Fred’s Eulogy for Brian

at First Evangelical Lutheran Church
Altoona, Pennsylvania 16601
Saturday, February 22, 2003; 5 PM

This has been a brutal, heartbreaking, journey. 26 months. Thank God we were never alone. We could have never made it alone. Your cards, emails, gifts, love and prayers…..God’s angels among us….so much help, so much encouragement…we could have never made it through alone. Our family, our friends, our colleagues and supervisors, even people we don’t know, never met…all over the world…such an outpouring of love. So appreciated, so needed. Brian was so overwhelmed with you that he thought he was disappointing all of you because he was dying. He was so young, so innocent, so selfless.

Brian’s room at the hospital was hardly ever a dull or sad place. Yes, there were very disappointing, unspeakably painful, gut-wrenching moments. But we had decided to give the disease only what it could take from Brian and give it nothing for free, no fear, no depression, no loss of faith. I kept paraphrasing Gandolf from the Fellowship of the Ring; “We can not choose the times we live in only what we do with the time we are given.” OK, crawl in a hole during chemo….but, live it up when it’s over.

So, what did we do with our time apart from medical tests and chemotherapy? We could fill an entire day with a movie like the Pink Panther, Chris Farley, Jackie Chan. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, we hung out in the vending machine room and discussed the various sandwiches as they rotated in the machine, the order in which we would rank them for visual appeal, taste, quality of ingredients, and which drink would go best with which sandwich. I remember we took hours developing something we called “Brian’s Punch”, a concoction of orange juice and either Sprite or Squirt. We finally decided that 1/3 OJ and 2/3 Squirt was the best formula. We also decided that the drinks must be cold to begin with because melted ice would compromise their favors and change the mixture proportions. We joked about the side effects of chemotherapy and worked and played around them. Over some 88 chemotherapies, we developed the most effective anti-nausea meds staying away from steroids, that caused a personality change in him. Steroids caused him to experience a deep, embarrassing depression, but I told the doctors and nurses not to use them because under their effect, he was transformed into Elvis. We either used the hospital’s computer or our own laptop to keep Brian connected to his friends on the Internet. And, of course, we had “Cardtime.” He lay on his back with his eyes closed, resting, and we read the cards, letters, and Emails you sent him. Of course, there were some cards that he insisted on reading himself before allowing us to see their contents. (I think it was a lingering form of adolescent censorship.) It wasn’t a happy place, in the sense we normally think of happiness, but it was far from depressing. When there was work to do, we did it. When the work was done, we played.

As a baby, Brian was an enthusiastic nurser. Later, we blamed Dawn for his passion for Italian food, explaining that it was because she had a spaghetti dinner just before delivering him that he confused mother’s milk with marinera sauce. We also told him that it was the sauce that caused his hair to be so red. But, he loved his red hair, one of the few physical attributes he loved about himself…especially when the ladies cooed in admiration and envy.

He enjoyed sleeping all day and playing most of every night. While it was very frustrating for his mom, it was delightful for me. I actually enjoyed getting up at 4am to hold him, singing any number of arrangements of “HE’S GOT THE WHOLE WORLD IN HIS HAND.” Brian loved the attention, providing smiles of encouragement for ever-more ridiculous treatments of the old spiritual. Some nights, the two insomniacs sat on the kitchen floor with just the stove light on and had cookies and milk. I guess this was an early form of male bonding.

During his first year of life, his mother reluctantly returned to work, permitting his care to rest in the loving hands of his Grammy. Brian’s nursing schedule remained unbroken however, enjoying daily lunches at his mother’s breast in a secluded space at her school. Dawn would eat with one hand and hold Brian in the other.

Brian was a true romantic. He loved stories about good overcoming evil and since he always wanted to be the good guy, it was my job to be the evil one…until the arrival of his baby brother. This relationship between the two boys was perfect from the beginning. Brian, the leader, Knight in shinning armor, and Jamin, his squire and part time villain. It was easy for Brian to defeat his brother, the diapers slowed him down and he had a considerably shorter arm reach. It wasn’t until Jamin began to grow into a scraping toddler, and for his age, a formidable game player, that Brian pulled me aside to ask the timeless question of all older siblings “Can we take him back to the hospital now?”

