Booker T. Washington once said, “Success waits patiently for anyone who has the determination and the strength to seize it.”
Laura Davis had both determination and strength. She spent 40 years of her life incarcerated, survived breast cancer while on the inside, and when she was given her second chance and paroled in 2019 at the age of 67, reacclimated to a world quicker and more technologically advanced than she had left. Unfortunately, five years into her new life, Laura died in her sleep.
However, her impact lives on because Laura could always make people around her — both in prison and outside of prison — feel loved and special.
She welcomed and helped to acclimate newly incarcerated women to the Louisiana Correctional Institute for Women (LCIW), became a literacy tutor and helped women get their GEDs, and left a lasting impact on the life of Parole Project Reentry Manager Christi Cheramie.
“She was my first female client and my only female 40-year lifer client,” Christi said. She met Laura, who she lovingly called “Buttercup” while they were both incarcerated at LCIW. “She was a phenomenal woman who just wanted to take care of everybody. Whenever I went over to her home to see her, she always made me eat something, and if I didn’t, she would pack it for me to eat. Losing her was like losing a family member.”
Laura’s life began in Omaha, Nebraska, the fifth of six children. Her nickname was “Baby” because she was the youngest until she was six years old when her sister, Sarah, was born. Laura was a young mother who lost both of her children to the system – they were part of a closed adoption – but she never stopped looking for them. Some people dance through the dash between their birth and death, their success measured by monetary gains, career advancements, or the families they build. Others fight through that dash, overcoming adversity, living with choices they made, and leaning on faith and strength to survive.
Laura’s dash was not easy, but her success was measured by an ability to nurture those around her, earning her additional nicknames like “Mama” and “Vertie Mae.” She was a talented seamstress, a motivational speaker, and a gifted chef who regularly cooked for her friends and family – lunches of crawfish etouffee and shrimp stew for her friends at Parole Project and pancakes and eggs for her vegetarian nephew, Ronell.
“We grew up like mother and son,” said Ronell, who lives in Atlanta. “I brought her to my house last Thanksgiving, and she cooked the entire time for me. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. We talked every day. She passed away the day after my birthday. I talked to her the morning of my birthday, and she said everything was good. She said, ‘Happy Birthday, my baby.’ She was always so loving to me, to my daughter. She left a huge impact on our lives.”
There’s a photo of Laura online, above her obituary. In it, she is wearing a pink “Birthday Princess” sash and a shiny crown, like the ones they sell at Party City. Her smile extends across her cheeks and through her eyes, lighting up her face, as she holds out “Happy Birthday” beads to the person taking the picture. The photo says as much about her as it does about the impact that she had on those around her. The comments below the obituary paint a similar story: “A beautiful lady who helped everyone with whatever they needed,” “You were loved by many,” and “You helped me so much. Believing in me when no one else did.”
Elena Encarnacion, a former LSU law student who assisted Laura with her parole hearing, remembers bringing her to the Olive Garden the first night after her release and then to Hobby Lobby, where Laura was like a “child in a candy store.” During the last five years, Encarnacion and Laura shared a love of grilled onions, Tiger Stadium, and Mexican food.
“I ordered fajitas for both of us,” she said. “I promised Laura she could trust me and that she would love it. I ordered a platter of beef, chicken, and shrimp, hoping to impress her. However, when it arrived, she exclaimed, ‘Grilled onions! I love grilled onions!’ And she went to town. Mexican grilled onions served with meat became our thing, and we went together probably once per month.”
After Laura’s death, Encarnacion wrote the eulogy, a seven-page tribute to a thousand small moments highlighting the love Laura spread to those around her. The last paragraph sums up the success Laura found during her 72 years of life.
“During her life, she had found freedom from addiction, she had experienced the freedom of the chains of incarceration finally being lifted after 40 and a half years, she found freedom in choosing faith over fear; and in death, she receives the freedom from pain, disappointment, and the limitations of her mortal body. She is finally, truly free,” Encarnacion wrote. “At last, our Laura, our Auntie, our Sister, our friend, our surrogate mother when we needed one, our Vertie Mae, and now our angel, is at last free.”
