[Adapted from the eulogy delivered at Laura's memorial service by Wendell Hill, Jr.]
We’re gathered now to celebrate the life of our daughter, sister, niece, cousin, and friend, Laura Lianne Hill. As you listen to me talk about her, you may get the impression that she was perfect—an exceedingly rare human being without flaws, and headed to sainthood. But Laura herself would be quick to tell you that she was not perfect…that, like most of us, she had her own set of shortcomings, had wrestled with her own demons, had occasionally uttered bad words, had made her share of mistakes. She was human, though at times she tried to be superhuman in her efforts to shoulder the burdens of others. But I couldn’t be prouder to have been her father. To me, her cheerfulness and loving, giving spirit shone so brightly that it outshined her imperfections. To know her was to be drawn to that light.
Birth and Childhood
Laura came into this world at 9:40 in the morning on August 6, 1981, to her mother, Karen and me, at the then-named Washington Adventist Hospital in Takoma Park, Maryland. She was a tiny baby, weighing just 4 pounds 14½ ounces, but she was healthy and we felt blessed.
To the family, she was always “Laurie.” That’s what I always called her. Decades later, I began noticing that I was nearly the only one still calling her that. A few months ago, she finally told me, “Yes, you call me ‘Laurie,’ but I prefer ‘Laura,’ and that’s what everyone else calls me!” I replied, “Everyone else is welcome to call you Laura…that’s the name we gave you. But to me, you will always be my ‘Laurie’!” She grinned and said, “I knowww. It’s alriiight. You can call me ‘Laurie’!”
Laura began winning hearts from the very start. The day we brought her home from the hospital, my mother came to visit. My mother already had two grandchildren that she adored, but was of the opinion that Karen and I were foolish to have planned to bring a child into such an awful world. She made no attempt to hide this opinion, and seemed to consider this baby’s birth an inevitability to be acknowledged, rather than anything to be celebrated. We brought Laura home from the hospital, and as Mom walked into our bedroom where Laura was laying on top of the bed, her face was in a scowl as if bracing for an unpleasant confrontation. She glanced down at Laura. Karen asked if Mom would like to hold the baby. Without answering, Mom sat down on the edge of the bed and extended her arms as Karen gently handed her Laura, wrapped in her little blanket. Mom looked down at this tiny baby, and I watched in amazement at the sudden transformation of her demeanor. Within seconds, her scowl gave way to an adoring look, and then a smile as Laura melted her heart. That was the beginning of a close, loving relationship that lasted the nearly three decades until we lost my Mom.
Laura certainly captured my heart from the very beginning. During her first few months, I was experiencing a rare bout of depression. The days that I spent caring for our new baby were a welcomed respite. And though she was too little to understand me, I told her so repeatedly. While changing her diapers, I would look down at her and sing “You Are My Sunshine” to her, because she truly brightened those dreary days for me. In later years, I told her this story, and she would join me in singing the song. Indeed, over the years and even as an adult I would remind her that she was “my Sunshine.”
Memories of Laura's Childhood
Watching Laura grow up, as with our son, Woody, later, was one of our greatest joys. It's those little moments of surprise that we’ve always cherished. One day when Laura was less than a year old, the three of us were out driving and decided to stop at a Mexican fast food place for lunch. We got our order to go, then sat in our parked station wagon to eat. Karen and I were in the front seats, and Laura was strapped into her car seat buckled into the back seat. Laura had begun eating some solid foods, so Karen thought she’d let her take a tiny bite of her burrito to try a new food. “Here, Sweetie…take a taste?” Karen said as she extended the burrito close enough to Laura so that even strapped into her seat, her mouth could reach it. Laura bit off a little corner and chewed on it for awhile before swallowing it. We waited for an indication of approval or disapproval. Laura looked at the burrito and Karen said, “More?” and once again extended the burrito close to Laura. This time, Laura grabbed Karen’s wrist with both of her tiny hands and aggressively pulled the burrito against her mouth, taking a giant mouthful of it! Karen and I laughed hysterically as Laura repeated this multiple times until she was sated. That’s when we learned of her lifelong fondness for Mexican food!
