Heidi Marie Borton, of Torrington, Wyoming, passed away on April 26, 2025, at the age of 47. She is survived by her devoted parents, Bryan and Nancy Borton; her brother and sister-in-law, Cory and Blue Borton; her children, Taylor, Carson, and Holly Schultz; and her cherished granddaughter, Aurora. She is also survived by many loving aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, and extended family. Heidi was deeply loved by each of them and leaves behind a legacy of strength, warmth, and connection.

Born on April 6, 1978, Heidi's early years revealed the fire and heart that would define her throughout her life. She was headstrong and stubborn in the best way—unshakably loyal, especially to her big brother. Cory had a long-standing habit of pinning his childhood mischiefs on her, even when she was obviously too little to have done them. Still, Heidi would stand by him, playing along with an unwavering spirit that stayed with her always.

From a young age, Heidi showed remarkable grit. She survived a runaway wagon accident as a child—hanging on tightly through every roll and tumble—and went on to live with that same courage all her life. She didn't have much interest in hunting, but she found pride and joy in the family work of harvesting. She had quick hands and a thoughtful touch, especially when wrapping the packages of homegrown meat. Bullet, the family horse, made sure she never loved horseback riding, but her stubborn streak ran deeper—she didn't quit easily, even when life tried to buck her.

Heidi's childhood was full of fun family adventures. A cousin fondly remembers riding bikes and skateboards barefoot down the hill by Veteran, tennis shoes slung over handlebars, sometimes riding double to the canal just to see if they could snag a carp. No worries—just wind, laughter, and the thrill of being young. From those early days, she also carried a quiet but enduring faith—a love for her Creator that guided her throughout her life.

As a teen, Heidi was a daydreamer with a Volkswagen Bug and a heart full of curiosity. One of her summer jobs was at Taco Tico—an experience her brother jokingly claims was "terrible." Heidi, of course, would sneak him free food, but Cory still preferred to eat somewhere else. It became one of many family stories that brought laughter over the years. Heidi graduated from Southeast High School in 1996 and stepped into adulthood with the same blend of grit, humor, and deep compassion that made her unforgettable.

Later in life, Heidi was a lioness when it came to her children—She was the kind of mother who stood firmly in her children's corner, unafraid to speak up or fight for them when it mattered most. She valued a strong friendship with her children over authority. Even when she had little, she gave everything. She was the warm light in every room: offering late-night talks over cocoa, heartfelt car rides, warm meals, tough love when needed, and a constant belief in the people she loved. Some who weren't born to her still called her "Mom," drawn in by her open heart and natural embrace. She was so proud of her children, and her face would light up when she spoke about them. Her granddaughter, Aurora, brought her immeasurable joy. Heidi treasured the chance to be part of her life and poured her love into every brief moment they were able to share.

She had a way of loving that left no one out. Heidi could see the good in others even when they couldn't see it in themselves. She was honest, but her honesty was kind—meant to help, never to hurt. She had a unique way of listening to opinions without judgement, even if she didn't share the same beliefs. Heidi's strength wasn't the loud kind—it was quiet, persistent, and grounded. She carried heavy things with grace and made space for others even when she had little left to give. Her courage, her softness, and her stubborn resilience left an imprint on everyone who knew her. She was generous with her time, her laughter, her presence. If you needed someone to talk to in the middle of the night, Heidi answered. If no one else showed up, Heidi did.

When it came to her social circle, her friendships were deep and unwavering. Whether you'd known her for two decades or two days, she made you feel like you mattered. She was the friend who remembered your stories, showed up without being asked, and brought laughter and comfort wherever she went.

Her laugh—bold, unforgettable, and wildly contagious—echoed in every place she loved: living rooms, campgrounds, kitchens, karaoke nights, and silly car rides. It's a sound we'll hear forever in our hearts. Her cooking was legendary and made every meal feel like a warm hug: biscuits and gravy, homemade chicken noodle soup, mashed potatoes, mac and cheese, and her famous jello poke cake that never lasted long at gatherings. She made food the way she lived—full of love.

Heidi delighted in life's quirks—lime green everything (especially her beloved Mustang), tie-dye, cows of all shapes and sizes, Snapchat filters, stacks of funky work notebooks, and a house full of furry companions. Recently, she discovered a love for sourdough, taking pride in her starter and sharing warm loaves with those she loved.

You'll find Heidi in every goofy dance with the music turned up, every echo of laughter across a room, in spontaneous nacho runs, fun nail designs, family barbecues, in football games and camping trips. She was strong, radiant, and beautifully stubborn—in all the best ways.

Heidi Marie Borton was, and will always be, deeply loved. Her absence leaves a stillness we'll feel forever, but her presence—her joy, her compassion, her unforgettable laugh—will never leave us. We are better for having known her, and we'll carry her with us always.