A little over a year ago, my husband had a pretty rough accident at work which kept me away from the office for about a week. This time also fell over my birthday. I made the return to work the following week, reluctantly, but when I approached my cubicle, I couldn't help but be happy to be there. My incredible co-workers, Hannah and Kimlynn, had gone all out to stage my cube as a replicate scene straight out of the Kelly's birthday episode of The Office. It was beautifully ugly. Toilet paper streamers, minimally blown up brown, black and gray balloons. She had even gone all out to add a tiny pillow and fake TV screen on my cabinet, the two options Kelly had on her birthday. 1 hour of TV or 1 hour nap. In addition, I opened my favorite card that I have ever received (attached). This incredibly kind and hilarious soul and her undeniable creative talents, made me the silliest card to go with my now decorated desk. It may sound stupid but this kind and thoughtful act brought tears to my eyes. It was difficult coming in to work when I wanted to be home supporting a recovering man, but I was so grateful to be there and felt so lucky that I had such a wonderful co-worker and friend at my place of employment. There is no doubt in anyone's mind that Hannah was one of the most kind-hearted and loving individual, without even trying. I am so grateful that I have this memory, among many others. I miss you Hannah girl, we all do. 

The family would like to thank all of you for your love, prayers and many acts of support during this most difficult time. We are grateful for our family and friends. Thank you for the many ways that you have shared your lives and your love with Hannah and each of us.

There are two ways in which to help create an enduring legacy in Hannah's memory and honor:

• The Hannah K. Turgeon Memorial Scholarship Fund at her beloved University of Notre Dame.

ONLINE:Go to: https://giving.nd.edu/

~ Enter donation amount

~ Click “Continue”

~ Click “Giving Societies or Other Areas”

~ Scroll to bottom -- click “Other” then click “Continue”

~ Enter “Hannah K. Turgeon Memorial Scholarship” where it says to “specify how your gift should be designated”

~ Additional Details About My Gift:

   Enter: “Hannah K. Turgeon Memorial Scholarship”

~ Click “Continue”

~ Enter name and contact information

        IGNORE “In Memory Of” area

~ Click arrow for “Matching Gift Info” (if your employer will be matching your contribution) and enter requested information.

~ Check out – click on Credit Card or PayPal payment options.

CHECK payable to University of Notre Dame mailed to :

           1251 N. Eddy Street, South Bend, ID 46617  ATTN: Amy Plotkin

Memo field: “Hannah K. Turgeon Memorial Scholarship”

Once fully endowed, this fund will provide much needed support to students of McGlinn Hall – Hannah’s dorm, students from Los Angeles and Denver, and students who volunteer in local South Bend schools.While at McGlinn, Hannah started a big/little sister program with a local elementary school to “get to know the girls outside of the classroom so that we could better understand their needs inside of the classroom when we tutor them during the week.”

This donation is tax-deductible.

• Purchase goods this holiday season from Generous International LLC and their ambassadors for a Humanity and Hope United Campaign, dedicated to Hannah, in order to build houses in Honduras. Please see www.generousmovement.com for details in mid-November.

I bought coffee for all my family this Christmas! I can’t wait to have it Christmas morning! God bless the Turgeon family

Hannah was my sister Melanie's best friend, and I am grateful I got to know her in my visits to see Melanie and hearing all of Melanie's stories of her & Hannah's adventures. One of those adventures was when Hannah made the trip to Arkansas for a week & of course she got to see the best of Arkansas with Melanie as her tour guide. The following story took place after the Arkansas Travelers game, and while short & silly, it makes me laugh every time.
The walkway to get to from the baseball park to the parking lot goes under a road, so essentially there is a bride over you.  Now this bridge was not super high, so someone (I'm sure it was Patrick), started jumping up to touch the bottom of the bridge, and we all followed. So you have the Mines kids: Patrick, Melanie, Jennifer, and myself & Hannah jumping to touch the bridge. I do not even remember if we were all successful, I do remember watching Hannah trying to jump, "trying" being the key word as she was getting maybe a couple inches of clearance from the ground, which of course we noticed & started joking with her about. She started laughing with us and trying to explain to us she couldn't jump, which of course only made us laugh more. And then she continued, "I'm not joking. My friends called me No Hops because I can't jump."  Now I am not sure who originally made up this nickname, but the Mines family quickly adopted it & continued to call Hannah "No Hops." 
I'm sure No Hop's jumping problems are all cured now that she got her wings. <3 She got along with the Mines family, and all those she met, like she fit right in. I will especially forever be grateful for her being a sister to my sister and was blessed to have known her. 

