Khrissy

Healing comes in many forms when dealing with grief. It is hard to know if anyone completely understands the process. It seems to come faster for some people than others, while some simply never find complete healing and there is nothing wrong with the timing. For this writer, it has taken a few years and thousands of miles to begin to find healing from the death of their good friend and co-worker, Khrissy. When one looks back on the time that they shared with her, they can look back with pride at what was accomplished, being voices for the voiceless. Saving the lives of both friends and strangers on the streets of Boston. Showing dignity and respect to those who were called neighbors. September 25th of this month marked the three year anniversary of Khrissy's passing. The following was written in the week after her death in September of 2021. The AHOPE team has evolved and changed since then. Many of the team members have moved on in life's journey and some have remained. There is pride, humbleness and a feeling of forever being grateful in having known Khrissy and calling her friend.

I stood in the back of the parking lot with my eyes closed. My hand up right as drops of rain kissed my skin. All I could think was that Khrissy’s tears were falling from the sky. But you see, they were not tears of sadness. No, they were tears of peace.

The words that come to mind when I think of my little sister are Kind. Fierce. Determined. Gentle. A Mothers Heart. A Jokester. A Survivor. She would do whatever it took to make sure someone was ok even if it meant that she had to sacrifice a part of herself. Beyond all of this, Khrissy loved her family. She loved her kids to the moon and beyond.  I looked forward to seeing pictures and hearing stories of what her children were doing whether it was making funny videos, playing football, joining the military or learning how to walk. She loved her siblings and her parents. Her nanna meant everything to her. Above all of this was the love of her life, Greg. I remember the morning she came in and I saw the shiny diamond on her finger. I looked forward to each picture that she posted as she counted down the days till she became Mrs. Horne. 

As a coworker, you knew she had your back. Bringing down supplies from upstairs that were constantly running out. Finding a vein on someone who needed testing done. Tapping you out when you couldn’t take another minute of monitoring the bathroom. Doing an extra shift outside in the twenty degree weather because of the pandemic. When someone would come in with a pissy mood, giving us a hard time, she would be there quicker than flies on shit telling them to either be quiet and sit down, or get out. The countless number of times that I was kneeling over someone who was dying and there she was next to me, doing everything we could to save that person’s life. When their eyes opened, she was there welcoming them back. 

There are so many other things that she did for people who came through the doors of AHOPE or when they were encountered on the streets.

With all that, the thing she poured her soul into, was making sure the women of Mass. Ave and other places had dignity, safety, and hope. The sweat and tears she shed getting the bad date sheet up and the women’s drop in going where they could be safe. The number of times I saw her leaning over a woman’s hands, painting their nails (because we all know how she liked a good manicure). Making sure that all the women had something to eat. Countless times she simply held a woman close as they sobbed after they had just lost someone, been beaten up, sexually assaulted, or had just given birth. 

Personally, Khrissy was a younger big sister to me. The countless times we would sit on the table out back of the building smoking cigarettes, talking about what was going on at work and in our lives. I always knew beyond everything else, I could count on a Khrissy hug. There is no way to explain it, you simply had to experience it. That is the memory that I will cling to. Seeing her in the work kitchen that Thursday September 23rd morning. ‘Kkkkkhhhrrriiiissssyyy’! I yelled and she grabbed me and gave me one hell of a Khrissy hug. 

‘And so it is those we live with and should know who elude us, but we can still love them. We can love completely without complete understanding.’ I don’t know and understand. I don’t know that I ever will. But I do know this, I love and miss you Sis.

I would like to also share a moment that I have not shared with people. The Monday after her passing, I went to work the same as usual. The routine was always to get to the building by 5:45 or 6 in the morning. I would sit on a picnic table out back of the building and smoke a cigarette as the sun began to come up over the buildings. There was a couple who had made their home in a space next to the table. As I sat down on the table that morning, the lady (shall we call her Denise) crawled out of their home and came and sat next to me as I smoked. She gave me a side hug and told me that she had heard about Khrissy's death. I couldn't say anything. Words simply eluded me (for anyone who knows me, knows that does not happen often). The complexity in this moment of grief was that I was the one exposed. So many times, I was there to comfort someone else who was grieving. We did not talk much. We simply sat there in silence. There were no words to be said. The magnitude of the moment was known, and so there we sat. Often, there is a misconception that those who are homeless have very little or nothing to offer that you or I would want, let alone need. This simply could not be further from the truth. On that Monday morning, I simply needed a friend who was willing to sit with me and that is what happened. With each year that comes and fades away, that morning will remain in my mind's eye.