Hannah was the kind of person who made the world brighter just by being in it. She was sharp-witted, fiercely loyal, hilariously funny, and deeply kind. She was the girl who made up songs at random, played the drums like thunder, and walked through life with equal parts fire and heart.
She called me into her room to listen to jazz records, made ramen and kombucha taste tests feel like fine dining, and once described her fifth-grade dance dress straps as “fettuccine straps” because spaghetti straps were not allowed. She was magic in human form.
On September 28, 2024, Hannah was taken from this world far too soon. But even in that unimaginable heartbreak, her light found a way to keep shining. Hannah was an organ and tissue donor. Because of her, four lives were saved—and two people received the gift of sight.
That was Hannah. Even in death, she showed up for others.
She loved Iron Man and was our real-life superhero. Iron Man would have been lucky to know her. She loved her dogs, Yoda, Bennie and Franky, her cat, Whiskers, music, dinosaurs, art, and the people she chose as hers. She had plans, dreams, laughter that filled a room—and love that now fills the world through those she saved and who still carry her with us.
Today, and every day, I say her name.
Today, and every day, I remember her legacy.
Today, and every day, I honor Hannah. My forever, Beanies.