People outside our family and friends think of Brian as shy. It’s true, he was never the first one in the pool. Well, once he was. I can remember challenging him to see who could change and be in the Park Hills Country Club pool first. (He behind one curtain and me behind the next.) I thought I was way out in front, but when I pulled back his curtain he was gone and on the white, painted, wooden plank lay his clothes and his bathing suit. I grabbed his clothes and ran out the door just in time to hear one mother say to the other, “Mildred, did you see what I just saw.” As I reached the edge of the water, there was Brian, standing in the center of the pool in his all-together with his hands raised in victory.

Two months ago, when he was hospitalized for an anal fistula……in the door, making their daily rounds, came Dr. Shaw with his entourage, four residents, one fellow, Brian’s nurse, her aid, and the head nurse of the unit. Dr. Shaw apologized for asking Brian to turn over on his stomach to reveal and evaluate his sore bottom. I was sitting beside him and could see Brian’s face. They thought he was crying from embarrassment, I could see he was struggling to keep from laughing. Dr. Shaw continued, ” It can’t be easy showing your bottom to a room full of doctors and staff.” And then, Dr. Shaw paused. “But of course,” He said, “it depends on how you think of it. You could be mooning our entire daytime staff.”

By the time he was in chemotherapy, Brian hated his body. It was difficult for him to get it to do what he wanted it to do. When he saw the MRI of the soft tissue tumor that had grown out of his swollen, cancerous pelvic bone he said he believed his body was trying to kill him. “You can cut me in half,” he said, “just let me live.”

Brian loved music, especially Miles Davis and later John Coltrane….he identified with the frustration and pain in Coltrane’s music and made “A Love Supreme” his anthem. He loved good movies and video games. He loved Marlin Brando in the Godfather and we rented several more Brando films including On the Waterfront with the musical score written by Leonard Bernstein. Brian couldn’t wait to get his chemotherapy over so he could move to the University Park campus at Penn State to get his hands on their video and computer equipment.

If Brian was shy in the company of males, he was petrified to speak to girls. He complained that it seemed so easy for all the other boys, but he just couldn’t collect himself to say much of anything to the fairer gender. It seemed like every gesture backfired with embarrassment. A few times, he mustered his courage to express the bewildering feelings he had for girls. During one Valentine’s Day, he flatly refused to give any girl a valentine in person but agreed to slip only one into the locker of Julie Houseman when she wasn’t looking.

Later in high school he discovered that girls can be great friends and began to open up to them and enjoy several strong boy/girl relationships. In fact, Brian was able to attend his senior prom with long time friend Melissa Hunter (who wore the dress of the year.) They had a great time and kept in contact with each other until near the end of his life. With the help of her mother Dottie, Melissa was able to visit Brian in January at Children’s Hospital. (Many of you know that Brian is extremely near sided, so when friends came to visit, he wouldn’t always put on his glasses. He would lay on his back and talk, snooze, or sleep depending on the visitor, conversation, etc… ) Suddenly, in through the door came Melissa and her mother for a visit before she flew off to Hawaii to dance for the Pro Bowl half-time show. After scrambling to cover himself with a sheet, the first thing out of Brian’s mouth was, “Dad, hand me my glasses.” It was a great visit, even though he was heavily sedated, he sat up and talked for three hours.

It is my honor to be Brian’s dad. I considered it a blessing to have helped Brian through to the end of his life. During over 100 or so trips to Pittsburgh, countless nights in the hospital, over 26 months we listened to hours and hours of music, watched Mario Betali on the food channel, discussed all manner of issues, and I was privileged to watch my boy grow into a courageous, noble, human being, a real man.