I used to have this exact photo (I'm glad someone posted it!) in a frame that said "Only brush (and floss) the teeth you want to keep!"  Debbie won the "I want to have a baby award" in Hygiene School and I won the "Avid conversationalist award (I know, hard to  believe- they thought I talked more than Debbie!)  Anyway, I had this photo of Hannah on my desk for years before I replaced it with my own daughter's photo!  Hannah was the first born and like a daughter to us all, we loved watching her grow into the beautiful woman (both inside and out) that she became.  She got her deeds done early in life and earned those wings!  (I can't imagine life with out her smile... keep smiling upon us Hannah!)  May she live forever in our hearts! And she will be Forever Missed! <3

Well Hannah in honor of it being National Cat Day, I guess it is time to share the story of how you became Auntie Puuurrrfect.  I promised I would take all the other crazy cat names to my grave, so I will honor that. Those are the names only your sweet sister, mom and dad were privy to.  I did not think I could share a story, or write a tribute, because the words fall short in comparison to the beautiful woman you were.  I have read every tribute, and every story, all with the same love for you that I feel, and yet I can't get the words to flow like Matt or Erica, Mimi, or Steve and of course your dad.  Your dad has the gift of writing that all of you Turgeon's seemed to be so blessed with.  I remember your class speech you and your dad wrote while you were attending St. Anastasia. You were trying to get elected for some office, maybe school President, though I cannot recall. But the speech was so clever and used much of our favorite Christmas quotes from the movie, "Elf." Hannah your love for family, and your beautiful spirit lives within each of us through the memories you have so graciously left for us to smile at, cry to, and eventually laugh pretty hysterically from because of your sweet sense of humor.  I am forever grateful to have been a part of your life from the time you were born.  How did those 27 years go so quickly? And when will these tears of sorrow, and pain in my body stop, so that I can at the very least finish this story before it is no longer National Cat Day?

