Messages for Hanna

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.