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"These gentle historians, on the contrary, dip their pens in nothing but the milk of human kindness." - Edmund Burke, Letter to a Noble Lord (1796)
The last time I saw Hans was at our Oberlin Reunion. I was going to Chance Creek with friends and we bumped into him. I asked if he'd come with us and with his usual spontaneity, he jumped in the car. I'll miss him and his passion for life.
ReplyDeleteI love you, Hans. I'll always remember the times you would ask me to smell your clothes because you just weren't sure they were dirty enough yet to wash, and the countless nights of 5-hour kitchen prep for simple kale with butter because you were more interested in conversing and loving those around you than being in a hurry.
ReplyDeleteHans was always such an incredibly open person. As I was saying on the phone yesterday to a friend, Hans didn't seem to try to get along with people because he thought he should, but because he just genuinely saw the cool things in lots of people.
ReplyDeleteHans had such a beautiful soul and I did not know him well, but what I remember he always talked to me like we knew each other forever. He will be genuinely missed from this world! :-(
ReplyDeleteHans was a great man and an example to others to act greatly. He was open and friendly at all times. I never saw him even treat anyone brusquely let alone badly. He was always ready for fun, but also always ready to put in effort. We all shared special memories with him, I've always treasure a certain few, and he was usually quite memorable. No summary can do him justice, but it will always be said that he will be missed greatly.
ReplyDeleteOh my, I am so saddened by this news! I was a track teammate of Hans at Oberlin and his infectious smile never failed to bring one of my own. His sunny disposition added greatly to our happy team family vibe and he will be missed.
ReplyDeleteHans was such a kind, friendly, joyful person. The world is poorer for his absence.
ReplyDeleteI remember the first time I met Hans, describing to a bunch of us how the Cross Country team had streaked the Environmental Studies Center's inauguration ceremony, and the last time, laughing our heads off somewhere in the 12th Arr. in Paris. I also remember the many times in between, as well as stories told by other friends; the resulting laughter and smiles as proof of how dear he was to all. Hans cooking kale... Hans procrastinating in Mudd... Hans walking backwards giving a tour (and fake kidnapping story)... There should have been more to be added. I'll miss you Hans...
ReplyDeleteThe last time I saw Hans, spring '08, we had a long-lost-friend sleepover in his tiny divinity school dorm room. He showed up late to pick me up from SF, wearing some kind of shiny neon jacket that matched the brilliance of his hair and smile :) That night he played a Josh Ritter song; I played one of my own songs. Theology books, personal growth books, and half-finished correspondences were piled up all around the bed. One of the mornings I was there we listened to Corey Dargel's song "You Make It Easy To Stay Awake...", which began my long obsession with that song. We talked about pretty girls at Oberlin, and crushes in California. We talked about queer Lutherans; Hans was a big advocate of justice within the church (and beyond.) We ate an amazing chorizo omelette somewhere in Berkeley, Hans sharing water with me from his ecofriendly water bottle that he brought everywhere. We talked about personal ecology. We held hands and snuggled all through church. We stood in a high place in morning fog and looked out over the campus hills, and then we said goodbye.
ReplyDeleteHans was passionate, genuine, quirky and kind. One of those rare people in this world who don't have an insincere bone in their body.And lord, could the man flirt!
ReplyDeleteWe haven't spoken in years, but I'll always remember the levity and little bit of Obie-style crazy he brought to my life -- the world is a little darker now without him.
How can I sum up all my memories of Hans? I know most of all burned in my memory will be that smile. The smile he shared with all of us, constantly. His joy for life, his friends, his passions, his amazingly personality showed through every sparkling smile he gave to everyone. You will be dearly missed, Hans.
ReplyDeletePS Once when I was really deeply depressed in grad school after a heartbreak, Hans called me "vivacious" over the telephone wires from California to Indiana. HE was the shiny one! Always.
ReplyDeleteHans was definitely one of the good guys among us. While I only knew him briefly at Oberlin, I can say he left a lasting impression on me. I'll never forget his enthusiasm in our architectural history classes, or his kindness when helping me research Oberlin modern houses, or when he rocked out at the 'Sco as the opening DJ at the 5-year reunion.
ReplyDeleteThat night of djing at the 'Sco left me with a great memory of Hans. An undergraduate asked him to take her request just as he was finishing his set before I came on. He looked at me and asked for advice on whether or not he should play this girl's favorite cheesy pop song or this Depeche Mode song he had been dying to play all night. There was only time to play one song and he looked exasperated. My advice to him was simply to "trust the DJ." He smiled and nodded, and played the next track.