It was the blessed day we had been waiting for, the arrival of our precious Audrey James Baird-Turgeon.  The most anticipated baby within our family since Ella was born. You had asked Riley and Sarah to please have their baby during your scheduled week off.  We all know that babies come when they are ready, she was due on the 4th, but arrived in all her glory on July 1st.  I could not get there fast enough to be there with your mom, who got promoted to Grandma, your Dad to Grandpa, your sister, promoted to Aunt Ella, your brother Riley,  now the very best daddy, and you sweet Hannah, Auntie TBD! The celebration of Audrey's birth was met with hugs, laughter, tears, relief, and hope as this precious miracle was brought into this world not knowing her purpose, or how important she is to this family.  No one knew how she would provide the comfort and joy to all of us as we have grown to require since you left us way too soon.  So as your purpose too was love, and laughter, joy, and light, our sweet Audrey, brings comfort, joy and hope.  She truly is "Our" baby.
So it was with that blessed miracle, God knew we would need her to be the light for hope, and that your name, Auntie Puuurrrfect came to be.  We were on a high, elated and so ready to celebrate.  We all went back to your parents house, you, Ella, your mom and dad to celebrate as we sat together in the living room.  We opened wine, brought out chips and salsa, guacamole, and toasted Riley and Sarah, and beautiful baby Audrey.  Your dad put on music and we sang, and laughed, and we were so happy.  Your mom and I sat side by side, you in front of the fireplace on the floor, your sister across from you on the piano side, and your dad in his chair.  We poured more wine and were giddy with the thought of watching this baby grow, and wanting to spend every free moment admiring her newborn baby sweetness.
And so it was, in that time that we started calling Ella auntie Ella.  She did not much care for it, but she has become accustomed to the sound.  Your mom did not have a name and we started going through all of the possible grandma names, one being out, as Grandma Kathleen, Sarah's mom was to be known as Grammy.  By this time it was 1 am, we were beginning to feel the exhaustion from the day's events, and we decided to all switch to looking at our phones for help with fun, cute grandma names.  As we yelled out potential qualifiers, none were funnier than the one's you found, my sweet Hannah for your mom.  You were coming up with names like Cookie, Candy, Bambi, Bunny, Sugar, Ginger, all names that were cute, but Debbie said EEWWW, no way.  You came up with a few more and your dad chimed in, and they just did not seem appropriate as grandma names.  Finally, it was announced that you were on a special site, not one for grandma names but for Strippers.  Oh, Hannah, we laughed so hard until we had tears rolling down our faces and we were filled with so much happiness and joy.  We began to talk about names for you, and of course the topic quickly switched to Cats. Oh how it seemed, nana wanted to turn you into the crazy "cat lady" and she wondered why you did not have a man? That has been the running joke since she gave you a one size fits all night shirt that would fit ten of you.  The night shirt you modeled for us on more than one occaision to humor us as we had our family reunions and gatherings on your oh too brief visits home.  Nana loved to give you sparkly cat glittered treasures she would find along her travels and because it made her think of you having two cats, and being single..... hmmm. And so, with the understanding that you were the farthest thing from a crazy cat lady, you were single, at least I think, with two cats. Lol.  Once something gets determined in this family, it becomes the joke forever.  And so, you my sweet Hannah, needed a cat name to go with the forever running joke.  We discussed Aunt Kit, Kitten, KitKat, Kitty, Puss, Katnip, Katniss, and so forth, with a few to not ever be mentioned, but still will forever be on my contact screen.  Auntie Puuurrrfect it was.  You said please, those names should not be shared or leave this house.  More wine, more laughs, hugs and finally our goodbyes.  I put you into my phone that night with all of your new auntie nicknames.  We started texting each other and a few phone calls, each time, nothing gave me more joy than to see it was Auntie Puurrrfect calling or texting to share some sweet thought, or funny story.  Auntie Puuuurrrfeect, you forever will be in my heart, imprinted within my soul, and the best at making others feel loved, appreciated, and special. Love, Aunt Momo
 

Hannah had this adorable habit of covering her mouth when she really got to laughing.  

My dear sweet Hannah. I have so many memories and all of them make me smile and laugh. However, my favorite was a year ago in Maui. You brought all your games. One night we were playing a funny game called Quelf. We all had to do silly things and I was laughing harder than I ever have. (I had to ask my feet permission to talk every time I spoke.) I was afraid the neighbors in the condo would start complaining. You made everything so much fun. I will treasure the memories of your sweetness and laughter, but the hole in my heart will always be there. I miss you so. Love, Aunt Mimi

I wasn’t the most sensitive or aware teenager, having first complained about the blue-dyed shoes I was requested to wear at the nuptials of my Uncle Paul to his beautiful bride, my Aunt Debbie, followed by years of me nagging them to please have a child. I had no first cousins on my maternal side, which meant none in California, and I really, really, really wanted a cousin. If someone told me that begging young couples to have children is neither appropriate nor sensitive, I apparently dismissed it out of desperation.

Eventually, I got my way, as we welcomed our beautiful Hannah Claus on Christmas Day when I was 20 years old. Knowing how long I waited for this day, I was so pleased her parents asked me to be godmother. Oh joy be!! My own tiny girl to love and spoil. I really tried do that her entire short life. I hope I didn’t let her down.

It all happened so fast. One second I’m wondering whether her little toddler mullet will ever grow into normal little girl hair and the next she’s a full blown, beautiful person and friend who reveled in my joys and lamented in my sorrows. We all know that Hannah sincerely rode the highs and lows of those she loved, which was pretty much everyone she met.

