The world lost a one-of-a-kind rebel with the passing of Beatrice Mary Bossard, who departed her earthly shell, assumably, on the 20th of June, 2025 also known as the Cusp of Magic in astrology.

Beatrice was born on October 27th, 1952, to Helen E. Bossard and Leonard P. Bossard Sr. in Albany, NY. She was the youngest of three—her sister, Eileen V. Bossard, and brother, Leonard P. Bossard Jr.—both of whom predeceased her.

She is survived by her only child, a daughter, Kyla; her grandchildren, Tizera, Kendralyn, Samuel, Jack, and Olivia; as well as two great-grandchildren whom she adored dearly—Jaydin and Charlie Rose. Her husband Micheal Streeter, Although no longer living together they maintained a mutually respectful and loving relationship. Duly noted is her best friends Lisa Ann ,Tina Comyns-Suitto, and Hailey Acker.

A fierce and mighty woman who danced to the beat of her own drum—preferably rock ‘n’ roll, played loud and proud. Stubbornly independent and wild at heart, she lived life on her own terms. She was known for her firecracker spirit, sharp tongue, and a stubborn streak that could rival any storm.

But beneath that tough exterior was a heart so big it made room for everyone she met. Her love extended to all people and every creature that crossed her path. Animals were especially dear to her, and she never met a stray she didn’t try to rescue.

Her generosity was boundless. She gave freely of her time, energy, and love to many family, friends, and the community she called home throughout her lifetime. She brought life to any party. Covered in tattoos, she was a walking piece of art and rebellion.

Music was her constant companion. Beatrice found joy in every tune and genre. She was a diehard MGK fan girl, but had a deep love for the blues—B.B. King, Stevie Ray Vaughan and Koko Taylor, to name a few.

She was a highly intelligent woman with an impressive eidetic memory, which was as much a gift as it was a curse. She had an uncanny ability for understanding things beyond the veil. Beatrice played the piano in her school years and also knew a bit of ASL. She worked for NYS for many years in Albany before moving onto a position at a local restaurant called “Dave’s” in downtown Albany that she loved. Very few knew her to have the ability not only to write ambidextrously but also bilaterally, creating beautiful identical writings in mirror image. An empathic woman, She was fearless, yet fragile—holding pain without shattering.

A curse she carried: to never be fully known or fully loved without being feared or misunderstood—and never truly safe, even in her own heart. She held a silence that was louder than screams, with every betrayal a fire in her bones. Every love, her battlefield.

Often, she walked alone—but never powerless, for this curse was also the source of her magic. This final goodbye: a funeral she held alone. But her presence? Impossible to forget.

She leaves behind a legacy of strength, passion, and unapologetic authenticity. She taught us to speak our minds, love with everything we’ve got, and never be afraid to stand out.

She was one of a kind.

She was ours.

And she will be missed beyond words.

With a rebel yell and a finger pointed high in the sky,

may she not only rest in peace—but find it as well.

“Grief is love with no place to go”

⸻

When a Scorpio Woman Ascends

Not so long ago, she walked this world

with eyes that saw too deep.

A Scorpio soul, half flame, half tide—

she never loved skin-deep.

She carried truths too sharp to speak,

and shadows she made art,

with silence like a velvet blade

and fire inside her heart.

Not so long ago, her laugh would crack

through walls without shame.

She knew when lies were cloaked as care—

and called them just the same.

Protective, fierce, unyielding grace,

a storm wrapped into one,

she’d fight for you without a word—

but never let you in.

She was the dusk between the days,

the phoenix in the flame,

transforming pain to power,

never leaving things the same.

Her love, a deep and sacred pact,

too loyal to betray—

but cross her once, and you’d be gone,

forever swept away.

She came like midnight’s whisper,

a secret carved in stars—

mystery wrapped in velvet flame,

with passion deeper than Mars.

Born under Scorpio’s sacred sign,

where water flows in stream,

she carried storms within her soul,

a silence no one tells.

Her love was fierce, unspoken fire,

protective as the moon.

She’d wound you just to wake your heart—

then kiss away the pain.

A guardian of hidden things,

a keeper of what’s true—

if you met her gaze, you knew:

no mask could hide from view.

She danced with death in quiet ways,

as life’s most loyal friend.

She shed her skins like falling leaves,

then bloomed from pain again.

Each time more raw, more radiant,

like roses fed by summer’s sun.

Now stars have claimed her whisper back,

the moon has closed her eyes.

Yet even in this aching void,

her spirit never dies.

For Scorpio does not depart—

she transforms, she ascends,

a phoenix in eternal flight,

the soul that never ends.

So mourn her not in weeping tones—

she hated shallow tears.

Instead, speak truth, protect your heart,

and honor all your fears.

For if you live with depth and fire,

unapologetically—

then part of her still lives in you,

as it was meant to be.

⸻

In a Quiet Room

No footsteps echoed down the hall,

no voice to answer their last call.

No hand to press against their own—

they faced the dusk, unheard, alone.

No candles burned beside the bed,

no whispered psalms, no tears were shed.

The world kept turning, unaware

that someone vanished into air.

Yet angels do not knock or wait—

they pass through locks and open fate.

And though no witness marked the time,

the stars aligned in quiet rhyme.

The breath they drew, the life they gave—

still sacred, still beyond the grave.

Not less in love, not less in grace,

though death came in an unseen place.

And now the wind will speak their name,

in rustling leaves and candle flame.

For even those who die alone

are carried gently, soul to bone.

So mourn not just the ones we see—

but those who pass in secrecy.

For every life, both loud and small,

is deeply known, and loved by all.

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