Laura often surprised us with how quickly she learned how the world worked. One evening when she was perhaps a year or so old, the three of us were sitting in our living room, Karen and me on the couch and Laura on the floor in front of us. Our old-fashioned, two-piece corded phone was sitting on the floor next to Laura. Suddenly it rang. Laura, who wasn’t even talking yet, grabbed the receiver, picked it up, and extended her arm holding it out to me, as if to say, “I believe it’s for you!” Karen and I struggled not to laugh too loud until finding out who was calling!
Laura had a lively spirit from the very beginning. Just learning to stand, she would hang onto the rail of her playpen and dance up and down as if riding a horse when we played “Hooked On Classics,” the album of classical music set to a disco beat. Later, when she could talk, she’d refer to “The William Tell Overture” as “the giddy-up song!”
Just as Laura was learning how to talk, she also learned a bit of Spanish, thanks to her in-home babysitter, Mauricia. (Mauricia became a dear family friend, and I believe she is with us here today.) While playing with Laura, Mauricia taught her “bola,” the Spanish word for “ball.” Sometime after that, Karen and I took Laura to visit the National Air and Space Museum in DC. We decided to take in one of their ”mysteries of the universe” movies in their IMAX theater, and counted ourselves lucky to get three seats in the very center of the auditorium, which quickly filled to capacity. Soon, the lights dimmed until the room was totally dark. It was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop. Then, an image of the round earth against the dark background of space dramatically appeared on the giant screen. Laura pointed to it and cut through the silence, loudly identifying what she saw: “BOLA!!” Everyone in the theater heard her! We laughed as we sheepishly slunk down into our seats, hoping the on-screen sounds and footage would quickly redirect attention away from our peanut gallery!
When I borrowed a video cassette copy of the movie "Rocky" from a friend and we all watched it at home, she fell in love with the iconic music of the training sequence, and begged us to play it over and over. I had to apologize to my friend when I realized we had literally worn out that stretch of the tape!
When Laura was five years old, Karen and I told her that she had a baby brother coming. She seemed very excited about this. One day when she and I were sitting on our sofa together, she asked me what the baby would be made of. Wanting to keep the answer simple, I said, “He’ll be a little bit of Mommy and a little bit of Daddy.” I thought that was the end of my explanation, but Laura continued.“…and a little bit of me!” she said with a big smile. Realizing that from a shared-genetics standpoint she was more or less correct, I simply smiled and agreed.
And she loved her baby brother from the moment he was born. She watched out for him and took care of him in the most protective way. There were times when she made his school lunches and read to him and nurtured him. They had a strong bond that has lasted their whole lives. And just two days before we lost her, she helped him one more time by sharing her writing skills to update his resume—one of her specialties.
Pre-Professional Jobs
Laura was industrious as a young teenager, working at a series of jobs that she actively sought out. She was a hostess at the Olney Casa Rico Mexican Restaurant, served at the Friend’s House Retirement Community, and worked her way through college at the Only Olney Flower Shop, waiting on customers and making flower arrangements.
Education
Laura chose Salisbury State University to attend college, graduating in 2003 with a Bachelor’s Degree in Business Administration with a Marketing Concentration. She maintained a 4.0 GPA every semester for all four years, and graduated Summa Cum Laude. While there, she was honored with the Perdue School of Business’s Outstanding Marketing Senior Award in 2003, and the Wall Street Journal Award in 2002.
In-between working a job to pay for school and maintaining her straight-A’s studies, Laura found time to do volunteer work. She tutored a fellow student in Business Statistics, helping her improve her grade from a D to a B+.
Professional Jobs & Achievements
Upon graduation, Laura began a career in marketing and public relations. She applied her specialties of writing and web search optimization to help grow the businesses of a wide variety of clients and employers that ranged from online birthday party supply providers and financial institutions to a piano superstore and a language translation enterprise.