Since I am supposed to choose a story here, I’ll go with the time I visited her at Notre Dame only a few weeks into her freshman year. It was the second game of the year on September 11, 2010. Naturally, it was raining (this was South Bend, after all). She was not yet feeling settled, she was homesick, and her leeriness of this new college life revealed a certain kind of vulnerable beauty. I fully knew that soon enough she’d find her groove and her besties – her Melanie, her Liz, and everyone else that made Notre Dame so special for Hannah. I knew Notre Dame would envelop her in tenderness, community, and that infectious fall Saturday activity of watching football. During that weekend, however, she was not aware of her own magnetism, courage, strength, or how that university she revered her whole life would not let her down. I found her vulnerability so touching, so inspiring, because it was so real and because I saw her true power so present, yet not fully tapped. We talked and talked about her concerns and fears, but of course, we also got downright silly.

What did we do? We basically went on a Turgeon family history scavenger hunt in the rain. We went to the log chapel in which our grandparents were married, we walked by the lakes I used to jog around during college, passed thru the grotto and then went to the Huddle. Now, my uncle’s photo used to be on the bottom floor of the Huddle – along with the entire ’77 National Championship winning football team. We get to the place this photo used to be back when I was in college and oh crap it’s not there. Ok, so what do I do now?? I promised this girl her father’s photo was in this building! So, we stumbled around and bumbled around asking until we found its new location, which happened to be in the middle of the food court. So, we peered over the tops of people’s heads while eating their game day sandwiches and admired the newly found photo. I don’t think the people trying to enjoy their lunch were as impressed as we were with the photo that included my young uncle, which only made our intrusion that much funnier.

We moved on to the library. Too long had passed since our grandfather’s name was on a study room and the librarians could not help us, but we pestered them until we were satisfied this room no longer existed. Again, we were amused, but they were not. We did find our grandfather’s name on the gold platted book like sheets in the foyer of the library. How we got into a fit of giggles over that I simply cannot recall, but we surely did. That is the photo I chose for this story. That day, while I gave her the gift of a piece of home and someone to talk to and laugh with, of course what she gave me was one of the most fun and most memorable days of my life. I felt the kind of joy, pride, love and connection that our grandfather would feel when he visited me at Notre Dame when I was in college. (It is just too bad I wasn’t wearing plaid pants like he did).

The photo of Hannah I use in my contacts on my phone is of her standing next to the lakes that day with that look of raw beauty with the untapped power. I am just so proud of her because with each passing year she owned that power more and more. She faced challenges of all sorts, but she went for her life with such gusto and courage, and she found her groove again and again. And she did so while always giving to others and always with a completely open heart. What a joy and privilege it was to watch her grow up. May her entire family all be able to smile at Christmas even as she remains forever 27.I know she’d want that – her golden, Christmas decorated heart wouldn’t have it any other way. Until we meet again, beloved Hannah, may God bless your sweet Irish soul.

Once upon a time – around 27-1/2 years ago -- was the first time I got to hang out with Hannah one-on-one. Paul & Debbie were desperate for a babysitter and left me in charge. Jean and I lived right next door to them where we shared a long common wall in a very cozy duplex. So there we were, just the two of us on our first play date. Uncle Steve and baby Hannah, with zero agenda. 

I came up with the bright idea to give her a music and dancing lesson. Hannah was all bundled up and I put on Jethro Tull’s “Stand Up” CD , then proceeded to dance around the living room with her in my arms for a solid 30 minutes. The look on her face was amazing. Even at that young age she had the smarts to realize that she was dealing with a crazy person. I’ll always remember and cherish that first dance.

Later on we found that we shared another bond in creating art. Hannah was very talented. Her handmade cards with the fun plays on words were quite amazing.

Without a doubt Hannah was the most genuinely vibrant and loving person I have ever known. I miss her terribly and I am so very fortunate, as we all are, to have had her in my life. 

