Alexandra Kathleen Isaacs

She was special. Beautiful and kind. Whip-smart, and wise. The girl who made the sun rise.

Alex walked through life with purpose, wrapped in shades of teal and blue, with occasional splashes of maroon and violet—colors that linger now in my mind, like the memory of her sweet voice calling out “I love you, Mom.”

She relished living, and adored her devoted companion "Monster Paws,” her dear friends and coworkers. Good books, a mug of herbal tea and a knitting project bag were constantly in her company.

Alex had an eye for design, for the way colors, textures and patterns fit together. A talent for coaxing beauty from fibers. Her signature style celebrated the handmade and sustainable; she was thoughtful and gentle with the world. And though her footprint was intentionally small, the impression she made on those who knew her was deep and lasting.

She had an affinity for words and a passion for literature and science. Her feet wandered trails, balanced her paddleboard on the Potomac, and pedaled her across the city on her trusty bike "Friday." Her eyes of blue, green and gray were changeable, like the sea. Through them, she saw the world with clarity and compassion. Her lilting laugh sent my heart soaring. She had elegant, disciplined hands that made beautiful things.

Alex carefully crafted a world of special relationships woven with love, laughter and mutual respect: her cherished friendship with Emma, partner in all things adventurous and fun; beloved college mates; her close-knit shop family; and our unbreakable family of two—strong bonds that formed the fabric of her days. She treasured each one, acutely aware that her time with us was limited.

She was uncommonly brave. Patient and forgiving. Uncomplaining and appreciative. Graceful in all areas of her life.

Alex was irreplaceable, yet cancer cruelly stole her from us.

I feel her presence now in the cool shades of the river, vibrant hues of dawn, in the softness of wool, in the echo of her lovely voice. I carry her with me, always. The sun still rises, in part because she taught it how.

Alexandra K. Isaacs is survived by her mother, Susan Isaacs, of Washington D.C.

In lieu of flowers, the family requests donations to METAvivor, Smith Center for Healing And The Arts. or First Descents at firstdescents.org