time to do everything, whether it was to cook for family and friends, to reach out to her friends and acquaintances, to have a kind word and spend time with someone who needed it. She was often on the telephone.

Missy was a wonderful cook and a generous one. She would bring food to the lonely and to coworkers, try new recipes with aplomb, creatively come up with tasty dishes. Her soups were legendary. She would bake these special fruity “magic” muffins of her own devising that were low fat and low calorie but tasted divine.

There was so much magic in Missy.

She inspired. There isn’t any other way to put it. She believed in the inherent good of people, the wonder and promise of children. She lived her ideals. Missy’s belief in your ability to be extraordinary, too, was inspiring and heaven sent.

She had trained as a teacher and been one for years, extraordinary and energetic, at home in a classroom. She understood how kids learned and she wanted to be the best she could be as an educator so that her students could be their best. Missy told stories about how she learned to do this, her lessons were for school and for life, and she connected it with objects that told the story. That was her first time she was a storyteller.

Melissa believed children deserved the best from their teachers and adults in their lives. She went the extra mile in reaching every child, knowing that there is no one way that works. She was patient and encouraging to adults and parents she encountered.

She hadn’t been a teacher for a while when I met her, but the love she had for the profession was evident. She spent a lot of time learning and expanding upon what she needed to do to reach all the children, not just the ones who were receptive. Melissa, always a constant reader who loved libraries and books, was a lifelong learner who long after she was a mother and a teacher would always strive to know more, to do more, to research and then apply the knowledge, and share it. She told me how much she felt at home in front of kids, not only as a teacher but as a presence in their lives, and the connections she made she valued. Missy would have been a fabulous professor training the next generation of teachers, just as much as incredible in front of pupils.

But even more than that, she kept room in her heart for the wonder of life, whether it was sitting on her porch in the early morning stillness to see the sun rise, hot cup of coffee in hand, or looking up at the stars, or walking along a beach, or paddling a kayak in a cool river. You learned so much, and felt so much, near Missy.

Finding her voice

I met her at the beginning of her second career, when she became a journalist. Without any training or initial desire to be a reporter and editor, she was a natural at that, too. She quickly rose to the top by her enthusiasm, her knowledge of the community, her nose for news, her friendly and engaging manner, her reporting, her smarts, and her writing.

Melissa had a fierce intelligence, which she brought to all things. She understood complex topics and had a gift for making it clear. She had a sharp sense of human behavior and deep emotional intelligence. No doubt that came from her time as a teacher and her general outlook on life. She was so creative.

Melissa used her skills as a teacher to inspire and motivate her coworkers and the people she was managing. She had the vision to understand what needed to be done, and to do it.

It wasn’t long before I realized that Melissa had a voice that needed to be heard, a depth and breadth and a way of looking at life that I knew would connect with our audience. Early on, I asked her to write a weekly column.

She wrote what she called “Local Color,” a weekly column in three newspapers with thousands of readers every week. “Local Color” was like Melissa herself: smart, sometimes sentimental, always lyrical, observant and able to capture emotion in a way that readers loved and craved. It was truth, pure and simple, whether she wrote about her children, her father and mother, about dancing or so many other things, and the little moments that meant so much.

It was clear that Melissa loved to write, and she was so good at it. I would find out in time that she had been writing all along, for years, working on a novel and essays. She had a voice, and that helped her rise above what sometimes was a difficult life. Her writing helped her find meaning, it gave her fulfillment, it was something all her own.

There are few things in this life better than someone finding their voice. And it’s even more so when you see a beautiful soul flourishing before eyes. There was so much beauty and wonder in Missy.

I looked forward to being the first one to see her column, knowing that Melissa had poured heart and soul into it, and knowing that each 500 words or so was a piece of her, on the page.

Her writing was electric.

Later I would get to know her better, and she trusted me enough to show me her other work. She and I would trade writing and talk about writing, plot out stories together. It was Melissa’s dream to write — and it was the column that helped catalyze her desire to write even more and the growing realization that she had a voice and could employ it so effectively. It made the next steps in her writing journey so magical.

I feel honored that I could witness the magic. It was a joy to be her first reader, her collaborator, her editor, her partner in writing. Melissa was such a strong and captivating writer, all by herself.

Later we’d write together, at the library, at a coffee shop, at our kitchen table. What I thought was a solo activity all my life I discovered was deeper and lovelier with two. I can still see her, her first morning coffee cupped around her hands, reading a book. I can still see between sips of coffee, writing in one of her many notebooks, typing on the computer screen, trying to find the right line, the right words, placing her truth and the emotion on the page. She had so much to say. She was always looking for, and finding, her line.

Melissa was writing a novel. I had hoped the years would find that novel, and many others, published. She had so much to say, so much that others would want to read. I have the book she did write. I can see her in the essays. But I ache to see her name in print in other work.

A beautiful soul

We differed in age and lived experience, but found we had a lot in common. We grew up less than two hours away from each other, her in New York and me in Connecticut. It was like we had known each other all our lives.

I felt compelled this birthday to write about Melissa, to try to express in the inadequate tools that I have, who she was. It’s hard because our marriage broke up and we hadn’t been in contact since then. But I couldn’t not write about Melissa.

I owed it, and so many other things, to her. I have tried to keep myself out of it, other than as a witness. I wanted Melissa to stand on her own, in all her beauty and worth, her inexhaustible love and idealism, everything that made her who she was.

A beautiful soul.

I started this blog a few weeks ago, with only this remembrance about Melissa in mind. Its title, Nows and Forevers, come from a letter she wrote to me long ago. Melissa believed in the power of words; I believe in the power of words. But they aren’t enough, and can never be. I wished that I would have done this all long ago. I regret how I failed her, and have for a long time. But maybe, I’ve made Melissa come alive again, for a short moment. She deserves to be remembered much longer than that.