I met Hannah in the year of 2015. When I started I was the receptionist at Northwestern mutual, Hannah was one of the first people I met! I meet a lot of people, great people! But I will forever remember Hannah. She had such a great personality. She always, always, had a smile on her face and she had so much energy. I always enjoyed when she came up to my desk and would talk. We would talk about a lot of things, friends, family etc. she was always talking about her family in CA and how much she missed them. We bonded over fun conversations and coffee. I still have the coffee cup she gave me one year for Christmas. It says “your one in a minion.” It made me laugh! Hannah broke me out of my comfort zone that summer. She’s told me I had to go to the garden party with her that year and let loose, I did. I actually have these photos on my desk still and now I am at NM honest office , years later. Hannah, I’m sorry we didn’t keep keep touch but I am so, so happy you came into my life!

• She could make any normal situation (like going to IKEA) into one of the funniest memories.
• She could always keep you laughing.
  
• She never missed an opportunity to take a picture surrounded by Christmas decorations. 

Hello friends and family. In an attempt to honor beautiful Ms. Hannah, there is a public group called 100 Hikes for Hannah on FB.
She expressed, last month, her goal was to get 100 hikes in this year. She was only 20 or so hikes away from reaching that mark. Let's help finish that goal in her honor. Please join and share with friends and post about the hike you took for her or better yet just take a hike with Hannah's name on your heart.  

“Hello?” I groaned, using my teeth to pull out the antenna on the cordless phone.

The tiny voice on the other end of the line was barely audible, but clearly it belonged to a ridiculously adorable child, which, for some reason, only further abbreviated my already short fuse.

“Do you want to buy some Girl Scout Cookies?” the voice squeaked, oozing with cuteness.

Just like that. No ‘hi-my-name-is-so-and-so-and-I-am-raising-money-for-my-troop’ opening pitch. Just straight for the Thin Mint jugular. This was no innocent Girl Scout. This was a stone-cold cookie dealer, and it was my responsibility — neigh, my duty as an American citizen — to counter her unsolicited sweetness with a hefty dose of the real world.

“Not interested,” I snapped before slamming the phone back onto the receiver. If you were born after 1999, you have no idea how satisfying it is to end unwanted sales calls with such a slam, but trust me when I tell you it is empowering. Indeed, in that post-hang-up moment I was the undisputed champ of kicking unsolicited cookie sellers to the curb; a terminator of nine-year-old telemarketers; a castigator of cold-calling Peanut Butter Patty pushers.

“She won’t try that again,” I chuckled to myself, a picture of confidence.

Then the phone began to ring again.

Huh.

I stared at it for a moment of careful contemplation before regrouping. “Okay, little girl” I hissed, “You want to play games? It’s on now.”

I snatched the phone off the receiver, and before she could hit me with that cute little sales voice again, I let her have it: “Listen, kid, I don’t know who you think you are, but I’m not buying any of your damn--”

“Cousin Matt,” the sweet voice interrupted, somehow even cuter than it was on the first call. “It’s Hannah.”

My jaw hit the floor.

Oh shit.

Hannah, as in my nine-year-old cousin who was quite possibly the sweetest human on earth. Hannah, who sent me a hand-written thank you card (yes, it was in Crayon, but still) for taking her and Riley to Sea World when they were seven and eight — side note: still waiting on a card from Riley. Hannah, who played my daughter in one of my college plays, a casting decision a co-star asserted was not believable since, quote, “She is way too cute and sweet to be your kid.” Hannah, who, even at the age of nine already radiated with the light that so many of us would come to know, one that illuminated the world with love and peace and hope and joy.

Yeah, that Hannah. And I had just rejected her sales pitch and hung up on her by slamming my cordless into her ear.

Whoops.

One might think that since I was the adult in this unfortunate scenario, it would be me to jump in to do the damage control; me to apologize profusely and promise to make things right; me to seek out ways to quickly iron out the awkwardness.

Instead, it was Hannah, the friggin’ nine-year-old angel that I so clearly did not deserve in my life.

“Sorry I didn’t say my name the first time I called,” she laughed nervously, further shattering my icy heart into a thousand more pieces.

