She had a way of tilting the world just enough to let the light in. A room could be dull, heavy, silent—and then Kerry would step inside, and everything would shift. Laughter would come first, rolling in before she even had to say much, like the air itself knew she was there. Then the conversation, pulled from places no one had expected to go, suddenly effortless, suddenly alive.

Her presence was the kind you felt fully. Like a song that fills a room, wrapping around you, making it impossible to forget how it made you feel. She had that gift - the ability to make a moment stretch, to turn something small into something worth remembering.

Like that day in the living room, when her grandfather mistook her for someone else and carried on a full conversation without realizing it. Fifteen whole minutes of unfiltered talk, of warmth, of connection before it dawned on him. She could have corrected him. But why ruin a good story? She let the moment breathe, let it be what it was—hilarious, unexpected, and strangely perfect. That was Kerry. She understood that life was meant to be lived, not just passed through.

If she were here, standing in front of the people who miss her most, there would be so much to say. But in the end, only a few words matter, and they’d simply say,

"I’m sorry. I love you."

Because love was at the center of everything she did. No one had to wonder where they stood with Kerry—she showed them. Especially her son. If there was one thing she was unwavering about, it was him. Her love for him was wild, unbreakable, unshakable. She stood between him and the world like a shield, guarding him with every ounce of strength she had.

She deserved more. More time. More softness. More of the love she gave so freely. But the universe doesn’t always work in fair exchanges. It takes the brightest souls too soon, leaving their love behind like fingerprints on the people they touched.

Kerry is still here. In the stories that start with, "Remember when she...?" In the laughter that bubbles up when it shouldn’t. In the quiet moments when the world feels too heavy, and a sudden memory makes it lighter.

She was fire and warmth, humor and heart. A presence so vivid that even death could not dull her.

She was, and always will be, unforgettable.