A Rare Kind of Light by Cheryl Aversano

Sometimes, I remember her, and a single tear traces its way down my face. She was small, almost delicate, but her presence was anything but. Her spirit reached deep into my heart, settling there in a way that time cannot dislodge. Did she know how deeply she touched me? I think she did.

She carried a kind of quiet confidence, the kind most 18-year-olds only dream of. It wasn’t a performance or bravado; it was something far rarer—an assurance born from understanding how she fit into the world, how she illuminated it. She didn’t just touch lives; she allowed others to touch hers in return. That openness, that vulnerability, made her extraordinary. She gave as much as she took, her heart a perfect balance of generosity and receptivity.

I believe that a million years from now, we will strive to be more like her—more courageous, more authentic, more alive to the connections that bind us. She was, somehow, all of us combined, our hopes, flaws, and dreams bound into a singular, breathtaking beauty. Her essence was universal, yet so uniquely hers.

Even to those who barely knew her, she left something behind. A smile, a word, or just the echo of her presence—it was enough to plant seeds of change in people’s hearts. She had this rare ability to make even the most fleeting encounter feel significant. Those who crossed her path became better, braver, kinder, because she had been there.

Her absence feels like the loss of something sacred, an ache that words can’t quite express. But when I think of her, I also feel an undeniable gratitude. She was a rare kind of light—the kind that doesn’t just fade when it’s gone, but lingers, coloring everything in its glow. I am better because she existed. We all are.

I am so sorry to hear of the passing of your daughter. I had not met her but work with Robert.

Breaks my heart...You will be in my prayers.