So long Hannah, you’ll be so deeply missed. It’s strange how when someone is gone, you still feel compelled to speak to them directly. So Hannah, I’ll always remember the time we lived together in Wells Park in the little whisps and scraps of everyday life that decide to stick around in your mind, for whatever reason, when you spend time in close proximity to someone. Your consistent and calm presence, headphones on, Marantz recorder out. Crisp homefries you made on the stove. Explaining patiently how to set the timer to water the garden, though I never could quite get it. Post-its on the wall with story ideas. Sitting barefoot on the church pew in the backyard. Listening to you making final edits on a long, long story.
There was one time Ellen mentioned when we drove to Wild Rivers to meet some friends to go camping. We shared music and podcasts on the way there, and Gus kept plunking himself down between the front seats of your car, wanting to be part of the conversation. We got totally and completely lost in Questa, and even though it was late and Google Maps gave out, I remember knowing it would somehow work out. Out there in a quiet night with a stretch of desert around us, I know I felt what others felt with you – a sense of calm, reassurance, competence, something like a warm glow around you. This is how I’ll remember you – full of grace.