Bolton Hill knew her as ‘L.’  A note on a windshield introduced them to Laurie.

Two days after her mother’s death, McKinley Gillespie sat in a beat-up car in Bolton Hill with notebook paper and a pen. She wasn’t sure exactly what the note should say, but she knew how it should start:

“Her name was Laurie, and she was loved.”

Most neighbors knew her mother only as “L,” the chatty unhoused woman who parked her Toyota there four years ago and rarely left. Laurie Gillespie struggled with paranoia and other mental health issues, sometimes making it difficult to form deep connections. It’s why she usually wouldn’t share her full name.

But she waved hi and talked to neighbors — Bill McConnell walking his dog, Scout, Allyson Flores heading to work at On the Hill Cafe. McKinley knew they’d wonder what happened to her.

She taped the note to the front windshield, placed flowers on the car hood and went home to grieve her mom, who died suddenly of pneumonia on June 18 at age 61. When McKinley returned days later, the car — Laurie’s home for the past several years — was piled with sympathy cards and bouquets.

It was a heartwarming surprise.

Laurie, distrustful of the world around her, kept most personal details private. Neighbors didn’t know how she ended up there and usually didn’t ask. They didn’t know the extent of her troubles, which were concealed by a bubbly personality and fierce independence.

“I just can’t believe that, in a way, the stars can be aligned to give her a really beautiful place to live the last few months of her life around really kind people,” McKinley said.

Laurie was born May 8, 1965, in Germany, where her father was stationed with the Army. She was a younger sister to Mac and Lisa, the most outgoing and fun-loving of the three.

When she was a toddler, the family relocated to California for a few years before her father was reassigned to the D.C. area. Laurie, then about 5, climbed into their station wagon with her siblings and family cat, Snoopy. On their road trip, they stopped at Disneyland in Los Angeles, the caverns in New Mexico and then a theme park in Texas.

“Laurie loved to wander,” Mac Gillespie said. “She loved the adventure and the finding-new-things part of the whole experience.”

They eventually settled in Northern Virginia. In high school, Laurie was a rifle thrower for the marching band and worked at a steakhouse. She hung out in D.C. with friends on weekends.

“She would do anything for anybody, and she always got along real well with everybody,” said high school friend Bill Graham.

When Laurie was 17, her father died suddenly in a car crash. In her grief, college seemed like an impossible pursuit, her brother said.

She instead briefly attended modeling school, then tried college. But she never felt content. A friend helped her find an administrative job at an accounting firm, and Laurie taught herself how to be a bookkeeper.

She was 22 when she got pregnant with McKinley. She wasn’t in a serious relationship, but Laurie knew she could raise her daughter alone.

McKinley loved having a cool, young mom. They binged “I Love Lucy” and “The Twilight Zone.” Laurie excelled at work and played for her company softball team. She bought a house.

Things started to change around 2003. After the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks, D.C. sniper saga and a local murder, Laurie became paranoid.

She’d always been perceptive, with a knack for pattern recognition, McKinley said. She used those skills to justify her fears.

She sought treatment for depression but didn’t improve. She tried to take her life in 2004. She had trouble getting to work on time and missed mortgage payments. It was only after she lost her job and house in 2009 that her family began to understand the severity of her illness.

By this time, McKinley had left for college. The situation was stressful, and distance from her mom helped.

Over the next several years, Laurie moved between her mother’s house in Virginia and her brother’s home in Chicago.

After her mom’s death in 2016, she stayed in hotels and traveled across the country. McKinley took her to Hawaii, where Laurie loved snorkeling and hiking.

“She was someone who could deal with uncertainty,” said Laurie’s sister, Lisa Reckmeyer. “She would just kind of go with the flow.”

She moved in with her brother again around 2018, and Mac pushed her to get professional help. She was making progress — and then COVID hit. Laurie refused telehealth services.

She started living out of the Toyota around 2020, first in Chicago and then joining McKinley in Baltimore, where she’d moved to attend graduate school at MICA. Laurie never felt quite settled in Baltimore, but she enjoyed Bolton Hill.

“She kind of wanted to be everywhere and nowhere,” McKinley said.

Laurie spent most days journaling in the driver’s seat, chronicling her daily adventures, writing down license plate numbers and musing about squirrels and birds. She could talk to passersby for hours.

Almost every morning, she grabbed coffee at On the Hill Cafe, where she befriended Flores and gave her advice. She sometimes bought food for other unhoused people. On Laurie’s rough days, Flores tried to cheer her up by bringing her food or orange juice.

“Even though she was struggling, she always wanted to give and help others,” Flores said.

Though she wasn’t religious, Laurie regularly attended Brown Memorial Presbyterian Church, where she found comfort and community.

“She did say that she appreciated … not just me, but other folks who just take the simple time to say hello, and not ignore her or just pass by,” said McConnell, her neighbor and fellow churchgoer.

McKinley visited her often. They’d talk about nature and what it means to be happy. She’d ask her daughter, “Do you have magic in your life?”

When the Toyota died earlier this year, McKinley focused on getting her mother a new home. She couldn’t afford a house yet, so she looked for another car — something bigger and safer. She gifted her mother a used Subaru Forester on her birthday in May. They went out for a beer.

She didn’t know she only had another month with her. Mac called his niece on June 18: A hospital in Baltimore had a Jane Doe, and nurses tracked him down as a potential relative.

McKinley rushed to the hospital. She brushed her mother’s hair and talked of childhood memories. She played Alanis Morissette and Pat Benatar.

The doctors ran a test. Laurie was brain dead.

While McKinley was heartbroken, she was also relieved. Laurie was no longer suffering, and McKinley didn’t have to wonder constantly if she was OK.

Now, McKinley could reminisce about the mother she knew growing up — a woman filled with wanderlust and joy, who loved looking at the stars and talking about astrology, who watched “The X-Files” and played Motown music as she cleaned.

Here, she was L. But there was so much more to Laurie.

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