Even though it probably pained him a little, he took the girl's request and played her pop song. She ran up to him and thanked him profusely. Hans turned to me and said he thought he had made the right decision. He had made her night.
It was a simple act of generosity -- but it was the kind of thing that I imagine Hans was well-known for among his closest friends. That's the kind of guy he was.
Thank you, Hans, for leading by example.
REACH OUT AND TOUCH FAITH.
There are no doubt other, perhaps better, memories that will come to mind soon, but I couldn't help thinking of summer 2004 when we lived in the same house along with several other Obies. One hot, muggy evening Hans was, as he often was, in just his boxers, hanging out in the living room, watching TV. He'd decided he wanted an orange, and therefore dragged a baking sheet from the kitchen (to keep from getting stuff on the carpet) and the LARGEST carving knife we had to help with the peel. So there he sat, cross-legged, almost naked, wielding a huge knife and a small orange, and not understanding why I found this slightly alarming and very funny.
ReplyDeleteAh Hans. Was there anything you couldn't do partially clothed?
Still crying- still shocked a bit. I spent a lovely night with Hans last week- his infectious spirit always makes a room brighter. I feel so honored to have shared such intimate space with him - as though my move to SF was a second chance to become close to such a wonderful person. Every party of mine that he came to, he made a more ebullient, exciting one. He charmed the ladies and helped my partner figure out how to build amazing things in our home. He helped make my move smooth- renting a storage unit for me, offering his home.
ReplyDeleteI have plenty of memories from Oberlin with him- the most amazing being Chance Creek. I have nekkid pictures of us covered in mud and grinning like a bunch of idiots. What a wonderful day.
But my favorite memories have been over the past 10 months as we've gotten a chance to relearn each other, introduce our awesome friends to one another, hang out in Delores Park, and wrestle. There was a lot of wrestling.
Hans has been propositioning me in the sweetest way for years, and now I really, really regret never getting down with him- because it would have undoubtedly been hilarious and wonderful.
I met Hans one hot summer in Ohio, when just by existing in my corner of the world for a while, he made me rethink everything. He reminded me that you can be an adult, but still be a kid at heart, with a child's joy in discovering the world and the people in it. That you can believe and question at the same time. That being a grown up isn't synonymous with being jaded. And that sometimes, being fully present in the world isn't nearly as hard as we make it out to be. He made a deep impression in such a short period of time, and my heart breaks for everyone who knew him better. The world has lost an exceptional human being.
ReplyDeleteI really have a hard time recalling a specific memory, because as soon as I think of Hans, I see a permanently fixed image of his smile, and a permanent impression of his warmth and friendship that he extended to everybody. In so many ways Hans embodies and demonstrates what so much of Oberlin meant to me, and I would venture to guess, many of us. When asked why I love Oberlin, the answer always returns to the people. And there is no doubt that Hans has always, and will always, be just that person that I think of in my mind.
ReplyDeleteI remember Hans from college as a sweet, goofy person with a great sense of humor and a deep love for people, specifically and generally. In 2006, he stopped by my yard sale and gave me really valuable advice about an important issue. His death reminds me that he was one of the few people who gave me truly helpful guidance on that matter, and I'm grateful to him. Also, as everyone's been saying, he was a whole lot of fun, and a very good listener.
ReplyDeleteThe last time I saw Hans was at Medora's wedding...he was his usual charming self, and it was if the 6 years before I saw him had passed in an instant.
ReplyDeleteI always thought of Hans as a "goofy thinker". He was so silly and profound simultaneously, in a way that was amture beyond his years. Before all of our x-country meets, Hans would wander around eating bananas. The only time I saw color in his cheeks was when he was running.
Whenever I imagine Hans, it is always as someone full of life, full of energy, and I can't imagine that he is no longer with us. Wherever he is, I know he is making them laugh...
Nicki
I read this a while back and when I heard about Hans it stuck in my head. I haven't thought of him in a long time; but somehow when I heard about his death a flood of memories crashed through my head. He was a person who invested his time in the people around him. I always expected to sit down in 10 years with him at a dining hall during a reunion and enjoy his easy smile and infectious laugh. That was an expectation I didn't realize I had until today. He is missed.
ReplyDelete"Memory is the sense of loss, and loss pulls us after it. God Himself was pulled after us into the vortex we made when we fell, or so the story goes. And while He was on earth He mended families. He gave Lazarus back to his mother, and to the centurion he gave his daughter again. He even restored the severed ear of the soldier who came to arrest him -- a fact that allows us to hope the resurrection will reflect a considerable attention to detail. Yet this was no more than tinkering.