With my speechless mouth agape, she went on to assure me that hanging up on her was no big deal and not to worry about it. I think she could sense that I was mortified, particularly because I could hear her dad, Paul, howling with laughter in the background. I knew I would never hear the end of this, and to be quite clear, I was right. To this day, Paul or some other wise-ass family member will randomly ask if I want to buy any Girl Scout Cookies.

But never Hannah.

Even when she was old enough to truly comprehend how awful it is to hang up on a Girl Scout, even when you don’t realize it’s your cousin, she never rousted me for it.

Instead, on that fateful day, nine-year-old Hannah did for me what she made a lifelong habit of doing for everyone: She laughed off the bad, shined a light on the good, and embraced the embarrassing craziness that is our ridiculous family. Last night, my younger son, who is not much older than Hannah was on the day of the now infamous cookie call, said it best: “She was the nicest person I ever met.”

She was also the most intelligent, and years later, when pressed on the subject, she would neither confirm nor deny if she had hustled me that day. To be clear, she was as ambitious and wicked smart as she was sweet, particularly when it came to supporting her beloved Girl Scouts. Did she set me up by posing as a random telemarketer on the first call so she could cash in on my assholery on the next? I did, after all, practically take out a second mortgage to purchase her entire inventory to make up for my blunder. Not sure if you have ever been the proud owner of 40 boxes of Tagalongs, but trust me when I tell you that it is both glorious and awful at the same time.

As I write this, still in the profound shock and sadness of Hannah’s tragic loss, I take solace in knowing that the retelling of this story would have likely made her laugh. The ubiquity of that laugh and the desperation with which we all want to hear it now and for the rest of our lives provides a simple charge, one I hope I begin to answer here. That is, of course, that we always tell Hannah’s story so that her laughter and joy continue to live on through us and in her memory. I am confident that is what she would have wanted, and as someone who was at the hospital the day she was born, whose wedding was blessed with her ridiculously cute Flower Girl services, and who knew her all 27 years of her life, I know those stories are as endless as they are joy-filled.

For me, many of those stories revolve around her childhood, and every one of them underscores the fact that her early emotional intelligence was no anomaly. Instead, as she grew into adulthood, so too did her ability to see and pull out the good in others. So too did her knack for being a shining light, especially when we needed it most. So too did her aspiration to make the world a better place, whether it be one cookie, one shared hike, or one hand-crafted greeting card at a time. And so too did her ability to infuse our crazy lives with laughter, joy, hope, and kindness.

And all of those stories — from her initial displeasure of the arrival of Baby Riley to her more recent knack for making “surprise” visits to her LA family and posting their R-rated reactions on Instagram — should always be told. Not just in our time of mourning or when we get together, but at all times at every get together, and always with the same laughter and joy she gave us in her short time on this earth.

That is how she remains with us; that is how we heal; and that is how we collectively ensure her dream to make the world a better place comes true.

For me, that begins with a box of Peanut Butter Patties, the company of loved ones, and the story of the time I hung up on my nine-year-old cookie-selling cousin.

I can hear her laughing already.

God rest your soul, sweet cousin. I love you now and always.

Cousin Matt

I was fortunate enough to 'meet' Hannah the summer before our Freshman year at Notre Dame when a group of us McGlinn residents bonded on Facebook over our mutual love of The Office. Once we all met in person in August 2010, it was kismet. There are so many stories to tell, but one of my favorite memories remains the start of Christmas break our Freshman year.
Hannah wasn't flying home to California until a day after our holiday started, so she came home from Notre Dame with me to Chicago to stay the night. After a week of finals related stress and all-nighters, we managed to stay up with my mom into the wee hours of the morning, watching cat videos on YouTube and laughing until we were all sobbing. Every Christmas break afterwards, we would reminisce about this night and immediately start laughing hysterically again.
Hannah will forever be associated with Christmas to me. She is the embodiment of light, unconditional kindness and joy, and she had the biggest and fullest heart. She radiated positivity and warmth, and the world is a little bit darker and a lot duller without her presence.
Hannah, you touched so many people's lives, including mine. You are proof that angels walk among us here on Earth. I love you so much and I'll hold you in my heart forever.