In Loving Memory

Christine Ann Brademeyer, 47 and nine months, of Springfield, Missouri, died on Sunday, August 24, 2025, at Cox South Hospital in Springfield. She is remembered for her relentless individuality, boundless creativity, and the way she felt everything at full volume: bold, adventurous, loving, generous, and intentionally contrary.

Family

Preceeded in death by her father Lawrence Brademeyer and her older brother Andrew Brademeyer. Survived by her daughter Judith Karaffa, her son Matthias Barton, her younger brother Patrick Brademeyer, and her nephew Koi Brademeyer. They, along with a wide circle of friends and extended family, will carry forward her stubborn heart and generous hands.

Work & home

She spent years in kitchens and the service world, the one you wanted beside you when it got busy: direct, quick, and unafraid to say what needed saying. Mostly, she made a home and raised her kids. If something needed to be made, fixed, or made prettier, she’d figure it out. Her decorating eye was unmistakable. Maximalism meets weirdcore, a thrift‑store alchemist who could turn a room into a story.

Loves, quirks, and signatures

• What lit her up: making and collecting pretty or unique things, listening to her favorite music on 11, watching her favorite movies and TV shows, decorating her space, remaking objects, and hand‑painting cigar boxes for herself and for others.
• Her trademarks: a pocketful of rocks; the soft shuffle of her footsteps down the hall; and, according to family legend, a world‑class, room‑rattling belch.
• The small joys: Walmart’s miniature pecan pies; croissants; pizza; incense and good smells like sage, nag champa, dragon’s blood, patchouli.
• Stories she loved: Monty Python, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, and Hamilton.
• How she showed love: gifts and handmade things chosen to make you smile: refried bean‑and‑cheese burritos folded just so; a freshly painted box; a little knickknack because it reminded her of you.

Vignettes

"Better weird than boring."   When she was four, she covered her face in Scotch tape and, despite her mother's warning that the kids at the bus stop might laugh, she didn’t blink. “I don’t care,” she said. “I’d rather be weird than boring.” Goal stated; goal achieved.

"The kitchen burrito."   Jay stands at the counter mashing canned refried beans with a fork until they’re smooth. Mom waits beside her, making easy conversation, then spoons the beans onto a tortilla, a scatter of fiesta‑blend cheese, a quick fold — flat, imperfect (perfect!), and into the microwave. It comes out warm and exactly right for the kid who loves them that way. Love you can hold in your hands.

Humor & care

During Frozen, when the line “Why have a ballroom with no balls?” plays, she shot back without missing a beat: “It’s a female ballroom.” That was her. Dry, quick, a little sideways.

And when a scared voice on the phone managed only “can you help me?”, she sprinted across the house before the sentence finished. Once the danger (a spider) was dealt with (or at least contained behind a slammed door), the adrenaline had its say. That was her, too. Protect first, cool down later.

What she taught us

Never be afraid to be who you are. If the day is stubborn, put on a song and keep your hands busy. Love the people closest to you with everything you have. And yes: be weird, not boring!

She was rarely simple and always sincere; when she loved you, you knew it.

She didn’t claim certainties about what comes next, but she kept a plainspoken hope that someday she’d see Andy and her dad again. That hope mattered to her.