I met Hannah at an incredibly awkward stage in life in the 7th grade. We became fast friends when I learned what an unbelievably funny and kind soul she had. I have endless happy memories with Hannah from sleeping on her trampoline to planning a special royal wedding sleepover where we would wake up in the middle of the night to eat cupcakes and watch Will and Kate tie the knot. Hannah even stayed friends with me when I accidentally dyed my hair orange with Sun-In at the age of 14. Now that’s a good friend.

Life pulled us in different directions over the years, but somehow we ended up back together in 2021 when we found ourselves in the same graduate program at the Colorado School of Public Health. Hannah and I reconnected like no time had passed at all. We confided in each other over many walks with coffee during grad school, and I’m grateful to have had my friend with me through another naturally uncomfortable and challenging stage in life. Cheers to such a special friend who always treated others with the utmost patience, empathy, and kindness. I’m heartbroken and filled with gratitude for everything she gave us.

Kindness, patience, silliness. Words can never do justice in these moments, but these are the three that come to mind when I think of Hannah. She was one of those few people you encounter in life that shows so much warmth and openness to everyone that it sucks you in. And if that didn’t do it, then her zany sense of humor certainly would. 

One specific memory that stands out to me is how Hannah interacted with younger students at Lewis & Clark as we reached our later years at the college. Hannah attended and then hosted new students—some of which were having their very first interaction with Lewis & Clark—as a new student trip, or NST, leader. Students came off of Hannah’s NST both loving the experience and, not surprisingly, loving Hannah. I can’t think of a better experience, or better person, for these students to encounter as they started their time at Lewis & Clark.

Another memory that was not-so-fond in the moment because of the mountains of stress, but one that I recall regardless, is studying with Hannah countless times in the late hours of the evening when we would be holed up in some corner room of J.R. Howard Hall. While I was frantic and doubtful of our abilities to cram whatever chemistry or biology knowledge we needed to in the next several hours, Hannah was more poised, calm, and collected than I could have ever hoped to be. Hannah was also never afraid to ask the questions of why we were studying what we did, rather than just learn the what we needed to know to get a good grade. I’m always thankful to her for keeping me on my toes and reminding me of the overwhelming amount of knowledge I didn’t know.

Hannah was an exceptional scientist, student, and friend, and she was greatly admired by students and professors alike. Hannah didn’t carry preconceived notions about others into her interactions with them: you always had her full attention and respect regardless of whether she had known you for five minutes or five years. She was an ally, confidant, someone to pull you up, and someone to (lightly) put you down when you needed it. Above all, she was a bright light on Earth, and she’ll be deeply missed by all who knew her.

Family & friends of Hannah, 

Words are not sufficient. Ever. 

In the time that Hannah blessed this Earth, she brought kindness, joy and love. Hearts don’t forget. Ever. 

Sarah Lopez, mother of Gabe Lorca

I met Hannah through the Office of Student Leadership and Service, where Anna Lindberg, Hannah and I would spend much of college. And during breaks from saving the world with service-learning, we were usually in a fit of giggles. Hannah's incredibly goofiness paired with her passion for positive action, made her an inspiration, and a light that I still hold close. But of course, there was always laughter. One time in the SLS office, Hannah revealed randomly that in grade school she used to tell people that Britney Spears was her cousin, and she did this quite often. I don't know if she ever disclosed the truth to her classmates.

Another time, while we were lounging in SLS couches, probably during our office hours, we started talking about what we wanted at our weddings. After listening to me ramble about my fairy-tale wedding, Hannah, deadpan, said "I haven't put a lot of thought into it, but I know that I want goats." Through fits of giggling, I inquired more about these goats, and Hannah, also giggling, explained that she had attended a number of weddings without drinking and that she had gotten bored. In that boredom, she thought it would be nice to have a field of goats to look at. So at her future wedding, she would have a field of goats that sober people at her wedding could observe. To clarify, the vision was not a petting zoo, just some goats to look at (believe me, I asked). Moments in SLS with Hannah was some of the most fun, genuine memories I have of college. Hannah is really special to me.

Oh, Hannah! Sweet bunbun. The best person to have in your corner for encouragement, advice, or a light roasting. The things that stand out in my memories of Hannah at Lewis & Clark are little and day-to-day: grinning like maniacs when we spotted each other in the library; gleefully splitting Chipotle BOGOs; going to Gay Skate at Oaks Park, which she always insisted on going to while simultaneously bemoaning that she was sure she would fall; ferrying lattes and soup and other sustenance from one of our kitchens to another; standing outside in the rain calling her to swipe me in when I forgot my key card (which was often); volunteering at SMYRC thanks to her work organizing for the Center for Social Change; gossiping about gay dating; starting and losing and restarting our snap streak; going to Rain Brain Trivia at Maggie’s, which she sometimes called Margaret’s (which was distinguished) or Maggots (which was not).

This is a hard, impossible loss. I am holding all the love in my heart for her, her friends, and her family. 

Hannah and I sat together every day in discrete mathematics. It was my job to procure the New York Times puzzle section before each class. We’d get there a few minutes early - she’d sit on my right. The New York Times puzzle section conveniently folds and rips just right so that I could keep the crossword and Hannah could have the KenKen. 

One day when we were doing math homework together, Hannah asked me to proofread her proof. The proof had something to do with categorical number theory in which we were supposed to write a story-like proof. The example involved something simple, such as red and blue blocks being sorted. Hannah, of course, had written an epic about hamsters - lovingly referred to as “hammies” - doing whimsical, carnival-esque activities.

Our professor made the mistake of letting us choose our partners for our final projects. Hannah and I were to present on the mathematical topic of Goldbach’s Conjecture, which involves summing and prime numbers. That’s about as much as we knew about the topic - we had spent most of our time finding a pretty illustration to be our opening slide and coming up with the title “Stay Gold, Primey Boy,” which we thought was the height of comedy. It was mostly lost on our classmates.

In every memory I have of Hannah, she’s making me laugh.