In his last days, it was his body that failed him; it was never his spirit or his will to fight. The doctors simply refused to continue to treat him even though he insisted on trying experimental drugs. He had very little bone marrow left to keep him alive, his blood pressure was getting lower and lower, his kidneys were failing. I confess that I had resigned myself to throwing in the towel and, to use a phrase Brian hated, “keep him comfortable” for whatever time was remaining. But, Brian and his mother wanted no part of anything resembling a status quo. Mothers are like that. They never give up on their children. There is something in the nature of the bond that never gives up hope and fights like hell for all their children. And Brian has the most determined, absolutely devoted, unretreating, ever- hopeful mother, who never gave up, never. Brian wasn’t coming home to die. He was coming home to try alternative medicines. To the end, to his last breath, Brian fought to live. He said that he would never quit fighting until it was over and he kept his word.

Well, my brave son, I’m here to tell you it is still not over. We, your family and friends, will take up your flag. We will face down this cancer and work toward the day when no young man or woman will face death as a result of Ewing’s Sarcoma. It is not over. We will raise awareness in the pediatric medical community to diagnose adolescent bone cancers earlier; we will support research that will unlock the cellular code of tumors to destroy every last cancer cell. It is not over, Brian.

We will bring hope and encouragement to your follow bone cancer fighters, Scott, Sarah, Jacob, Danika, Blake, Joshua, Susan, Abdula, Tulous, Jeffrey, David, and the staff of 8 North who, with great compassion and determination, help their daily struggle. It is not over. Brian, big guy, we will make meaning out of your suffering and your death. We will confront this monster with our love for you and all of the other cancer patients who are forced to look into its darkness. This is not the end, my boy.

This is not an indifferent crowd in these seats; they are your friends and family. They have prayed for you, cried for you, loved you, and they are not ready to quit either. Ignited by your unyielding fight, inspired by your unwavering faith, we will join hearts and hands to bring an end to this pernicious and evil disease of young adults. And when we do, there will be no more adolescent bone cancer, no more suffering, no more chemotherapy, no more amputations. We will have found meaning and purpose from your death and benefit the lives of young people living and yet to be born. Brian, you are not only our child, but the child or brother of everyone here. Your courage, determination, and faith lives on in us because of your example. The medicines on the horizon are hopeful. It is only our indifference that we have to fear. With the help of God and your angels here among us, we will convert this tragedy into victory and look back at this moment as the beginning of your legacy, not the end of your life. So, rest easy Brian, we’ll take it from here.

Eulogy for Brian Morden

by
Brian Johnson
at First Evangelical Lutheran Church
Altoona, Pennsylvania 16601
Saturday, February 22, 2003; 5 PM

Giving a Eulogy for my best friend is a true honor, and the number of mourners gathered here today is a testament to his character. Brian Morden was a truly special person. For the 15 years I knew him, he emitted an unmatchable and enthusiastic zest for life. His unshakable optimism was visible daily through a grin that stretched from ear to ear. It was a sort of visual chivalry. You can’t picture Brian Morden without a smile. Seeing his grin made you feel warm inside because you were reminded that true innocence exists. One of his smiles could make a slow morning brighter or a stressful day peaceful because it renewed your sense of hope. Brian Morden simply helped me to see the good in people. There was a lot of good in Brian and he had a lot to smile about. He had a great family, supportive friends, and a happy hearty and wholesome life.

When we got news of Brian’s cancer those two long years ago, we were all very concerned. However, because each of us knew Brian as a strong and optimistic person, we knew he would fight, and that the cancer could never take him. We knew his character would not allow defeat. It is impossible for me to guess what was going through Brian’s mind as he first got the news. I can tell you he never sought pity, or showed weakness. I never heard a moan or groan; I never heard him openly ask those impossible and unanswerable questions that were surely swimming through his mind, instead, he simply resolved to fight, he wanted to show us his strength. He fought because he knew he had qualities and gifts that he needed to share with people, talents he wanted to use. Brian always wanted to create. Whether it was making music or editing a movie, Brian loved entertaining, because it was the perfect medium for him to share his intriguing imagination. He needed to get better because he had so much to share. With his fight came new places, new people new words: Chemo, radiation, Pittsburgh, neupogen, broviac, platelets, this was his new life. Through this beginning battle, his talents meant much more, his well known battle helped him to reach more people.