Being man He felt the pull of death, and being God He must have wondered more than we do what it would be like. He is known to have walked upon water, but He was not born to drown.
And when He did die it was sad -- such a young man, so full of promise, and His mother wept and His friends could not believe the loss, and the story spread everywhere and the mourning would not be comforted, until He was so sharply lacked and so powerfully remembered that his friends felt Him beside them as they walked along the road, and saw someone cooking fish on the shore and knew it to be Him, and sat down to supper with Him, all wounded as He was.
There is so little to remember of anyone -- an anecdote, a conversation at table. But every memory is turned over and over again, every word, however chance, written in the heart in the hope that memory will fulfill itself, and become flesh, and that the wanderers will find a way home, and the perished, whose lack we always feel, will step through the door finally and stroke our hair with dreaming, habitual fondness, not having meant to keep us waiting long," - Marilynne Robinson, Housekeeping.
Thank you so much for putting this blog together. I placed Hans and Hans Koschmann together as roommates at PLTS in 2006 - they thereafter became known as "Light Hans" and "Dark Hans." Light Hans openly welcomed me when I started spending more and more time at his apartment because I had a thing for Dark Hans, and before you knew it, I was partially living with the Hanzi's at the Dels. Light Hans was completely supportive of our relationship and was a great mediator if we ever were caught in a tiff ;) Light Hans, in typical fashion, hitch-hiked to Dark Hans and my wedding in Kentucky, and we also spent a few nights with him and his friends in Cleveland when we were in town for a mutual friend's funeral. Hans was so emotional and compassionate for our deceased friend and he placed great value on showing his respect for her and her surviving family. I hope we can do the same for him.
ReplyDeleteIt seems like all the little things I have done lately have reminded me of Light Hans: his sage advice on flushing "If it's yellow, let it mellow;" eating every last lick on my plate; buying beans and kale; even looking at my husband's dark hair and thinking of Hans' light hair. Gosh it might only get harder hereafter. I do hope this blog continues to grow as time progresses and we all continue to mourn and grieve together, despite our distances.
Hans was one of the few people in this world who could make you see what was good in others and good in yourself, make you feel like you were beautiful just the way you were.
ReplyDeleteIn the summer of 2000, Hans single-handedly validated the research of my unofficial freshman WT project. And I didn't fully realize how special he had made me feel until today.
There is no one I know, or have known, whose positivity was so infectious, whose love for living was so deep and passionate as Hans. I will miss him dearly.
Dan, I feel exactly the same about Hans embodying Oberlin -- or at least our time of Oberlin-- I was just saying that to a friend today. Yes. It's going to be hard....
ReplyDeleteSarah
John, thank you for that lovely quotation, it hit me hard here in this Eastertide.
ReplyDeleteHans, you were the definition of sunshine. Your rays of light will be sorely missed. Thank you for teaching me what a PK is.
ReplyDeleteIn 2004, the artist Spencer Tunick staged one of his mass photographs of nude people on the Lake Erie waterfront. Naturally, Hans had to participate. Naturally, when it was over, Hans couldn't find where he'd left his clothes.
ReplyDeleteDon't know what to say, but must say something. Hans. What a wonderful human being. Goodbye.
ReplyDeleteThx, Judy, for sending me the link to this blog - it is indeed a healing (and humorous !) place, as Hans would have wished...
ReplyDeleteI first met Hans when I moved to Oberlin in 2000, as he was singing with the Obertones and doing some excellent service work with OHIO (now the Oberlin Heritage Center). I was honored that Hans crashed in my guest room a few times and we had time to theologize. I agree with Wombat: The world has lost an exceptional human being. Hans, wherever you are now, please continue to weave the energies of the universe into a pattern of goodness, and help us to remember you by seeing the beauty in each other...I will miss you, my friend....
The last time I heard from Hans was exactly two months ago. I had written to him because my stepfather was dying, and Hans, to me, was the go-to guy for faith-based advice and comfort. I just wanted to share Hans' reply with you all, because it is very relevant right now as well.
ReplyDelete"If there is a God (and I believe there is), my studies of scriptures and theology lead me to believe that no matter what happens to your stepdad, God is there with him, comforting him.
And incidentally, Jill, I don't think there's anything you can do (or not do) to make God love you any less."
