Keepsake of memories and moments to cherish forever
Radiant—filled with happiness, joy and love
Immortal—her spirit will be an eternal flame within us
Sandwiches with potato chips between the slices
Shooting star that keeps blazing across the night sky and will shine in our hearts forever
Young and full of life

—With love, Caroline

Chrissy (left) and Caroline (right)
There were always eight of us. Now there are seven. Seems kind of odd, with one of us missing. She was one of my little cousins. One who had a nickname like mine; yet, we each had our own unique spelling. Being around her growing up, she was always happy and smiling, and there was also a serious side to her. Krissy liked to talk, not unlike myself. We would talk about boyfriends, things we wanted to do, or places to go—typical girl-stuff. Unfortunately, now I can only remember those conversations and imagine what we would be talking about today, if we were still hanging out.

A few months before her death, I was on vacation, visiting my family and friends. We were sitting in the kitchen at my aunt and uncle’s house one afternoon and Krissy had just woken up, she came in and began to make a sandwich. She ended up sitting next to me and talking with us (aunt Barbara, my sister Caroline, and myself). A minute later, she opened her sandwich and started putting potato chips in it. My sister and I looked at each other and laughed. We had been doing this ever since we were little. I can’t recall ever doing it around Krissy. We chalked it up to running in the family.

We never got to see her graduate, and we will never know what she may have been. While she was with us, we made some unforgettable memories. I will always cherish them—like souvenirs. They are things that make me smile or cry. I will always wish she were still here. I think about her every day and I have this feeling she has even been close a few times.

Miss you, Krissy.

—Your cousin, Chrissy

(left - right) Doug, David, Darryl

Krissy touched all those in her life in a special way. She possessed a maturity that belied her age, and I often found myself in awe of her. She carried herself with such a confident manner, as if she knew, even at 17, that the world was in the palm of her hand. The closeness of our families afforded me ample opportunity to spend time in her company, and as a result, she was more like a sister to me, less like a cousin. She was taken from us at a time when she and I were just beginning to overcome our age difference. We related to each other as peers, as friends—not merely as relatives. It was too brief a period, but it left me with memories I will always cherish.

Miss you, Krissy.

—Love, Doug

One thing I remember most about Krissy is that she stuck to living her life. She probably lived more in her short life than most people do with many more years. She didn’t get caught up in the whole modeling world—it was simply a means to enhance the rest of the life that she chose to live. She chose fun, family and friendship over fame. She focused on the present, not the future. I admire her for that. In this way, she is still a role model for us all.

I try to remember her, and her way of living life, as I go through my own. She always puts things in perspective for me—constantly reminding me which things are more important (family, friends, fun), and which things I should not worry so much about (fortune, fame). For even though the latter can give you the sense of happiness, they can never replace the feelings and rewards produced by the former.

I also remember little things, like having birthday parties together, swimming in the pool at her house when we were young, and hanging out in North Carolina and just talking. She was so easy to get along with—strong, yet never intimidating. Easily trusted. I now realize that I could tell her anything, and she would always understand and never compromise my secrets. I didn’t realize at the time because she made it so natural.

I only hope that some of it has rubbed off on me and other people she was close to, for she had such great qualities. And I think I can more easily believe that she is trying to instill these qualities even now, as she watches us and helps us continue on with our own lives.

Thank you, Krissy. I will always hold you in my heart.


Karen, Eddie, Kim, Karole

Sometimes I feel her standing there
Reaching out to hold on tight
Wrapping me up in her warm embrace
Making everything seem alright

Tall, blonde—all arms and legs
Yet as delicate as a flower
Like a breath of clean, fresh air
After a mid-summer shower

She could light up an entire room
With her brilliant, radiant smile
She didn’t even know it happened
laughing all the while

Her words were forever healing
Touching deep within the soul
Finding the place where it all begins
The faith that makes you whole

No longer Earthbound, tied to human form
She’s free from the bonds of self
Soaring high among the heavens
Having shed the human shell

We wander aimlessly, wondering why
You were chosen to move on...
Don’t be sad, for Krissy’s gone
Rejoice! She has found the sun
The moon and the stars...forever

My memories of Kristen are very warm and cozy. She loved me and I knew it. I felt it. I wear a beautiful fairy everyday. It was a gift from her. It is a gentle reminder—so is the tear-shaped crystal hanging from my rear-view mirror. I bought it the day she died. I was very lucky to have her friendship. I lived in New York, but spent many summers living with my Aunt and Uncle in Florida. I even moved in for a spell after high school. Kris was only seven then. I was lucky to watch her grow into...well, almost a woman. I always wanted to protect her, nurture her. From the days at the roller rink to NYC. I felt I was her protector. So, as odd as it sounds, she was my idol.

You could already tell how wise she was. You could see and feel her substance. She walked her path with love, patience and strength.

I remember her before [she fell in love with] country music. She used to call me a hick. One time, on a trip to Vermont in my car, I about drove them all crazy because I refused to change the radio station. I loved country music and they still liked dance stuff. We drove past a pasture with some brown cows in it. I said to Kris, “Look, a brown cow—that’s where you get chocolate milk!” She was shocked and amazed, then mad as a whip—she actually believed me for a moment. That same trip I taught her how to drive a stick shift [transmission car] in my little Ford Festiva. It was great. She was great.

When she was little, I taught her how to swim. She always wanted to be like me. She would draw tattoos on her ankle (I had one). I used to tell her to cut it out, “Your mother is going to kill me!” Funny, though; as she grew into her own, I wanted to be more like her. She was soooo likable. Somebody you could just hold onto forever. I have two children: Lanie (4) has cerebral palsy. Krissy would say, “it doesn’t matter—she’s beautiful...perfect.” How warm and cozy. She really liked Lanie. She never did get to meet my son, Austin. That makes me sad.

The time we spent together can only be measured by quality, not quantity. Sometimes it is hard to imagine her gone. That I will never be able to talk with her again. I want to just give her a quick call to say “hi,” or to plan the trip up north she never got to take. But I can’t. Instead, I hold my heart, say “I love you,” and move on to the next thing. There hasn’t been a day since her death that I haven’t thought of her. Kristen is always in my thoughts...I pray to release her from my that I may rejoice in her “rebirth.”