Messages for Hanna

Dear Hanna, the moment I met you I knew you were so special, and always inspired me; may we meet again later. ❤️🙏

Hanna -- what a gift you are to all that have known you. I am a better, more patient, more sturdy person because of you. Thank you. I'm deeply grateful that I had the chance to walk alongside of you in my work. As Gemma captured so well- you lived a life of absolute value. That is certain. Much love and light.

I first learned of Hannah’s illness about three years ago, when my husband and I were camping in North Carolina. It came as a shock. I was immediately gripped by a deep sadness—once again confirming a suspicion born from the pain of losing my parents too early and too suddenly: that decline and death do not respect age. I am acutely aware that life does not unfold linearly for many people. I cannot think about my time in Pittsburgh without thinking about Marc and Hannah. They were among my most important collaborators during that period, when I first entered the workforce after earning my PhD. I remember first meeting them at the Pitt u.lab hub gathering I hosted. I remember having Hannah over at the clubhouse in my apartment building, along with a few other important women, for dinner—and how she led the grace at the table. I remember having both Marc and Hannah over to my little apartment to make dumplings in celebration of the Chinese New Year. I remember the meals we shared at Marc’s place. I remember leaving my foot soak massager with Hannah after I moved away. We also collaborated on The Adaptive Space project sponsored by the PNC Foundation—one of the coolest projects I have ever done—and formed many connections that I continue to cherish. Hannah always seemed more present, more intentional, more thoughtful than most people I knew. Her bright eyes and big smiles were infectious. Today her memory feels especially poignant as I travel to Ottawa for a workshop, bundled in my “Pittsburgh gear” (aka cold-weather clothes). As I pass through the airport crowds, I find myself unconsciously looking for people who resemble her—tall, thin, upright, spirited, in their late forties. I feel sadness for my loss, knowing I will never have the chance to see her again. And yet, I also feel a deep sense of peace about her departure. One quote about death has stayed with me: Death is not disappearing, but walking out of time and space—into a new existence in a different dimension. There are worse things that can happen to a person than death. Hannah used her journey toward death to build community, honor life and love, and remind those around her of the preciousness of each moment. Another quote has comforted me deeply when reflecting on lives that ended before old age: If we understand the absolute value of life, we will not trouble ourselves with the relative length of time lived on earth. Hannah lived a life of absolute value. May you continue to radiate in the dimension beyond time and space.

Dear Hanna, thank you for all the ways you taught us to cultivate our selves and each other. Your love and generosity live on through us, your students.

I wanted to take a moment to honor you and express how deeply grateful I am for having known you. You were not only an incredible design professor, but a truly kind, understanding, and joyful presence. Your classroom was a space where creativity felt safe, encouraged, and exciting—and that is a rare gift. R

My dearest Marc and Hannah, I send my love to you with outstretched arms. I still remember a delightful breakfast you and Hannah shared with us years ago — such a joyful and effortless time. I carry memories of our conversations, the ease of simply being together, and the warmth of celebrating a birthday. Those moments remain bright. Thank you, Hannah, for all that you are and all that you gave. May you continue shaping new, unseen forms in that universal consciousness we somehow all share and touch. With enduring affection, Paul

The word fortitude comes to mind when I think of Hanna's grappling with her shocking prognosis when she arrived in Dublin for the Carlow MFA Residency. And laughter too, which is hard to believe, but there it was. I salute her, and indeed all those who supported her through the years since then. Ar dheis Dé go raibh a hanam Don’t grieve for me, for now I’m free I could not stay another day, To love, to laugh, to work or play; Tasks left undone must stay that way. And if my parting has left a void, Then fill it with remembered joy.

Her creative and glowing face. Her warmth and endless enthusiasm for expression. I will remember Hanna well.

Hannah, it was such a pleasure working with you growing food, weeding, and enjoying time together. I am thankful to have gotten to know you and I will always be inspired by you. Your spirit will be with us always in the community garden🌻

Hannah, your life, your love for all and your journey to this fragile yet powerful moment have humbled me. The sadness I feel is comforted by the decades of knowing you, learning from you and sharing special moments of reflections, laughter and silent quietude. From lazy days in Irene to the top of the African landscape at Mapungubwe, walks in the creek at St Charles and making thoughts visible at the School of the Art Institute. You have touched me deeply and the laughter in your eyes will stay with me. The candle that we lit every morning for all dear to us and all lives no longer with us will be burn every morning, as it has been for the past three years. We have loved you in life and will keep you in our hearts forever. Hennie and Andrea Reynders.