I love you timelessly. Like sand that flows out of the measurement of a day, an hour, a minute. The clocks can turn, and I will turn them back and I replay every movement in slow motion of the seconds we danced in one another’s lives. In youth, in love, and in death, I will sit on the ocean shore and count the grains you made me endlessly happy. I will spend an eternity here. – by Chrissy Pyles

Christina “Chrissy” Rose Pyles, 37, of St. Petersburg, FL was born on a blistery cold winter morning on January 24, 1987, in Chicago, IL. Chrissy unexpectedly passed away in her home in St. Petersburg, on May 14, 2024. 

After graduating from Lowndes High School in Valdosta, GA in 2005, the majority of Chrissy’s professional life was spent in the restaurant industry, both as a cook and as a manager. Chrissy loved creating new dishes, at work and at home, and sharing pictures of her inventions on social media and with family and close friends. For many years, Chrissy also worked for her sister Jude in her tree trimming business. 

Chrissy is preceded in death by her nephew, Kevin Arthur Edwards (1993-2024), her beloved sister-in-law, Jessica Dawn Pyles (née Parker, 1978 -2014), and by her momma, Deborah Elaine Powell Pyles (1951 - 1998), whom Chrissy loved, and was loved by, beyond measure.

Chrissy is survived by her eight brothers and sisters, Jesse and Elle Pyles; Lydia and Chuck Edwards; Joseph and Becky Pyles; Tessa Pyles; Judith “Jude” Pyles and Chantel Zandi; Rhapsody and Davey Drehs; Micah Pyles; and Audrey Lindberg and Matt Carrero. She is also survived by her fourteen adored nieces and nephews, Kristen Weiler, Eszti Dupuis, Dakota Pyles, Kelton Pyles, Bryan Edwards, Cora Pyles, Dominic Pyles, Ethan Thurber, Stella Drehs, Finnlyn Drehs, Gwenyth Pyles, Rory Lindberg, Tegan Lindberg, James Fitzgerald, and Gabriel Carrero (due in July), as well as one great-nephew, Leo Edwards, and many extended family members.

Individually and collectively, and with abundant love, we remember Chrissy in all the stages of her life. 

First, the little girl, who, at the age of 3, found out she was going to be an “aunt,” and was overheard telling her friend, “I’m going to be an ant, but I’d rather be a bird.” The little girl who didn’t want to eat her “throwups” (turnips). The little girl who asked momma, “Why do we call it the dying room (dining room)”? The little girl running home in the South Georgia sun with a purple stained face and hands to proudly show momma all the blackberries she picked for jam or a cobbler. The little girl who loved to be outdoors with her momma and siblings, be it in the garden, in the goat field, picking pecans, or playing ball. And we remember the 11-year-old girl whose heart shattered, and never really healed, when we unexpectedly lost momma.

We remember when she fell in love with music and began sharing what she heard and loved, especially with Jude, Rhapsody, Micah, and Audrey, who had a music sharing group chat. We remember her love of Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman, no doubt in part because of her memories watching it with momma. We remember how much she enjoyed Walker, Texas Ranger and Chuck Norris, and when those memes found their way onto the internet, she shared them every chance she got. We remember her love of movies, old and new, the joy she found in binge watching her favorite shows, and her banter with Davey about Fallout. We remember her appreciation of flannel shirts, and we remember her shoe collection and the way it expressed her personal style. 

We remember her humor, the quick wit she inherited from momma, and her sarcasm that somehow let you know just how deeply she loved you. 

We remember her nostalgic nature, her love of animals, her love of trees (especially their roots), weeping willows, dirt roads, honeysuckle, Spanish moss, rain, the ocean, and sunrises. We remember the beauty of her loving and tender soul, beauty that spilled out in the many poems she jotted down effortlessly throughout the days of her far too-short life. We remember her… 

Don’t take my roots.

I want to be buried in memories.

Thickets of blackberries so deep, you couldn’t see home.

Rattlesnakes singing their songs of warning only a southern child would know.

We were fearless children capturing the woods.

by Chrissy Pyles

A private memorial service will be held at a later date.

In lieu of flowers, Chrissy’s family requests donations be made to:

Pawlicious Poochie Rescue, http://www.pawliciouspoochie.com/ 

Suncoast Center, https://www.suncoastcenter.org/.