Nobody puts baillee in the corner

My mother wasn’t perfect. I know that’s a weird way to start out a eulogy, but anytime I’ve told her she’s perfect, she’s just rolled her eyes and/or shaken her head wildly in disagreement. However, my mother was a whole lot of other things I would love to tell you about. 

My mother loved fiercely and unabashedly. One of my friends told me the other day that although they only met KP for a day, they could tell KP loved more in one day than most people love in their entire lifetime. And I can’t write a better summation. My mother loved the unloved, the cast aside, and anyone who needed her to. Her list of surrogate children runs long, and I can’t tell you how many people sobbed on the phone to me and with me when we got the news. She was an ally, a friend, and an irreplaceable soul. 

My mother was my hero. We slayed vampires with Buffy, rode our brooms with the Sanderson Sisters, and cast spells with the Halliwell line. When I had Swine Flu in the twelfth grade, she rented a stack of horror movies as tall as she was for us to envelop ourselves in, jokingly trying to cover my eyes with every gratuitous sex scene. If it was not for her, I wouldn’t be the horror movie maven I am today. Halloween will never be the same. Christmas will never be the same. Birthdays will never be the same. 

My mother was accepting. When I came out, she told me there was never a single thing I could do to make her love me less. She repeated those words over and over during her life, and they never once lost meaning. My mother made sure my sister and I knew how much she loved us every single minute of every single day. I’ve never doubted my mother’s love for me, not for one, single second. She made you feel like the most special person in the room by simply touching your hand. 

My mother was unique. Some have weaponized this word against her, but she was unique in the sense that the world grows a little dimmer without her. She was a beacon of self-love and positivity. She always told my sister and I how beautiful we were, and I don’t know if that word will ever have the same power it did coming from her mouth. She meant it sincerely and genuinely. She once told me she believed that in Heaven, you become the image of how your mother sees you. I know that’s a terrifying thought for some, but in my case, if I’m even a fraction as beautiful as my mother thought I was, hold on to your wings, my friends. 

My mother was my biggest fan. She would also probably make a Misery joke here and talk about her controversial opinion, which is that the movie sucks. In her words, she “couldn’t put the book down and waited and waited for the movie, and it sucked.” She made me promise to dedicate my first book to her because she always thought I would be a famous writer. Ma, from here on out, there will be a dedication in every single thing I write to you. I may never be a famous writer, but by God, every single thing in my life will be dedicated to you. ‘

My mother was a life-saver. If it weren’t for my mother, I don’t know if I would be alive. She’s picked me up off the ground at my lowest points. She’s done everything from making weekly Austin trips to cure my homesickness in college to being the only voice I heard in the darkness. I only told a couple of people this, but I started saving my voicemails from her over a year ago, so she can continue to be that voice. 

My mother was my mother. She made birthdays into your own personal holidays. She’s sewed homemade stockings. She sent me a care package every October to celebrate fall. She wanted me to text her countless pictures of my decorations. She made so many costumes that she started attaching homemade business cards for Kostumes by Karen. She was compassionate and welcoming. She let my friends sleep in her bed when they were tired and eat food straight out of her fridge when they were hungry. 

My mother was proud of me. My mother loved me unconditionally. My mother’s tiny frame has left a catastrophic hole on this earth. 

For KP. For Always.