Volunteer Work
As notable as her professional work was, Laura will be remembered for her selfless love and caring. She was a 16+ year member of the Sandy Spring branch of the Lions Club, 9 of those years serving on its Board of Directors, as well as editor of the Club’s newsletter and its webmaster. The Lions Club serves the community through acts such as providing free vision and hearing screenings and collecting used eyeglasses, then recycling and distributing them to those in need.
But Laura’s caring went beyond the borders of institutional charity and spread into every facet of her life. Her cheerful, positive spirit and one-on-one encouragement brightened the days of all who knew her, people and pets alike. She was quick to forgive, quick to love, and quick to help those in need.
She recently met a fellow dog owner with a big problem. His dog had gotten into a fight with someone else’s dog, and there were serious injuries. He was a student without sufficient income to cover the costs of the resulting veterinary bills. Even more concerning, his own pet dog was threatened with being put down. Laura quietly arranged to cover the vet expenses…and the cost for a professional to train his dog not to attack others in the future. Such was the helpful nature of the woman we celebrate here today.
There seemed no limit to her willingness to help others and her desire to bring happiness to everyone in her life. She thought it no sacrifice to give even her sleep hours to help someone in a pinch, or lend a sympathetic ear to a discouraged friend. This desire to help extended beyond her passing, as she had chosen to be an organ donor to give new hope and life to others and their families. After she passed, we found a Facebook retro-post she'd entered for August 1997. It read:
“Registered as an Organ Donor. I signed up to be an organ donor the day I got my driver’s license. I firmly believe that if I die and my organs can save or improve the life of someone still living, they should have them.”
Laura made provisions to keep giving, even after she would no longer be able to tell others that she wanted to!
Challenging Times and a Stellar Comeback
Though she didn’t tell me at the time—probably not wanting to worry me—a handful of huge issues were weighing on Laura in late 2018. Among those, her dad was in the hospital, near death, and she had lost her job and--under so much stress--the necessary wherewithal to immediately seek a new one. Her finances subsequently devastated, she eventually had to give up her home and she moved back in with us, where Woody was now living, too. Still, most people wouldn’t have known Laura was experiencing tough times, as she continued to be positive and continued to offer help and encouragement to others.
But through raw determination, slowly, she picked herself up by the bootstraps and climbed her way back up out of the abyss. Soon, she was once again in demand as a trusted professional, and back on top of her game, wooed by multiple employers. She would come home at night, proudly telling us of the multi-million dollar contracts her proposals had played a role in obtaining for the language translation company she now worked for. She was enjoying her job and her boss and her coworkers, catching up on her finances and a backlog of personal projects, and life was once again good.
Laura's Death
The morning of March 19, Karen got dressed and as she headed for the stairs, she saw Laura in the open bathroom down the hall, curling her hair to prepare for work. Karen went downstairs where she began working from home. After 30 or 40 minutes, Karen got up to get something and noticed Laura’s car was still parked outside. Thinking she must be running very late to work, Karen went back upstairs to check on her. That’s when she found Laura collapsed on the bathroom floor, motionless, unresponsive, and blue from a lack of oxygen.
Karen burst into my room, screaming for me to call 911, then began performing CPR on Laura. Ten minutes later, two trucks pulled up in front of our home and 8 or so EMT and policemen ran into our home with their equipment. They immediately took over for Karen and did everything humanly possible to resuscitate our daughter. Nearly 30 more minutes passed with no response, then suddenly they got a heartbeat and blood pressure. Laura's color began to return. The EMTs cautioned us that we shouldn’t get our hopes up, but that at least Laura could now be taken to a hospital, one specializing in cardiac treatment.
At the hospital, I remember looking at Laura laying there in the Intensive Care Unit, eyes closed, on a ventilator because she wasn’t breathing on her own. She looked like she was simply asleep, and I kept praying for her to wake up. The nurses explained that a CT scan showed some brain damage, but that they weren’t trained to fully interpret it and we’d have to wait for the neurologist to review it when he returned the next day. They also explained that if Laura’s blood pressure dropped below a certain point, it would mean inflammation in the brain had spread to the brain stem, at which point there could be no coming back.
