Here's To You, Lara.

I remember the first time I met Lara vividly. It was at her work studio, just up the street from where I had recently moved to in Newport, Rhode Island. A new friend, Kelly, had invited me to this small get together. She said that I had to meet Lara. That we would become fast friends.

Kelly was right.

What struck me initially about Lara was her long, beautiful black hair and olive skin. I thought she had to be Indian or maybe Native American to have such incredible looks. I was wrong. She was in fact Italian, from Long Island. I loved how she would draw out saying “Long Island” with an exaggerated accent. Lara was always the first one to make fun of herself. One of the many things I loved about her.

What I learned as we started talking was that she had a deep soul but with so much light. She could laugh about silly sitcoms and then switch over to a conversation about establishing boundaries in one’s life without any hesitancy. She was OK with deep. After all, she had to deal with some pretty deep shit for most of her life.

Lara lived on the same street as me. So did Kelly. Prospect Hill Street. It was the perfect neighborhood. We would pop on to each other’s doorsteps, unannounced at times, and spend hours drinking tea and talking. Kelly and Lara came to symbolize all that I loved about Newport; They made it into a home for me.

I loved talking to Lara. She always gave you 100 percent of her concentration in a conversation. She personified active listening. I felt, and did, tell her everything. She was one of those few people in life that you could talk to and never feel judged. I had rarely experienced that ever in my life and I knew it was to be treasured. She was to be treasured.

Lara and I would meet for mojitos at Perro Salado. We would brunch at Stone Acre and spend hours catching up. We drank Dark and Stormys at Diego’s. Most of the time though, we would just hang out at hers and play Bananagrams and talk. Besides not feeling judged when I talked to her, she always had the most sage advice to give. And it was never delivered in a condescending way. It was always just a suggestion of possibilities and perspectives. To this day, I hear her wise words in my head anytime I need advice.

It was awhile before she told me that she had cancer. That she had been fighting it for decades. You would never have known unless she told you. And she didn’t want it to be something that people knew right away. It wasn’t going to define her in any way, at least as much as she could help it.

I only knew Lara for six years, but the quality of those six years made it seem like we had known each other for so much longer.

She taught me how to parallel park and she let me drive her car when I had to pass my driving test to get my U.S. license.

She was there when I separated from my then-husband. I remember the day clearly: I called her and asked her how she was doing. She told me it was a bad day for her. “How are you doing"?” She asked. “Well I am being kicked out of my apartment by my husband and I need to pack up all my stuff. Want to help?” We both laughed in that moment at the absurdity of our conversation. “OK, I’ll be right over. I’ll bring some snacks.” She said.

And she did bring snacks, which we ate as we packed my clothes and occasionally got bouts of giggles for some reason. Not going to lie, my ex-husband coming in to the apartment as Lara was trying on a crazy coat while we laughed hysterically wasn’t probably the best optics but whatever.

She let me stay at her place when she was out of town until I found a place. She helped me move in to my new apartment. She helped me navigate my new life and ultimately a new relationship through its up and downs and eventually, helped me plan my wedding last year.

We watched the counting of ballots on election night back in 2016 at a local bar called Pour Judgement. Luckily, we went home and to bed before we knew the outcome. The next day we tried to figure out what America we had woken up in.

I picked her up from the hospital after she had an adverse reaction to a cat bite. We laughed about it. She could always laugh about her accidents. Lara was prone to some pretty crazy stuff happening to her, outside of the realm of cancer. Even the parts to do with cancer, she would find humor in some of it. Because of all the things she had to go through and her body’s reactions at times, she would sign off some of her emails as “Frankenstein.”

I know I am not unique in my feelings towards Lara. She has a whole posse out there that loves her just as strongly as I love her. They rallied around her always, especially in the moments she needed more thoughts and prayers because there were plenty of times over the years that things got bad. But somehow she always bounced back.

For her 50th birthday her friends flew in from all over the country. She was so happy that night. Her smile and laugh lit up the room as usual. She danced. We all danced and it was all in honor of one of the most beautiful people we knew.

When Lara was going through treatments, she would sometimes (with warning) not communicate as much. She would be wiped out and I can’t even begin to imagine how many people were checking in on her. Lara liked her communication to be meaningful, and if she couldn’t give that to you, she would prefer to wait until she could.

The end of 2019 brought some bad news for Lara, but she remained positive, still joking about being Frankenstein. The pandemic and the shutdown made it even harder on her. Something that she had been living in fear of for years: getting sick, was now a global reality. The precautions we had to take now were what she had been doing for years.

The last time I saw Lara was in September of 2020. She had come over to our house, where we were planning to be married on the 26th of that month. I had asked her to officiate if she felt comfortable enough to, but she realized that she couldn’t commit. She stopped by and gave us these beautiful clay bowls she had made as well as a kit to put in the bathroom for the wedding. The kit included everyting from mints to Tylenol. She thought of everything, as she always did.

For the first time, I saw the tiredness in her eyes. It was shocking. Lara would often joke about outliving everyone: she would be in pieces, but still alive. I had believed her for so long, but now I felt a twinge of doubt.

It was hard not being able to see Lara. Not to be able to hug her (she gave the best hugs). I didn’t want to overwhelm her with texts and calls, knowing she was dealing with a lot. Texting her “How are you?” seemed stupid and glib considering so I always just kept it to “Just checking in,” or “Thinking about you.”

One of the last texts I got from Lara was about a dream she had: We were all having dinner in a circus-like arena and Ted (my husband) was wearing a light blue sweater “which he looked good in by the way,” said Lara. She said that we had to spend the night at this place and that she woke up with mud on her face.

Some texts and calls went unanswered and when I got the call, I knew what had happened.

It’s hard to imagine a world without Lara, in fact its terrifying. She was one of the most incredible souls I have —or will ever—meet. To think that I won’t have her to guide me through all the other “ginormous life events” as she called them is heartbreaking.

As the waves of grief wash over me, I know that I am not alone. She made so many people feel special and accepted with them with all their quirks. They too are feeling this incredible loss.

For all of us, the only thing that we can do is try and be just a percentage of the incredible person that she was. Even though she isn’t here, she gave us one last sage piece of advice: that life is precious and worthy of being lived as if we were Lara Lynn Rosa Nicole Pilla.