Clara Louise Lubin's Obituary
Our Mom gained her crown.
Clara Louise Lubin (née Williams) — known to those who loved her as Clara, and to the lucky few as Weezy — was born July 2, 1961, in Freeport, Grand Bahama, to John Leonard Williams and Anita Hield Williams. She was a proud Caribbean girl and one of eleven children: John Jr. (Dooney), Willamae, Icelyn, Sidney, Audrey, David, Jacob, Pauline, Florence, and MaryAnn. She grew up with a natural zeal for adventure, whether she sought it through books, travel, endless hours swimming and diving in the ocean, or tree climbing.
Clara knew early that she was built for more than the ordinary. She began her working life as a secretary at one of the few Insurance Agencies in Grand Bahama, which was fine, but not her true calling. She considered cosmetology. She prayed on it. She chose nursing. And from 1984 to 2026, Clara Louise Lubin was a nurse: a Licensed Practical Nurse who devoted herself to the elderly with skill, compassion, and a fierce love that never dimmed. Forty-one years. Countless lives touched, held, and saved.
She was a force of nature in every room she entered. She could make you double over laughing in one moment, while in the next, look you dead in the eye and mean every word she said with conviction, bravery, and honesty. Her faith in the Lord Jesus Christ was not incidental; it was the foundation of everything she was and everything she did.
Clara is preceded in her heavenly reward by her parents, John Leonard and Anita Hield Williams, and her siblings John Jr. (Dooney), Willamae, Icelyn, Sidney, Pauline, Florence, and MaryAnn. She is survived by her daughters Laura, Phyllis, Natalie, Carol, and Rebecca, and Kyle (m.); her grandchildren Lylliahna, Asher, Meredith, and Kyleigh; her siblings Audrey, David, and Jacob; and countless nieces, nephews, comrades in faith, and friends whose lives she touched more deeply than she ever knew.
Some people pass through this world and leave it largely as they found it. Clara Louise Lubin was not one of those people. To describe her is to try to hold the ocean in your hands — you can feel it, but you cannot contain it. She was that large a life. She was that deep a love. A daughter of Grand Bahama, a servant of the Lord, a healer of the vulnerable, a builder of women, a keeper of faith — she was all of these things at once, fully and without compromise, and she lived every one of those callings out loud, without apology, without wavering, and without end. What she leaves behind is not absence. It is an inheritance. She is gone from this earth, but she is not gone. She is in every daughter she built, every patient she steadied, every laugh she left behind in a room that needed it. She rests now with the Christ she trusted completely and who, we are certain, welcomed her home with open arms. Rest easy, Mommy. You have earned every moment of your eternal peace.
Psalm 23:4 Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
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