One day much later, I got a call from a sniffling Brian. He told me simply “Brian…I relapsed, I am just going to have to fight harder”. Relapse was that complicated word none of us wanted to hear. Brian made it very simple. Again, the stone cold resolve to fight harder was evident in his voice; it was an unceasing hope; a trust that God would let Brian do what it was he was meant to do on this earth. Brian was familiar with the concept of clinging to hope in the darkest times. He had worshipped the Tolkein books that revolved around this theme. It was a theme Tolkein hit upon so often in his books because of the tragedy he had in his own life as a World War II soldier. Brian had this hope, and it wasn’t just because he read about, it was a genuinely original feeling that stemmed deep inside… because he knew the cancer would never take him, we all did. He still had so much to share with the world.

He fought harder, and we all missed him more and more as his attendance in school was less and less. Each day we would see the empty chair in band, we would be reminded of the important things in life, Brian showed us what they were. The Morden family showed us what it was to be a family; two selfless parents a strengthening brother and a fury stress ball named alie. It is obvious to me the weeks, the months, and the quality of life the Morden family was able to add to Brian’s life, to keep the physical and emotional resources replenished on Brian’s battlefield. What they accomplished together was amazing.

While this battle raged on, the band would often leave a chair out for Brian, and place a Morden substitute, a trumpet case with a glasses and a button down shirt. It didn’t quite take the place of Brian, but it reminded us of his battle, of his strength, and it was something the trumpets could put their arm around when they weren’t playing. That’s how much he was missed. That’s the impact he made on us. That’s how much his smiles meant to us. Each trip to Pittsburgh, each Monday back in band, we would see how special Brian really was. His talents of evoking hope, and strength and kindness, and bringing out the best in people. That’s what it was he was hear to do. He was an emotional massoose.

That’s what he was sharing. He and his family fighting, enabled him to keep on sharing, to touch more lives, whether it was young girl in high school, an internet friend in Australia, or an entire software branch of Microsoft. His fight embodied the human spirit and we all tried to fight along side, to live life better, he showed how to live and why it is so important.

In the later stages of the battle Geo and I would visit Brian as often as we could in the hospital. We would walk in and see that smile again, and it alone was worth the trip. It meant something different though, it illustrated courage. Even after being told he had a few weeks to live, Brian was barely deterred from fighting. When his kidneys began to shut down, Brian’s doctors asked him what he wanted to do. Mr.Morden told me Brian felt he still had work to do. The hope remained but the doctors felt that Brian should go home keep hope but stop the fight. Shortly after the Morden’s reported that it looked like Brian was taking his last breaths and that he might not be able to live through the night. Brian set a goal then, he wanted to go home and say goodbye to everyone. Somehow, as the toxins poured into the bloodstream, he made it home and rested on his bed while friends and family visited and called. He had done it, he had won. He was still hoping for a miracle but said he accepted God’s will. I see his making it home as a miracle in its self. There he passed peacefully into the night as his parents lay beside him. He was calm, unafraid, and at peace with himself. His passing could only have been better if it were 60 years later. His heart, mind and soul were intact, and the cancer didn’t conquer any of that. He beat that part, we all knew that he would never let the cancer spread to his will to live or spread to his spirit. Although he may have still questioned why he was given a shorter time, why he couldn’t go on sharing, I am sure as he smiles down on us all from above he can truly realize how his fight with cancer amplified his gifts.

