When I think of Laura I hear chimes tinkling in the wind and see angel dust glittering on a Christmas tree. She was a bright, beautiful shooting star whose presence we were privileged to have for a short time. I can only describe her in poetic words. Laura In wide-eyed beauty she begins her pilgrimage as infant, toddler, adolescent. Step by step, joyously dancing paths of bride, lover, friend, mother. With blush on her cheeks paled by life's capricious whims, she remains a vibrant star in the Creator's galaxy. Having given her precious cup of compassion to those graced by her presence she offers her "fiat" in serene acceptance, aware that we have been changed by her existence. Fragile as the gently blooming orchid yet sturdy as a great oak she goes forward again wide-eyed to begin her journey. Love, Aunt Joan

When someone is woven into the fabric of your life they can never be forgotten. The experiences with that person and time spent, good, bad, happy, sad, all of it becomes part of who you are. The memories of them and reflection on their life help you to grow as you move through your own time. Laura was a mother, daughter, sister, wife, niece, cousin, aunt, and friend to so many people. Her time here is part of everyone that knew her and we all miss her in our own way. One thing for sure is she'll never be forgotten and I pray we will be with her again someday. Sister you are sadly missed and forever loved, Karen

"When Great Trees Fall" by Maya Angelou When great trees fall, Rocks on distant hills shudder, lions hunker down in tall grasses, and even elephants lumber after safety. When great trees fall in forests, small things recoil in silence, their senses eroded by fear. When great souls die, the air around us becomes light, rare, sterile. We breathe, briefly, Our eyes, briefly, see with a hurtful clarity. Our memory, suddenly sharpened, examines, gnaws on kind words unsaid, promised walks never taken. Great souls die and our reality bound to them, takes leave of us. Our souls, dependent on their nurture, now shrink, wizened. Our minds, formed and informed by their radiance, fall away. We are not so much maddened as reduced to the unutterable ignorance of dark, cold caves. And when great souls die, after a period, peace blooms, slowly and always irregularly. Spaces fill with a kind of soothing, electric vibration. Our senses, restored, never to be the same, whisper to us. They existed. They existed. We can be. Be and be better. For they existed.