Laya was at first indescribable. She took your breath away with her compassion. She loved to say “I love you, I love you love you.” She would say “I missed you” when you briefly stepped out of a room before coming back. She was the person who recognized cookies as a meal all their own, a perfect part of the food group and necessary for any meal. She was wise and mature beyond her years, she loved her Hispanic heritage; celebrating its music, language, and culture.
Laya, like her sister, was a dancer, a singer, and loved to be active and moving and having fun. She was an artist of all sorts. She loved to color, and was meticulous in her vision, if she made a mistake she would have to start over and do it right from the start. She loved music – she collected songs in playlists and loved to learn new ones – and in the car, she was the DJ. She loved movies far beyond her years, Coraline and Nightmare Before Christmas for example, where she could see artistry of new styles and directions.
Her story, had it been able to be fully written, would have said how her art changed the world. How she brought light, color, and sound to those who were in darkness, in gray, in silence. How she would have used her art to heal broken hearts and wounded souls. She was empathetic, knew when people were hurting, physically or emotionally, and would stay by their side and help them in however they needed.
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