Some lives are measured in years, but Kallie’s was measured in love—in the way she gave it, in the way she was it, in the way it still lingers in every space she left behind.

If time could be rewritten, her family knows exactly where they would go—to the days when she became a mother, when she held her baby boys for the first time. Those moments, those were the ones that defined her. The way she looked at them, the love in her eyes, the kind of love so fierce, so deep, that it could never be undone. If those days could be lived again, they would hold onto them tighter, memorizing every detail, every heartbeat, every second of her.

And if her mother had just one more chance, she would tell her what has always been true:

"I love you, and I am proud to be your mom."

There is no way to capture everything about Kallie in words—because to those who knew her, she was everything. She was warmth, she was laughter, she was a soul too big for this world. Her presence was something felt, something that made life brighter just by being in it.

And her mother misses her hair. The way it felt between her fingers, the way she used to play with it absentmindedly, the way it was just Kallie. That loss—the kind no one prepares you for—cuts deeper than words can touch.

She should still be here. She should still be laughing, still be wrapping her boys in her arms, still be filling the world with her light. But love like hers doesn’t just disappear. It stays, woven into her children, into the hearts of those who will never stop saying her name, into the memories that refuse to fade.

Kallie, you were so loved. You are so loved. And you always, always will be.