The Grief Manual: Eulogy

February 23, 2019

Hannah wouldn’t have liked some eulogy about how saintly someone had become in death. She had a slant eye to anything that was inauthentic or put-on. She broke up the fakeness in the world — she read that like a laser — and gave life a real and true rhythm.

She had a wicked, wry, keen sense of humor, an acid sense of humor that delighted in the ways the world was warped. I keep hearing her saying funny things about this whole awful heartbreaking process of death, of her death, and I laugh because I can hear her voice so distinctly joking.

She loved being with people. If she could talk right now, I know she would be soothing everyone. She would be gliding in here with perfect makeup and onyx hair — if that hair color suited how she felt this particular week — and the grace and ease of a patrician. With a dancer’s elegance. She would be hugging everyone and saying something in her sweet voice and complimenting people and asking them about some important detail of their life that she knew would bring comfort to them. She would be taking care of Mom and Dad and Roxy and David and Tina and Ava and Luca and Grammy and all her friends and family. She would be comforting us.

When she was a little kid and we were on vacation in the Keys, no sooner had she gotten to the pool then, suddenly, she had new friends that she introduced us to. She was always like that, able to attract people to her wit and charm and able to disarm people by her earnest interest in who they were and what they loved.

Hannah was the sacred and the profane. She was high-end and biker babe. She was highbrow and low meme. She was not cruel. She was never cruel. She had a sweetness that was not cloying or babe-in-the-woods. She had a preternatural innocence, and, yet, she was so worldly and wise. She had a purity of beauty and of spirit. She was ever-true to everyone she met and knew. I think about her relationship with all of us, and she gave each of us something we needed most. She made each of us feel special and loved and like we were worth something wonderful and worthwhile.

She was compassionate above all. She was brave brave brave. She was daring. She endured. Yes, she could be dramatic, but that was also part of her charm. You could never stay mad at her for too long because her coltish energy just wouldn’t allow you to. And, she welcomed you back always without any ill intent. Hannah had a patience and understanding for people I aspire to and a loveliness at the same time that held people to a high standard without critique.

She loved art. She loved culture. She loved beauty — something she saw painted throughout the world. She was smart and literary. She was an excellent writer with a writerly way of words. And, she was also an emoji language guru. Her beautiful tattoos exemplified how she fully represented herself the way she wanted to the world and protected her from its slings and arrows. She had such natural, evanescent beauty, and she became more beautiful the longer she was in this upside-down world. But, if you tried to control her or tie her down or tell her what to do, she was like a wild horse.

The youngest, she was the baby and the glue of our family. Since she has died, I think every day of my actions and what I would typically do or say (or not do or not say) in my relationships; then I run what Hannah would do over that, and I always choose to alter how I treat others better by what I know she would do. She is strong enough to still be bonding us together, keeping us loving her and each other.

She was my baby sister, my real baby doll who grew into something like a child for me and then somehow, as we got older, seemed to become my older sister, my Sherpa. I am and always will be so, so proud of her. She loved purely, openly, without judgment. She was so giving and loving, so funny and sincere. She loved people for exactly who — and not what — they were, and her love made us feel safer and better. I wish everyone the gift of knowing love like this, of hearing words the way Hannah spoke them to me, to us.

I feel peace from her now. I feel her spirit liberated, free. And, I feel her with me and with us.

I thank god for her. I hate the horror that is the fact that she is gone, but she left an incredible richness and bounty here. Look at all the people here. Look to your side and other side. Hold the hand of the person next to you, that is Hannah.

I miss her silliness, I miss her being my friend.

Summers without her will be hard.

Spring without her will be hard.

Life without her here next to us in the flesh will be excruciating.

I see her everywhere, and that is her gift. But she left us wanting so much more.

I miss her, and I ache for her. I want a lifetime more of her. I want to grow old with her the way it was supposed to be. But I would take 30 more seconds. Just to hear her voice and see her beautiful face and hold her dancer hands in mine and have her squeeze me and tell her how perfect and how beautiful and how needed she is. And how she changed me. How she changed our family and her friends. How she changed all of us.

God bless you, Hannah, and stay with us every day for the rest of our lives. I love you so much it hurts. It hurts, and it’s love forever.