a note from Laura
With abysmal sadness, I share that my mother, Priscilla Elaine Bonilla Lawrence, has taken leave of us. No longer earthbound, Mom departed this life on Tuesday, September 16, 2025, at 10:47 am EST.
My mother, though petite in stature, was mighty in presence— you felt her before she entered the room. And when she arrived, heads turned and energies flocked to meet her. Growing up and well into adulthood, I saw this over and over again.
Magnetic, meditative, and memorable, Mom was the glue that supported and sustained connections for many in her life. In her youth, Mom made lifelong friendships and indelible memories that she long cherished and shared with all of us over the years. In 2020, I had the good fortune to interview Mom on camera. As of today, I'm still unable to view this precious video; in my grief, I remind myself, everything in its time.
I remember most from that interview her stories about growing up on St. Thomas and her adventures with beloved cousins. She shared how they would walk from Mafolie through the bush, down to Magen's Bay. One of her cousins, Robert, spoke of this on Tuesday with great love.
Music was ubiquitous in all the moments, eras, and events I remember with Mom. As a kid, I grew accustomed to a new LP arriving home with her after work on Fridays. My mother loved nearly all genres of music and collected albums with joy and intention. I credit Mom with my deep connection and vast love of music, a gift I passed on to my daughters, Evelyn and Vivian.
Music was my mother's love language; she threaded emotive expression into our lives through her music collections. Her playlists bring comfort and connection to her essence. I am so grateful for this lyrical tether to her—as I listen to her music now, I continue to learn more about all she carried in her heart and soul.
My mother had a way with words; shock, awe, and clever hilarity adorned her expression. Her laugh, when in full form, was robust and, like her music, hit numerous octaves and pitches—mostly starting in a rapid-fire rhythm with an embullient squeal before winding down to her catching her breath at the end.
In recent years, I recognized and appreciated Mom's intuition and keen observations on people and life, which were remarkably on point. We shared long conversations at times that I will forever cherish. She spoke lovingly about her mother, Elaine, granddaughters, Evelyn and Vivian, son, Glenn, and her loving, devoted husband of forty-six years, Glenn. She spoke of friends and family with reverence, joy, and a few sharp words. Mom had a long memory.
Ours was a relationship teeming with ebbs and flows—at times it embodied complexities and disruptions in communication, and at other times, was the full-expression joy-filled reunions and connections that were all-encompassing. Ours was a potent mother-daughter dance. Immensely bereft, I am reckoning with the reality that I will not get her back again—not here, not now, not in this lifetime.
I played music for her over the last few days, while sitting bedside with Mom. Guided by her playlists, we listened to ABBA, Bob Seger, Dorothy Moore, Diana Ross, Frank Sinatra, George Benson, and more. The soundtrack of our last earthly mother-daughter dance together was tender, heartfelt, and loving—the memory of it holds me now, as I fall away from the time when mom was here with us.
It's especially poignant that Mom's departure occurred between a lunar eclipse in Pisces on 9/7 and a solar eclipse in Virgo on 9/21. She always had a pulse on the skies and atmosphere above. Mom would call to inform me about eclipses, meteors, and weather events so I would not miss them.
Yesterday, while speaking with her dear friend Lee, I shared the time of my mother's passing, to which he shared that 10:47 is 111, and I noted that 111 is an angel number. I know Mom is delighted by us connecting the angel dots.
Today, I opened my phone, and the clock read 1:11. Again, the message urges faith that even amid profound loss, divine timing exists, and all that threads love remains.
I come from a long line of powerful matriarchs, all seamstresses of love and lore. For this, I am grateful.
Thank you, Mom.
I feel you in the stars and songs you loved so well.
God bless you on your starry way.
All my love,
Laura Elizabeth
