Lisa grew up next door to me. She was very much loved and adored by her parents: her father, John, was tall, handsome, and quite charming. Her talkative mother, Rita, was short with an updo and wore super-red nail polish on her fingers and toes. The coffee pot was always on. Her Italian Nana, Mrs. Levi, was tiny and gray-haired and owned a green parakeet called Tweety Bird, who was stuffed and installed in a cage of honor after his untimely death. Despite his rigor mortis, Tweety Bird presided over the living room.

It seemed to me that because of all that love, Lisa did not worry about her place in the world. She seemed very happy. Family was everything, she had a multitude of cousins, and Lisa took it all in stride. Whether she was swimming in her backyard pool, watching her dad barbeque, playing kickball in the street, celebrating her confirmation, or entertaining her cousin’s Shetland Sheepdog, Lisa was at peace with the world. Maybe the exception was Mrs. Stember, her elderly piano teacher who would smack fingers that hit a wrong note with a ruler. But I’m guessing even Mrs. Stember got a pass.

I hadn’t kept in touch after high school but after decades she got in touch. Lisa had first reached out to my late mother. It was clear connection was still very important to her. She kept me apprised of the people of Bradley Drive and where they were now (in either heaven or earth) and what they were up to. People mattered.

Our birthdays were three days apart. Lisa sent me a birthday message and I sent one back. That was the last exchange we had. I hadn’t heard from Lisa in more than a year, so when I went online to see what she was up to, I was shocked and saddened to learn she had passed.

To Lisa’s immediate and extended family: I am so sorry you have lost her but although she’s gone, she’s still here. Lisa was the best, and her love remains. I will remember her forever.

Lore Lawrence