Nicholas Laws carried a heart too big for this world. It was stitched together with honesty, with loyalty, with a kind of warmth that could be felt even in silence. He didn’t just speak—he meant every word. He didn’t just exist—he lived, in the truest sense of the word, leaving behind moments that can never be replaced.

His humor was legendary, sharp and unexpected, the kind that didn’t just make people laugh but made them lose themselves in it. He could shift the weight of a heavy day with a single joke, a voice, a perfectly timed impression. That laugh—his laugh—was something that once heard, could never be forgotten.

His loved ones look back and laugh when they remember, “When he would do "Herbert the Pervert" from Family Guy and we would laugh hysterically.”

But beyond the humor, beyond the quick wit and mischief, was something even greater—a heart that never knew how to do anything but give. A heart that stood beside people in their darkest moments and offered them light. “I am forever grateful for the kindness & honesty you showed me when I was in my darkest days,” his loved ones say, because that is who he was. The kind of person who showed up when it mattered most.

His presence was a gift, and his absence is a wound that time will never fully heal. If his loved ones could say one more things, they’d simply say, “Thank you, and I miss you,” the words left hanging in the air, sent up to the place where he now rests. If love alone could reach across worlds, he would hear them.

Some people leave behind legacies built of wealth or status. His was built of laughter, of kindness, of memories held close to the heart. He is not gone. Not really. He lingers in the echoes of old jokes, in the warmth of a shared memory, in the knowing glance between those who loved him most.

And one day, they will see him again.