Later, I watched with a nurse as Laura’s blood pressure dropped. I asked the nurse if this was what she had earlier described, and she sadly nodded her head. A doctor then told me that they were doing everything they could to keep Laura alive long enough for her brother to fly into town to say goodbye to her. Woody made it later that evening and was able to tell his sister goodbye.
During a rare few moments when I was alone in the room with Laura, I held her hand tightly as I had so many times before over the past 39 years. This time, she didn’t squeeze mine back in the way she always had before. I couldn’t know if she could hear me, but I told her how much I loved her and how much joy she had given me her entire lifetime. I told her how big of a whole she would leave in my heart. And then, with tears streaming down my cheeks, I quietly sang “You Are My Sunshine” to her one last time. Telling our dear girl goodbye was the hardest thing that I’ve ever had to do in my life.
Laura’s heart had suddenly stopped working many years too soon for someone her age in seemingly good health. But, then, her heart had worked non-stop while she was alive, not just pumping blood to sustain her body, but producing an abundance of love for every person and creature in her world.
The heroic resuscitation efforts by Karen, the EMTs, and the staff at the hospital were not totally in vain. The EMT told us that it was nothing short of a miracle that they were able to physically, if not mentally, revive someone after such a long period after a heart stops beating. The fact that they were able to bring Laura back bodily meant that her last wish could be honored: to be an organ donor and to save the lives of others.
William Shakespeare once said, “All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances.” In that sense, Laura’s role in our play has come to an end. Her character has left the stage, and she has left the audience and her fellow players longing for more. But though her role in the play may be over, is it the end of the actress’s story?
A Future of Hope
Times like this often cause us to revisit a universal mystery. What happens when our life on this earth ends? Each person assembled here today likely has a belief of some kind—a belief they were taught in childhood, or a belief proposed by the religious faith they follow? Or maybe a lack of belief stemming from the harsh realities of life? Since we can’t turn to science for answers on this one, our beliefs are highly personal and widely varied. Some think death is the end of a person’s existence. Most faiths believe there will be a life beyond this one. Christians believe in such an afterlife and call it “paradise” or “Heaven.”
So, what does it take to qualify for this eternal life? While some are under the impression that entrance requires living a perfect, sinless life, Jesus Himself was as clear as can be about the criteria. When describing what the judgment day would be like [as described in Chapter 25 of the Book of Matthew, Verse 31 on], He didn’t mention adherence to the Ten Commandments, or to having lived a sinless life, or regular church attendance, or any rules or rituals that had to be followed. Instead, He pointed out the loving kindnesses that people had shown to others during their lives. Times when they fed those who were hungry, visited those who were sick or in prison, clothed those who had no clothes—in other words, loving and making some sacrifices to help others in need. The people in Jesus story didn’t even know that they were doing those acts of kindness for Him. Helping others just came naturally to them. And they were the ones He said He wanted to spend eternity with in Heaven.
That description of the qualities that Heaven rewards sounds an awful lot like someone I knew. In fact, it sounds exactly like her. Laura didn’t preach to people with words, but she lived her love for others with caring action and loving sacrifice, 24/7, from the time she was a toddler to the very time she left us. Her life was a living example to me of the exact roadmap to Heaven that Jesus revealed to His followers. Regardless of our different individual faiths, religious affiliations, or walks of life, I’m sure we can all agree that loving each other and helping each other to make it through this dim, cold world is the most noble thing we can do with our time here. Trying to bring some sunshine to others, to brighten their existence. That’s the example that Laura left for us.
