Shelly Kaye Morley

Shelly Kaye Morley
November 18, 1968 – October 16, 2025, 5:58 AM.
I found a line in one of her many journals:
"I want all my memories to read like a John Prine song."
And they do. Mom's life read exactly like a John Prine song - full of laughter, honesty, beauty, humor, and tragic heartbreak, all at once.
Every memory of her plays on, alive and unfiltered, like the song you never skip the one that breaks your heart and heals it in the same breath.
Out of every message and condolence we've received, one thing is clear - she was one of a kind.
She was water - swimming, boating, floating, glistening. She was sun on lake waves and wind through the trees.
She was a Mother, Grand, Best Friend, Aunt Shell, Sister, Daughter, Captain, Fighter, Dreamer, Artist, Poet, Gardener, Healer, Lover, Risk taker, Adventurer and Buddhist.
Shelly loved ALL of her family. She loved her grandson, her son in law, her best friend and brother, her cherished nieces and nephews, her beloved dog, Leon Magoo. She was a second mom to many, her chosen daughters and sons.. Her chosen family too, with her whole damn heart. Her chosen family became her blood. If you were hers, you knew it. She showed up for everyone she loved, always. If you were in her circle, you were deeply known and deeply cared for.
Shelly was brilliant. She had this wild, magnetic energy - creative, hilarious, talented beyond measure. A real estate genius, a businesswoman, a meditator, a helper, a problem-solver. Her curiosity for life was endless. She asked questions, sought truth, devoured books, and soaked in knowledge. She believed every moment and every person could teach her something. But she was also a teacher not in a classroom, but in the way she lived. She mentored with love and honesty, teaching others to see their own potential, to rise up, always gifting her knowledge.
We did everything together. We lived twenty steps apart, worked together, created together, laughed, fought, healed, and dreamed together.
For as long as I can remember, it was always the three of us - Mom, Finn, and me. This has been the hardest year of our life. Now it is only me of us three.
We always think we'll have more time. Even after losing Finn.the clearest, cruelest reminder of how fragile time really is I still believed I'd have more with her. Some part of me, naïve, thought she'd always be here. But the truth is, all we ever really have is now. Time is the only real currency we're given, and it spends itself faster than we ever think it will.
Our grief was something only we could understand. We could talk freely, cry freely, be freely and we did that everyday, with every bit of anger, love, and memory. Our deepest pain became our deepest connection. Even in our fog of longing, she carried me. She kept me breathing. Mom was always strong for me. She was strong for everyone.
After Finn was taken from us, I've wished, wished, wished for him to come back home - to walk through the door, to make her laugh again, to make us whole. And now, the only peace I can hold onto is knowing they've found each other again. This emptiness feels wider, quieter, harder - but somewhere beyond this heartbreak, I see them together. I'll spend the rest of my life carrying them both - in my work, my words, my heart trying, somehow, to live in a way that would make them proud.
She loved losing herself in painting and photography, capturing the world through her eyes. She wrote with an honesty that left traces of her soul on every page. She danced like the music carried her, luxuriated in long, warm baths, savored the perfect cocktail, and thrived in the warmth of good company.
She made everything an adventure, even the simplest moments feel alive.the mundane became magic when she was around. She could talk to anyone about anything. She knew everything about everything. People were drawn to her. She influenced everyone she met. She offered wisdom freely and somehow always knew exactly what to say. She could talk to anyone about anything. She lit up every room she walked into.
She had impeccable taste fashion, design, music and people. Also known for her big black curly hair, red lipstick, high heels, always glowing. She wore every phase of her life with grace. And when she lost her hair, she wore her bald head like a crown.
She was a badass, a real one.
She was kind. So, so kind.
That was her mantra: "Always be kind."
She was an incredible chef - she could cook anything, from every culture. She was known for her fabulous dinner parties. Every dish she made looked beautiful and tasted like heaven. Cooking was one of her love languages. Her happiest moments were spent in the kitchen with her nephew and grandson, laughing and tasting and creating together.
She loved traveling, journeying far and wide to the corners of the world, chasing wonder wherever it revealed itself. She dove headfirst into every place she encountered, savoring its colors, sounds, and stories with fearless inquisitiveness and an open, generous heart.
Her favorite days were spent on the water, captaining her 28-foot Sea Ray "Pearl," through the Les Cheneaux Islands, cruising to Mackinac, or boat-camping in Government Bay beneath the stars. She loved to water-ski and took joy in teaching others to do the same. Whether she was on her dirt or mountain bike, tearing down a trail, or gliding across the river, she lived for that feeling.
