Erin Margaret Leahy

Erin Margaret Leahy, of Rockland, died suddenly in her home, on Thursday, February 5, 2026. She was 35.

Erin was born in Dorchester on September 10, 1990, and was a cherished daughter of James William and Denise Lorraine (Laun) Leahy of Rockland. She was the wife of Dakota (Herrell) Leahy of Illinois. Erin was the mother of Riley, Damien, Mikie, Mackenzie, and late Rylan. She was the sister of Amanda Duenas and her husband John of New Hampshire. Erin is also survived by her canine companion Khalea and many loving extended family members and friends.

Following cremation, Erin will be interred privately.

In lieu of flowers, memorial contributions may be sent in Erin’s name to the charitable organization of one’s choice.

"Time" by Amanda Duenas, Erin’s sister

You think you have so much of it. People say that all the time and yet when unexpected loss strikes, you sit and just think dang, I thought I had more time.

I lost my sister today. Think about it ; she’s younger than me and I’m not old (or that old). So when mom called today it was the least expected news.

Mind numbing.

Roller coaster of emotions to follow.

Just yesterday, we were playing horse on the coffee table (it snapped in half). We were playing with mom’s lipstick and blaming each other. And in true younger sibling spirit, she was always tattling on everything I did or tagging along with me and my friends.

As time went on, we grew apart. There was a stretch when we didn’t speak—for reasons that don’t matter at all anymore. Because here’s the thing about real love: you can send a few messages and pick up right where you left off, like no time ever passed.

That’s what it was like with Erin.

She was funny. She loved a good joke, a funny story, and hearing about other people’s ridiculous experiences. She loved her children fiercely, and my kids were lucky enough to be loved by her just as deeply.

Erin may have loved animals (especially dogs) more than humans. With the current state of things, I can’t blame her.

She loved good food. Grabbing a bite to eat, especially with our mom or dad, was comfort that couldn’t be replaced.

If she was scared of anything, I didn’t know it.

Actually, I take that back.

I think she was quietly scared of not being enough. Scared of being judged for her human flaws. And this is where my heart breaks all over again—because I never looked her in the eye and told her she was perfect exactly as she was. That no matter what strangers thought, she had someone firmly in her corner, ready to fight for her.

So here I am, on a Thursday night, wishing more than anything that I could text her some random nonsense that would make her laugh, probably make no sense, and then make plans for her to come see the kids.

As I mourn my sister—my built-in childhood best friend—it feels necessary to remind everyone of this:

Time isn’t something we actually have a lot of.

If you’re lucky enough to have another human on this planet who cares about you enough to call, you find the time. If they want to make plans, you clear your calendar. Because regret is the worst feeling, and there may not be a second chance to reconnect, to plan, to travel, to celebrate that birthday.

Please—love hard.

Love freely.

Love without regret.

Erin Margaret Leahy

9/10/1990 – 2/5/2026