Maria Elisabete Kekwald

Elisabete passed away peacefully in the home she lovingly called “the best house she ever got to live in” on May 5, 2026. In the final years of her life, she faced a terminal neurological illness that slowly took her ability to speak, write, walk, travel, and perform daily tasks. Yet even as her body failed her, her joy, faith, and unmistakable positive energy never dimmed. Everyone who crossed her path felt the warmth of her presence.

Her lifelong mantra, “fear not,” guided her through every hardship with grace and courage. At doctor’s appointments, she always downplayed her symptoms. With her neurologist, she preferred to talk about her travels and the things she had learned rather than the progression of her illness. I was frustrated at first, but eventually I understood: she wanted to be seen as the extraordinary woman she saw in the mirror, not defined by the disease that tried to take so much from her.

Brilliant, curious, and endlessly strong, Elisabete was the smartest woman I have ever known—a true powerhouse. She approached life with a scholar’s mind and an artist’s heart, taking far more college credits than required simply because she wanted to learn everything she could. She studied arts, history, mathematics, linguistics, and devoured thousands of books. Even in her later years, she delighted in learning a few words of Hebrew, proudly sharing them with her doctors, neighbors, friends, and the many people who helped us in our daily lives.

One of the things she asked of me was to review all her books and whatever she had tucked inside them. Cleaning her room after she passed, I was struck by the extraordinary range of her reading—from The Soul of an Octopus to Modern Physics and Ancient Faith—a reflection of her boundless curiosity. I didn’t know what I would find, but as I opened them one by one, I discovered poetry, handwritten notes, marked passages, and even a few hidden $100 bills—classic Mom. Among her writings, one line stood out: “I think that I read so many books, studied so many subjects, and even so, I can’t explain love.” Today, I understand exactly what she meant. I feel the pain, the joy, and the profound meaning of what it was to be the person she loved most, and she the person I loved most in this life.

Her illness, as she often said, was “ten times worse” than surviving ovarian cancer, chemotherapy, and radiation. Yet it opened a sacred space for us. We spoke openly about life—its best and hardest moments—about regrets, lessons, culture, family, and the meaning behind the passages we lived through together. We talked about death, too: her wishes, her beliefs, and what she imagined would come next. Rooted in Ayurvedic tradition, she believed death was simply another part of life, and that her grandparents and mother would be waiting for her. Those conversations were priceless, and they were the greatest gift she could have given me.

Her love for animals was enormous—truly a defining part of her soul. She adored her two cats, Sasha and Gordita, and had a special affection for our neighborhood friend, Mr. Fluffy. She fed the birds, squirrels, ducks, geese, foxes, turtles, and even the occasional opossum or raccoon. Caring for animals was her way of caring for the world. She believed it created good energy.

In the last few years, we were blessed to build a deeply supportive community—one that brought us joy, stability, and the ability for Mom to live her best life despite her illness. This circle of care included Jeff, Allen, Ryan, Pamela, Amy, Viral, Geeta, Valerie, Garrett, Jed, Clint, Natosha, Dr. Nisly, Mr. Wayan, my work colleagues, and so many others who crossed our paths and added moments of happiness to her life, just as she did to theirs. We are profoundly grateful for this community and for the love and support we received during these years.

In her final years, she taught me how to appreciate the present and the everyday miracles we often overlook. One of her happiest recent memories came thanks to Jeff and Allen, who remodeled our downstairs bathroom and installed a walk-in tub. She would soak for over an hour, and whenever I checked on her, she’d flash the biggest smile and say, “Yes, I LOVE this tub. It is SO nice.” She never lost her humor or her ability to have fun. When walking became difficult, she refused to use her wheelchair; instead, she bought a children’s go-kart and zipped around the house. Watching videos of her zooming through the rooms still brings me joy.

Together, we traveled the world—more than 30 countries in total. She lived every journey with style and delight. Her favorite destinations were the Large Hadron Collider at CERN and Charlie Chaplin’s house in Switzerland, experiences she cherished—especially because they came just before her diagnosis. And of course, she made friends everywhere we went; she loved to talk, and she was gifted at connecting with people.

Elisabete lived with curiosity, courage, humor, generosity, and an unshakeable faith in the beauty of life. She leaves behind a legacy of love, wisdom, and wonder. And for those of us who loved her, she leaves a reminder to fear not and have faith, to feed the birds, to care for the creatures she adored, and to stay open to the small miracles she believed would always connect us.

A few days before her death, she told me she felt her time was coming—that she felt her grandfather nearby. I said to her, “But you haven’t won the lottery yet,” something she was adamant she would do before she died. She smiled and said, “You are my lottery. I have lived the best years of my life with you.” Mom was a spectacular individual. She leaves a hole in my heart, but also a soul filled with the strength to face whatever life brings next.

In keeping with her wishes, there will be no funeral services. If you feel moved to honor her memory, she would have wanted you to do so in the ways that mattered most to her: feed the birds and squirrels in your backyard, foster or adopt a cat in need, or donate to an organization that helps animals stay healthy and free.

Memorial tributes and messages of sympathy can be left by clicking the "Add a Memory" box below. Brown Wynne of Cary is honored to serve the Kekwald family.