For Laura — who would have been 56 next week

Laura loved to read—she didn’t just enjoy books, she devoured them. Always onto the next one, always curious, always finding something new. But what I remember most isn’t just that she read—it’s that she shared life alongside it.

I miss her. I miss our daily conversations more than anything. The constant back and forth, the little updates, the random thoughts that somehow always mattered. The small things, too—messages about something she found, something she sent, something she thought I’d like. Those pieces of her are everywhere in my memory.

She was one of a kind. Completely herself—confident in who she was, never pretending to be anything else. She loved her family deeply, and she cared about her business in that same steady, committed way. There was nothing halfway about her.

I think about our trips—Universal in California, Vegas, Grand Marais. Different places, different moments, but always her: present, engaged, real. Those are the memories that stay sharp.

This year, like last year, I’ll celebrate her birthday in a way that feels right. I’ll have one of her favorite tea drinks and leave books in places—especially Starbucks, one of her favorites. Just small, quiet gestures. Not because of anything symbolic she said, but because it feels like a way to keep something moving forward. A way to mark the day.

There’s a void she left that doesn’t really go away. It shows up in the quiet moments, in the instinct to reach out, in the absence of her voice in my day.

But there’s also everything she was. And that doesn’t disappear.

On March 26, I will wish my best friend a Happy Birthday, confident that she will hear it. Laura, I miss you every single day.

Thanks, Julie