Nicole Ann Somero

Nicole Ann Somero was born on December 4, 1977 in Phoenix, AZ United States. Nicole passed away in 2025.

A Sister’s Tribute to Nicole Ann Somero

Nicole was my little sister — four years younger than me, and eight years younger than our older sister, Erika. She was always the baby of the family in our eyes. Even as adults, that never really changed.

We would call and talk, and I always hoped those conversations would bring us closer. But Nicole held things close to her chest. She didn’t share everything, and sometimes I could feel the distance between us even when we were on the phone together. I tried so hard to give her a place to land. I begged her to come live with me in Texas, to start fresh, to let me help her carry whatever she was going through. I wanted her to know she didn’t have to face life alone.

Erika felt the same way. She reached out to Nicole too, offering her a home in Oklahoma — a safe place, a new beginning, a chance to reset her life with family who cared about her. We both asked her. We both tried. We both wanted her to know she wasn’t alone, even if she didn’t always feel close to us.

But Nicole had her own way of moving through the world — quietly, privately, and often carrying more than she ever let anyone see. She kept her struggles tucked away, and the help we offered never quite reached the place inside her that needed it most.

Erika’s relationship with Nicole had its own shape. When our family moved to California, Erika had already graduated high school. She never lived with us in Murphys, and because of that, she and Nicole didn’t get the chance to grow up together in the same home. Their lives moved on separate tracks, and the closeness that might have grown between them never had the space to form. Still, Erika cared about her deeply — even from a distance — and she tried to bridge that gap in the ways she could.

What stands out most about Nicole is the way she showed up for our parents. When our dad passed away, and later when our mom became sick, Nicole stepped into a role that was heavy and painful and far beyond what most people her age ever face. She cared for Mom with a quiet strength and loyalty that said more about her heart than anything else could.

And even with all that weight on her shoulders, she still had that fun sense of humor and mischievous streak — the spark in her eye, the unexpected joke, the little grin that reminded us she was still the baby of the family, still Nicole.

Our relationships with her weren’t perfect. We weren’t as close as we wished we could have been. And the truth is, we love her, we miss her, and we’re also mad at her — mad that she didn’t take better care of herself, mad that she didn’t let us in more, mad that she carried so much alone when she didn’t have to. That anger comes from love, from wishing she had stayed longer, from wishing she had given herself the same care she gave to others.

But she was our sister — the youngest, the one we all watched grow up, the one who carried so much more than she ever said out loud. We loved her. We still do. And we will always carry the hope that she knew that, even in the moments she held back.

We remember her with affection, with respect, with frustration, with tenderness — with all the complicated feelings that come with losing someone you wish you could have known better.

If you knew Nicole — whether you were close to her, crossed paths with her, or shared even a small moment — we invite you to share your stories, memories, and photos here. Your words help fill in the pieces of her life that she kept private, and they mean more to our family than you know. Your memories help keep her light alive.