His fight brought out the best in him, and it helped to project him into the lives of everyone he knew. The internet allowed him an entire new medium to reach. He not only touched this community but people all around the world that knew him, that prayed for him, that sent him cards and encouragement. They all know the Brian we know, it’s the same one. This is what he was put on this earth for; he showed us all how prayer and good thoughts make a soul indestructible. He showed us that when bad things happen to good people, good people fight back. He gave hope to us all, and showed us that optimism is an invisible lifting hand that can help us all get through the tough times. His death has only made these ideals stronger. Like Gandalf the gray becoming Gandalf the white, Brian is now Brian the white, smiling down on us all stronger than ever and forever in his prime. Our community and the people around the world that know him will hold him in their hearts forever. Even Bungie, the part of Microsoft, said how he will be placed in each and every one of their games in some way, so that his message won’t soon be forgotten. Brian did it, he won, the battle is over and his legacy lives on stronger than ever, his spirit admired, his character loved, his gifts appreciated, his love accepted and returned. Its so easy now, he has made it so easy, the pain and the battles we will all go through in life will be made less as we remember that smile, because the memory of it, the image of it, the meaning of that grin, will never lose its power, it will forever warm our hearts in the coldest times. Thank you.

Eulogy for Brian Andrew Morden

by

The Reverend Jaime G. Olson, Associate Pastor
First Evangelical Lutheran Church
Altoona, Pennsylvania 16601
Saturday, February 22, 2003

A seven-year history is all I can attest to knowing Brian. It was my first year at seminary and being assigned to First Lutheran Church. Coming to First also meant being assigned a confirmation class to teach each Sunday morning. It would be wonderful if I could stand here today and say that it was with enthusiasm that we began our first year together. However, when you factor in a group of young people where they, their bodies, and their intellect are trying to fit into the greater schema of things, is mixed with a rookie, well, you can figure out who it was that did the teaching.

It was our first class that I saw for the first time a bushy red-haired pre-teen, a young man at an awkward age in an awkward place, fulfilling the obligations of a father and mother whose baptismal promises ensure a new generation of responsible members of an Altoona Lutheran Church. Needless to say, God’s grace was abundant as hours of tedium passed and the chance for a relationship began to unfold. As a pastor want-to-be, what I learned most about confirmation class is that while they are important, church history, biblical studies, and Luther’s small catechism really has very little to do with what youth really want to experience at church. Acceptance, love, and the assurance that God does really exist and that God does really care about them, becomes the foundation for anytime youth gather under the umbrella called the church.

Together, we made it! Brian was confirmed, I was ordained, and through time, a quiet bond was felt by two people brought together by God’s Spirit of placement. As time passed, the dreadful announcement was made that this young red-haired now teen was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer and treatment would begin. Mom and dad vigilant in their search for answers and a brother beyond his years on many levels stood firm in their care of Brian. Family and friends, ‘Briansroom’, ‘Relay for Life’ activities, prayers and more prayers were a way for all of us to be proactive–to be involved on Brian’s journey.

Joseph and the Dreamcoat was Brian’s choice for the local ‘Relay for Life’ event, and I was so pleased in the midst of treatments that Brian along with many of you were able to walk the survivor’s lap. The brilliance of the coat was a reflection of the joy that we felt on that day.

After many hours of treatments and painful intrusions into the body of the teen with the red hair now lost, we gathered here to offer thanks to God for the announcement of remission and a night of worship and praise, food, fellowship and games. Brian’s thank you was sincere for all that was done in his name, but I knew also that a room set up for fun was foremost on Brian’s mind as he edged closer and closer to the door.

We do not understand why his remission was short-lived, why our prayers were not answered the way we wanted. Once again, the announcement was made and the man with the red hair was experiencing much pain and his battle though vigilant was losing to this dread disease. If all the prayers, love, care and concern that were offered in Brian’s name could have healed him, we would have succeeded, but that was not the case. 

Being with Brian in his final days meant watching the pain that weighed heavy on everyone around him. Offering communion to Brian and his family at this time assured a rookie pastor that Brian had now resolved with God his relationship and even though he wanted to continue to fight, he was prepared to be with God in a new way.

Yes, Brian wanted to live! Yes, Brian wanted to fight to the end, and that is what he did.

I will never forget Brian with the red hair, and I look forward to the day that we meet again in God’s glory where all pain and sorrow will be no more–a place with a brass ensemble flanked on one side with the man with the red hair–Brian!

