Chrystena Miller Sims

All my condolences to the Sims and Miller families. This has been a heartbreaking loss, and I can only hope that, in due time, love and tenderness will help in sublimating the pain into a manageable current of grief. I know I am struggling with that, and I had only gotten the opportunity of having Chryssy in my life for too few years. I met Chrystena while supporting the rescue on a backyard breeder case where some thirty dogs ended up under our care. For weeks, she and I were at HQ, starting at 5:30–6:00 a.m. Monday through Friday, cleaning kennels, rotating dogs for potty time, feeding them, doing laundry, cleaning the floor, and gathering poop. I saw a kindred spirit who was relentless, stuck around when things got "ugly," "boring," and "depressing," operated while being othered, and kept in mind the main mission. And though she had many physical disabilities, she found ways to serve and to be of support. It had been heartbreaking to witness her stretch herself so thin at times, but she was so stubborn and so adamant about soldiering on and putting herself second. Needless to say, I would have much preferred having Chryssy be a little more moderate, more selfish with her energy and time if it meant having her around longer and healthier. For many years of my Wichita stranding, Chryssy has been one of the few and excellent human beings with whom I have done life: we cried together, we laughed together, we got angry, we got thoughtful, we got quiet, we shared our introspection and fears. With Chryssy, I didn’t worry that I wasn’t meeting the real person, or that she went through loops for me to like her. With Chryssy, honesty, vulnerability, openness, and awareness of her shortcomings were a given. With her, I felt safe and in true communion — something I had quickly come to realize was rare around here. I treasured our relationship for that and much more that I can’t put into words. With a little coaxing, Chryssy had finally agreed to come with me to a ballet show, something she had avoided due to the painful memories it aroused. Later, she would hunt down every ballet show in town, and we would go watch them, from the local kids’ ballet to traveling troupes. She still had that passion alive within her, still remembered the movements and the way to train to achieve that effortless grace, and after every show, she would break down the piece and speak of her own days as a ballerina. Once, we stayed at Nafzger Park from 5 p.m. until after 10 p.m., long after the spectacle was over, the only two people there, talking about ballet and future plans while watching some kids skate on the stage. Her passion for ballet being dimmed when it was most promising contributed to her choosing accounting at school, something that gave her a career and an honest living but never compared to the passion of learning she had before. But in the time I’ve known her, Chryssy’s passion for learning was rekindling, and when her health permitted, she looked into what she could now choose to learn. We often spoke about the French language (which she had softly launched into) and anthropology. Once, when she was doing well enough, I took her to the anthropology department of Wichita State University for what was supposed to be a short visit to get her more familiar with the major, the lay of the land, and the staff. Instead, Chryssy spent more than an hour in the head of the department’s office and came out with a list of prerequisites to take and an official offer to enroll in the Master’s program. I will never forget that day — she was so excited and beaming so much that she made the long walk from the department to my workplace reading and cradling the book the head of the department had given her as an entry point. She read that book in her bath, by the TV, and in her bed, telling me about the insights she was getting and the different branches of research that were exciting for her. I have no doubt she would have made a fine scholar if given the time, and I will always be grateful to that department for the attention and kindness they showed her when we came by for what was supposed to be just a quick visit and a few questions. If she was doing well, Chryssy was down to clown at Kirby’s goth night, keep an eye on my favorite local bands so we could make it out on nights she was okay, go to the movies, and explore new coffee shops with me while talking about her hopes and aspirations. She was the one person I could count on to sample any genre and be fully present during a screening. She could watch Tetsuo with me, appreciate Ghost in the Shell and Poor Things, and tag along for rewatching sessions with enthusiasm. The last movie we got to watch together was Kung Fu Hustle, which the local alternative film association was hosting. Chrystena and I shared a fixation on Guy Ritchie’s The Gentlemen. We often imagined how we would go about building our own skunk empire and delighted in rewatching it together, telling each other when we were rewatching separately, and making a hell of a day out of watching the series that came from it. When it was time to live out of a suitcase, I knew exactly who would take great care of my 24x60 Gentlemen poster. Chryssy introduced me to Shark Week. Her house was a safe place for many adventures, and she never failed to reach out and include me in times of celebration. She had a genuine interest in where I came from, and one of our plans was for her to come with me to the south of Morocco to learn Tamazight after she was done with French. She loved Moroccan tea and grew a patch of mint just so she could bring it to me every time we met at a volunteering gig or for a hang. I miss her mint bouquets and her tasty mint. To say that losing Chrystena has been devastating is an understatement: there is a before and after that. She changed the water of my being, and with her, yet another safe, welcoming, and supportive haven in Wichita is gone. She had so much to give — such a head on her shoulders, such intelligence and insight — that sometimes I found it hard to reconcile how she couldn’t see her own value and qualities enough to treasure herself, prioritize herself, and maybe have more time here. The last time I saw her was at the hospital in Wichita. The last time we spoke was about how to prepare chicken the Moroccan way. By the end of it, she was fighting the best she could and looking for that second chance at life. I know she was comforted to be surrounded by her family in that last leg. I hope everyone who cherished her will find some way to navigate the pain of losing her. I try to keep in mind that she is no longer suffering and that her legacy lives on in the people she treasured and bestowed care upon. I hope, in due time, I can honor that.

I worked with Chrystena when she volunteered at the Wichita Family Crisis Center. She dove head first into all of the things we needed and trust me, it was a lot. She was always more than happy to help out with, even at the last minute. For awhile, she became my go to person for when we needed extra assistance. When I approached her with the idea of participating in a training to work directly with our clients, victims of domestic violence, she was more than happy to participate. She wanted to learn more about how survivors cope after leaving abuse, trauma informed care and services, how to answer our hotline, how to perform intakes when clients arrive at shelter, and so much more. She spoke with complete softness and kindness, never once judging any survivor. When Chrystena stopped volunteering due to her health, everyone at the office asked about her, she truly made an impact on WFCC as a whole. We send our deepest condolences to her family and friends, she was a beautiful soul who will be greatly missed by many

Thinking of you and your family and friends as you celebrate the life of Chrystena. My deepest condolences for your loss. I had the opportunity to get to know Chrystena through volunteering. She was kind, quick to jump in, provide support, get dirty, be silly, bring others out of their shell, hang out and talk. Chrystena was so kind and generous with her heart and her time. I cannot express how grateful I am to have gotten to know her and all the amazing memories that created. I know she has made an imprint on so many hearts and hope holding onto the laughs and fond memories helps in this challenging time.