Lessons and Legacy
We humans don’t have all of the answers to life’s mysteries, but I believe that all things—good things and bad things—happen for reasons that ultimately lead to a greater good. Often, those reasons are not immediately apparent…
You might say that the Hill family has had a run of bad luck over the past few years. First, I became ill with a genetic liver disease for which there is no cure and which ends in death. The same condition had taken the life of my older sister, Bonnie, ten years earlier, and our Uncle Ted two decades before that. The only solution is a liver transplant, and because donors are scarce, the odds are three-to-one against receiving a liver in time to stay alive. I spent a year in seven different hospitals, nearly dying multiple times. Karen spent that year without my help and with little sleep, trying to manage everything in my absence, deal with my doctors and the insurance company, keep everyone updated on my condition, and trying to hold down her full-time job, all at the same time.
During that time, Laura was struggling. She had lost her job, and with life battering her from multiple directions, and a stretch with no income to pay the bills, she had to part with her home.
Our son, Woody, for the prior 11 years had been living in New Orleans where he had started college in 2007. Other than visits home, his life had tied him there and presented him with his own challenges.
So, times were tough all around. It would be easy for you to feel pity for us, and, yes, unquestionably those were tough times. But now, in hindsight, we can make out a convergence of those circumstances that gave us a wonderful gift that we otherwise would never have had…
My diminishing health and hospitalization led Woody to make a big choice. Deciding that his family needed him right then, he packed up and moved back home. Laura’s loss of her job and residence brought her back into our home, too. As for me, I ended up being the fortunate one in four patients who received a liver transplant. It was successful, and I, too, was back home, completing my recovery. Our children were there for us, helping Karen to make special accommodations and to assist me until I could regain my strength.
And there we were…after splintering off in different directions 18 years earlier, our entire family was back together, all living under one roof again. It was a parent’s dream come true—a seemingly miraculous and totally unexpected reprieve from several decades of empty-nest syndrome.
How many times have we wished for one last chance to talk with a loved one who we’ve lost? A chance to hug them just one more time? To give and receive one more kiss on the cheek?The four of us had that chance…not just once, but day after day for more than a year and a half. A year and a half more of hugs and kisses; of consoling on our defeats and celebrating our victories; of sharing a meal and a TV movie night; of asking and hearing how everyone’s day went; of late night conversations on deep subjects and our greatest hopes and fears; of sharing advice and suggesting solutions to problems; of telling each other “I love you” and hearing it in return.
All four of us once again had each other in a way that none of us would ever have dreamed could happen again so many years later. Not only was this period a blessing of family companionship, but it offered a time of healing and regeneration for both Laura and Woody. Each were able to catch their breaths, reorganize their lives, get their careers on a solid, upward track, and improve their finances.
So, a long-term illness and loss of income; a loss of a job; a loss of a home, and more. Did we as a family have a bad run of setbacks? Most certainly. But could those awful events have been part of some celestial plan? I can say only this: if you had asked me even while Laura was living, I’d have told you I would gladly have gone through the three years of failing health all over again, including the year in hospitals, just to have those many months with my family back together. And since that fateful Friday when we lost Laura, that year and a half has become a priceless gift that I would never trade.
All things work together for good. At this moment, I won’t pretend to guess what ultimate good might eventually result from our dear Laura’s passing. How can the death of a vibrant, 39-year-old woman who brought such light and happiness to so many possibly lead to a greater good? Through the fog of pain that we currently feel, I can’t imagine any good great enough to trade my daughter for. But I know from my own life experiences that threads of tragedy and loss are often later found woven into a piece of beautiful fabric with a larger purpose. Right now, only God could know that purpose. Perhaps one of the organs Laura donated will save the life of someone who will go on to do great things or to advance humanity’s progress. Perhaps her passing will be a wake-up call to someone that life is fleeting and can end suddenly, and thus should be cherished and enjoyed and not taken for granted. Or perhaps this celebration of her loving, giving spirit will inspire those of us whose lives she touched to themselves carry her light and love on to others. And what might you do? You might resolve to give a hug to a family member or a friend each day. To tell them that you love them. To grab a burrito for them when stopping by the Taco Bell on your way home. To routinely do something to make someone’s day a little brighter. To try to understand and find something to love in everyone--even the most despicable people. That’s what Laura would do. By at least trying to do that, we can honor Laura's life.