Brian’s Legacy <3

There are people who will live to be 100 and will not come anywhere near to leaving the legacy that Brian has left us. His is a tale of courage and faith. It’s clear from the testimonies of everyone he came in contact with that his was a “life that was transformed, deepened, marked with beauty and holiness in remarkable ways that could never have been anticipated before his suffering.” (Peterson from his introduction to the Book of Job)

Brian found himself confronting danger that he did not willingly seek, but instead of letting it defeat him, he summoned the courage necessary to overcome his fear and face jeopardy head on.

“But I expect they had lots of chances, like us, of turning back, only they didn’t.” Sam reflected. “And if they had, we shouldn’t know, because they’d have been forgotten. We hear about those as just went on—and not all to a good end, mind you; at least not to what folk inside a story and not outside it call a good end.” (Sam to Frodo–Book IV, Chapter 8)

As we follow Brian’s example and press on in courage and faith, as Matthew and Kayleigh come face to face with jeopardy, it is my hope that they will ask to hear their favorite tale, the one where Brian and his faithful companions stubbornly clung to their faith and came to “a good end.”

Thank you Brian for this legacy!!!

“Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial, because when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him. James 1:12”

OFTEN THE SCENES WE LEAST DESIRE ARE THOSE MOST IMPORTANT TO THE STORY BEING TOLD.

Lori

Hey Brian,

This is not going to be one of those “I’m so sorry such a bad thing happened to such a good person” letters. If there is one thing I have learned from my mother’s illness, it is that pity doesn’t help anything. When other people feel sorry for us, it only makes us feel more sorry for ourselves. I hate that feeling. I hate pity.

I’m not sorry that pain has attacked your life. It isn’t just unlucky coincidence that Satan has besieged your body and mind. You are truly a shining example of love, and for that, you have been targetted. I have no pity for you … only admiration. We first met on the halo.bungie.org forums, but the first meaningful conversation I had with you was on the Psyjnir HL. I remember it fairly well. My mom was more sick than she had ever been or has been since and I was struggling with my own helplessness. In fact, I wasn’t very good at helping people in the first place. Most of my life had been spent guarding my cold heart from any pain people might inflict on it. And so I met you; this kid who, even when faced with his own struggles, cares about everyone else. You helped me help my mom … and many more people God has put in my path since then.

But that is only the beginning. There are very few people who understand the true power of love; who understand that love can change this fallen world in radical amazing ways. Love is more powerful than fear, pain, or death. It threatens Satan’s rule over this world more than anything else. (See Martin Luther King Jr., Ghandi, and Jesus Christ) Love gives us and those around us unbelievable strength. Matt Soell said, “One marvels at the resilience of the human spirit under extreme duress,” but you are packing more ammunitionthan the standard-issue human. spirit. The love that you have, bolstered by the love imparted on you by those aroundyou, continually leads you to accomplish things that the rest of us can only regard with dumbfounded awe. This, my friend, is the TRUE power of <3.

There are those who, in an entire lifetime, don’t do half of the good you have done in the year I’ve known you. You have changed my life.

And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love.
But the greatest of these is Jove. (1 Corinthians 13.13)

Hope you feel better.

<3,

Jester

P.S. I have attached an essay Iwrote for English last semester. I am kind of ashamed of it but I think there are some nuggets in there you might enjoy.

Below are some other links related to Brian’s legacy and impact:

Brian’s 1999 Myth World Cup Profile
Brian’s 2000 Myth World Cup Profile
Brian’s 2001 Myth World Cup Profile

Brian’s Bungie Trip
A website of the adventure created by Brian’s mom with the help of
Brian, Brian J., Fred, and Jamin

Brian’s Bungie Trip
written by His Father

Brian’s End-of-Chemo Party Invitation

The Story of Brian’s Senior Prom

Brian’s Halo: Fall of Reach Book Report

SilverBrin Brings News of His Relapse

Brian’s Last Post on the HBO Forums

SilverBrin Announces More Bad News

Follow the Gleam, Brian – A Bungie Sightings Tribute

Brian’s Story from family friend, Betsy Bryce’s website

Brian’s Memorial Service Program