She poured herself into her community just as deeply as she did into her family. She loved to volunteer to roll up her sleeves and make a difference wherever she could. She had a gift for rallying people together for a good cause, whether she was raising money for foster children, organizing fundraisers for families in need, or helping to beautify downtown Sault Ste. Marie. She believed in giving back, in leaving things better than she found them, and in making her corner of the world shine a little brighter. Her passion for community wasn't just something she did, it was who she was.
Her grandson was her pride and joy. They did most things together. Inseparable. My mom was the best Grand, to Jet. They had sleepovers at least twice a week, hung out almost everyday and she brought him on many adventures. They were two peas in a pod. She loved him more than anything. He kept her going.
She devoured the teachings of Thich Nhat Hanh,
"Our own life has to be our message."
And hers was - her message was love. Radical, all-encompassing love.
Mom was brave. She was diagnosed with Round Cell Sarcoma, a cancer that most survive only a few months. She fought for over two years, through treatment, through pain, through loss - and did it all with grace and humor. Even while grieving Finn. She always said "this cancer is a walk in the park compared to losing our boy" I still don't know how she did it.
She kept her illness private, always putting her best self forward. She worked through chemo, still helping clients, still playing with her grandson, still creating. Even when her body weakened, her drive and spirit never did.
When the ER doctor told us there was nothing more they could do, I let out a sound I knew all too well, the same guttural sob that tore out of me the day we found out Finn was taken from us. Mom looked at me, calm and steady, and said, "It's going to be okay, sis." The very same words Finn always said to me.
After the doctor left, she took my hand and said softly, "We've had such a beautiful life, haven't we? You are my whole world. I wish I could stay - to watch you and Jet keep growing, to tell everyone I love what they mean to me but they already know. I'll keep fighting for as long as I can. When it's time, remember, you've got this. Even in the dark. I'll be with you everywhere, always."
This came as a shock to us all. Her complications were very sudden. Her wish was to die at home, surrounded by love and she did. In her big king-sized bed, so everyone could snuggle close, surrounded by so much love. We kept her comfortable, and without any pain.
She came home on a Thursday, and she passed on a Thursday - on her own terms. Even without any nourishment, she made us laugh every single day. That was her grace. That was her strength.
In her last days, she was what she always called herself - an "aggressive hostess," making sure from her bed everyone had a drink, a full plate, and a good laugh.
Before she passed, we were in the midst of receiving our Native cards-something that filled her with quiet joy and anticipation. She dreamed of bringing her grandson, nieces, and nephews to receive their names one day.. A person dear to her heart arranged for her uncle, an Elder, to perform a ceremony. We didn't know what to expect, and we certainly didn't imagine she would receive her own name.
And then it happened. It was ethereal the deep drumbeats, the sacred smoke of sage curling through the air, the songs rising and falling like wind over water.
The Elder spoke her name aloud:
Chi-Giizhigoo Kwe-Big Sky Woman.
Perfectly fitting. She is vast, open, and radiant like the sky, like everything endless and as enduring as the stars.
I don't know how to live without her, I still don't know how to live without Finn but I know they are together again. The two of them now with Papa somewhere bright and endless, in the same big sky she's named for.
Every story, every memory, every single person she loved will live on in a way that doesn't fade.
She believed in saying yes to adventure, to people, to life.
She was the greatest of us all.
"Hey, little Hollywood, you're gone but you're not forgotten."
Join us to celebrate our Shelly-just as she would have wanted: lively, non-traditional, and full of heart. No rules, no formality-just good food, full glasses, laughter, and stories. Her Celebration of Life will be at The CC Hall in Sault Ste. Marie, MI, on November 22nd from 1–4 PM. Come when you like, leave when you must, fill your bellies, raise your glasses, share a laugh, and let's give her a hurrah as bold, bright, and unforgettable as she was.
To carry on Shelly's legacy, Kenz and I, alongside Mom, began a passion project together before she passed - something she poured her heart into. I promised her I would see it through and bring her vision to life, a project to keep Finn's name alive and honor everything Mom stood for.
Mom, Jim, and I purchased a large piece of land with water access on the St. Marys River, the last place Mom and Finn spent time together. We're calling it "Finnegan's Landing."
It will be a multi-use space with a large pole barn for events, a dock for boats and food trucks, and - most importantly - days dedicated to kids who don't have easy water access, where they can kayak, swim, and enjoy a little slice of heaven.
Alongside this, Mom, Kenz, and I started to develop "The Finnegan Project," a nonprofit Shelly envisioned that will raise money for kids who've aged out of foster care, feed the hungry, support children with cancer, fund cancer research, assist struggling families, and help anyone in need.
In lieu of flowers, Mom's wishes were for donations to go toward Finnegan's Landing and The Finnegan Project.
I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.