Linda Joan McKinley

Linda Joan McKinley, born on September 22, 1959, in Brookline, Massachusetts, passed away unexpectedly in the early morning hours of September 11, 2025, at her home in Colesville, Maryland. She was 65 years old. Her family was deeply shocked and saddened by her sudden passing.

Linda was preceded in death by her parents, Janet (and husband Bill Lawrence) and Ed McKinley (and wife Barbara Keeping), and by her sisters, Patricia and Kathleen. She is survived by her sister and non-sexual life partner, Beth; sister Heather and partner, Alicia Gates; daughter Larissa Johnson and partner, Evan Gilfoyle; her technically-nephews but sons-in-spirit, Philip and Michael Fleming; and her niece and nephew—but more-like-grandchildren—Autumn and Cody. Yeah, we know… it’s complicated. Linda once lobbied for everyone to change their last names to McFlemlawsonfoyle, but that campaign didn’t find many supporters.

Everyone who knew Linda could list innumerable qualities they loved about her—but only after they told you how unbelievably bossy she was. Linda knew exactly what needed to be done and wasn’t shy about telling everyone around her exactly how they needed to do it. This was a skill she had to develop. She grew up fast and had no time for nonsense. She chose to become a mother at 20 (it wasn’t the typical youthful accident) and, just two years later, became the guardian of her sister Patricia’s two young children. A backbone was a requirement for survival.

Those of us who walked an easier path may not understand that struggle is not the same thing as unhappiness. Linda’s life was filled with joy despite the extra challenges. Embracing two young boys was not part of her plan, but she cared for them as if they were her own children. Admittedly, they were boys—and Linda came from a long line of strong matriarchs—so there were growing pains, but Linda loved Philip and Michael like sons and cherished the men they grew into.

It’s clear she cared deeply for other people and had a strong sense of justice. She was worldly enough to understand that the world can be harsh and unforgiving at times. That knowledge drives some to look after themselves more carefully; it drove Linda to look after others. She spent most of her professional life as a social worker in Massachusetts, working tirelessly to help young single mothers find their own paths to success and security. Her religious friends joked that she was the most Christian atheist they knew.

Linda was both whip-smart and funny. A voracious reader, she found joy and comfort in the worlds of fantasy literature—especially The Lord of the Rings, which she loved long before Hollywood discovered its charms. Cars, houses, birds—nothing in her life escaped being named after an obscure Tolkien character.

Linda never married, but she didn’t travel through life alone. She chose to share her life with her sister Beth, who was a dedicated partner and caregiver through two bouts of cancer, an ill-conceived handshake with a hungry snowblower, and years of wonderfully meaningless arguments and disagreements. Together, “The Aunts” were the anchor of the family—hosting game nights and holiday dinners, offering advice and guidance, a friendly ear, or a shoulder to cry on. It may not have been a marriage, but it was certainly a partnership to be envied.

The only person with whom she might have shared an even closer relationship was her daughter, Larissa. Larissa brought her endless pride and joy. The two of them kept in constant contact as Larissa bounced around the country, but once Larissa found her forever home, Linda and Beth relocated to Maryland to spend as much time with her as possible. Although that time was shorter than expected, Linda formed deep friendships with her new neighbors and enjoyed nothing more than an unexpected pop-in from her daughter.

Linda will be remembered for her kindness, humor, and strength—and for the deep love she gave so freely to those who knew her. Though her absence is profoundly felt, her legacy lives on in the family she nurtured, the lives she touched, and the countless memories we all share of this remarkable woman.