Best of All – Remembering our Amy Jo

Amy Jo was a force of pure joy, kindness, and independence, and her impact on GiGi’s Playhouse Cleveland will never be forgotten. Whether she was lighting up the room with her dance moves, riding her bike through Lakewood, or celebrating her birthday all month long, Amy embraced life with her whole heart. In honor of her beautiful spirit, we are selecting Amy as our Best of All for March—her birthday month. We invite you to read this heartfelt tribute from her sister, Chris, and join us in celebrating Amy the way she would want—by spreading love, joy, and acceptance wherever you go.

We are here today to celebrate the life of my little sister, Amy. And I say celebrate because Amy would demand nothing less.

Amy and I were different in many ways—my favorite color is pink; hers was blue. I don’t like singing on TV; Amy didn’t like talk radio. But despite our differences, she was never my opposite—she was my complement. Where she struggled, I excelled. Where she excelled, I struggled. Over time, we learned what the other needed. We filled in the spaces for each other.

We are both stubborn and competitive—a trait we proudly share with all our siblings. We clashed. We pushed each other. And somehow, we always found a way to work together. To compromise. To make sure we both won.

Amy had a superpower I’ve always admired but could never achieve: Amy embraced vulnerability. She had no choice, really; her biggest vulnerability was out in the open for everyone to see. She never let fear hold her back. She walked into rooms like she belonged there—because, of course, she did. She lived unguarded, open-hearted, and unapologetic. When she felt uncertainty or hesitation, I’d be there to hold her hand. And when I needed bravery, she lent me hers. We gave each other strength when we needed it. 

When I struggled to get pregnant, Amy held me—never wavering in her belief that I would be a mom. She was thrilled when the “bambinos,” as she called them, were born. She met Ben and Sam the day after they arrived, and every year, the three of them celebrated that day together. All of Amy’s nieces and nephews each held a special place in her heart. She would struggle each time one of them surpassed her in reading or accomplishments, but she would fight off the jealousy—eventually.

People thank me for sharing Amy with the world, but that was never my choice to make. That was a choice my family made when Amy was born, and it was a choice Amy made every single day. She would not and could not be hidden away. She demanded to be seen. And in doing so, she made sure others were seen too.

Amy taught me to see the potential in people—not their limitations. She showed me that inclusion isn’t just about allowing someone in—it’s about making space for them to thrive. Because of Amy, I fought for her right to be included. I pushed her, and I loved when she pushed back. When she stood up for herself.  She could not be cajoled or talked into something she didn’t want to do. The best I could hope for was that she’d acquiesce—as a favor to me.

Amy wanted to be famous, and in so many ways, she was. Not just for her humor, her wit, or her uncanny ability to get what she wanted—though she was certainly an expert at that. No, Amy was famous because she made people feel something. She had a way of making you feel like the most important person in the room, especially if she had just met you.

She was my barometer for finding true friends. When we were young, it was simple—if you included Amy in our play, we were friends. If you didn’t, we weren’t. That clarity carried into adulthood. She showed me that the people worth keeping close are the ones who see value in everyone, who make space for joy, and who choose kindness first.

Early in my relationship with my husband, Steve, I told him that Amy and I were a package deal. He didn’t hesitate—he chose us both. And in doing so, he became part of our team, taking loving care of us both.

When GiGi’s Playhouse Cleveland opened at the end of our street, Amy found a place where she was valued, where she was celebrated, where she could push boundaries but also begin to understand them. It became a home—a place where she wasn’t just accepted, she was recognized. And that was all Amy ever wanted.

Amy found joy wherever she could, and she shared it with all of us—even when it came wrapped in challenges none of us could anticipate. As disruptive and frustrating as her choices could sometimes be, she consistently brought love and laughter into our lives.

And sometimes, her way of helping was a little… unconventional. When I was in college running for student senate, Amy visited and decided to get involved. She stayed up all night making over 50 campaign flyers that read, “A vote for Chrissy is a vote for beer!”—complete with a drawing of me and a sketch of a beer can. She slid one under every dorm room door. Believe me – No one ever forgot Amy.

In these past few weeks, I’ve realized just how famous Amy really was. Her hospice room was never empty. Her Facebook and Instagram posts are filled with comments from people I don’t even know—people she only met for a minute or two, but who still remember her, because in those moments, Amy made them feel something.

That was her magic.

Amy lived boldly, unapologetically, and with joy. She made some questionable decisions, but somehow, they worked out. She tested limits, but she never let them stop her. She wanted happiness, and she chased it. And in doing so, she made the world around her brighter.

My mother called Amy her Sunshine, and it was the perfect name.

Amy, my complement, my best friend, my greatest challenger, my sister—I don’t know how to be in this world without you.

But I do know this: you wouldn’t want us to sit in sadness for too long. You’d want us to laugh, to be a little mischievous, to talk to everyone, and to make sure we are seen.

And so, in your honor, we will.

I love you, Amy. Thank you for showing me how to be brave.

Thank you, Amy Jo, for inspiring us to live boldly, love fiercely, and embrace every moment with joy. You showed us what it means to be unapologetically ourselves, to stand up for what is right, and to find happiness in the little things—whether it was sharing a laugh with friends, creating a colorful work of art, or sipping a pink drink from Starbucks. Your bravery, kindness, and radiant spirit reminded us to be a light in the world, just as you were. We are forever grateful for the love and wisdom you shared, and we will carry your beautiful legacy with us always.