I have felt Hans so close all day, like he is consoling my heart which is only beginning to be ripped open by grief at his loss from this world. Hans was a world-class consoler. Two days after my dear grandma died in 07, my nephew was nearly killed in a car accident. Carlton, our mutual friend, came to get me when I heard the news of my nephew, and I went to hans and just collapsed into his and Hans' couch. I cried and cried and he held me so close. I can still feel the bristle of his stubble these 3 years later, and the hot wetness of his sympathizing tear as my own tears flow for him.
ReplyDeleteWe both despaired of our lack of expertise at staying in touch, but we shared a deep bond that I can sense he had with an awful lot of people.
Hans had such struggles at times and sometimes I wondered if he loved others much more than himself. It is my deepest hope for Hans that, in this life, he knew how much we loved him, and was able to feel some of the depth of that love for his own incredibly beautiful self.
My love and prayers are with those who too are broken open by his loss to us in the here and now.
I have been struggling to grasp why the loss of someone I barely knew has evoked so many of my tears, but I think this is it:
ReplyDeleteLong before I actually "met" Hans, he was a part of my life. I probably first saw him around Oberlin when I was in middle school; he seemed to radiate a certain special brand of joy. Later, I would run into him at Illumination, on the street, in the grocery store, or see him riding his bike while wearing a poncho and camping-size backpack, waving and smiling as he passed by the Apollo ticket box.
Even though I didn't really "know" him, Hans and his glowing smile made me (and seemingly everyone else) feel incredibly comfortable, as though just being in that moment was the best thing that could possibly be happening.
My most defining memory of Hans, however, happened the night of my graduation from Oberlin College: my friend Janey and I had arrived to Mooch's house tired and tipsy with mustaches drawn on our fingers (and one on my arm), and after watching a movie (during which Hans commended me on my decision to remove my pants), the three of us sat talking. I don't remember what happened, but I fell backwards, laughing hysterically, and in a split second, Hans had bent over to blow bubbles on my exposed belly. I shrieked, and he apologized: "I guess I just forgot and it felt like I was with my siblings!" I admitted that I felt the same way.
To Hans, everyone was his family... and my heart goes out to all of his siblings, by blood or otherwise.
I met Hans when I was roped into giving him a ride to Oberlin from the Cleveland Airport in the fall of '98. From that day forward, Hans developed an uncanny ability to show up when I needed him most, always smiling and always bearing foodstuffs of some kind:
ReplyDeleteHans on my porch in Oberlin one intolerably hot night in May of 2000, armed with ice cream, a mix tape and a stern (for Hans) reminder that I could do better than the boy I was throwing myself a pity party over.
Hans on my doorstep thanksgiving day three years later in a Hawaiian shirt with approximately six pounds of locally grown swiss chard and not less three hundred photos of a recent trip to Africa.
Hans on my doorstep in Cambridge in 2006. We went for a run that lasted twice as long as it should because Hans stopped to look at every historical building we passed, and ended with him demanding access to my kitchen so he could cook me, "the best damn Dutch pancake you've ever had."
That was Hans - unexpected, curious, unrestrained, loving, warm, wonderful.
Hans was in my dorm freshman year, 1998. I am so sad to hear this news, and my prayers are with his family. Although we weren't close, he was always super friendly towards me, and I won't ever forget his kindness!
ReplyDeleteHans was an amazing person who shared so many talents wih the world...he will be missed by all. I remember going to Chance Creek with him, having barbeques and sing-a-longs in his back yard, exchanging massages, laughing with him and his joyful, sweet spirit. Love to you Hans!!!
ReplyDelete"Where's Hans?" I keep coming back to this question. Any Obertones 1998-2002 who read this post will remember asking that same question; we spent a lot of time waiting for Hans. I remember driving around the Yale Divinity School campus, late for a show that night (at Smith?), searching for Hans, who had wandered off with his camera to take pictures. I remember dozens of rehearsals to which Hans would show up fifteen (or twenty or thirty) minutes late, an orange in hand, and a sheepish smile on his face.
ReplyDeleteDid we care that he was always late? I seem to remember trying to come up with some kind of strategy to make Hans get there on time (were pushups involved?). But he always had a great excuse: "I was on my way from Old B, but my bike had a flat tire, and then I started talking to ..." and on and on. Eventually, we just started making up our own Hans-ian excuses for him: "I was riding my bike through town when all of a sudden I became distracted by this beautiful woman. We began talking about architecture, and I thought she'd be interested in seeing Finney Chapel. But then, I got hungry so we stopped at Keep and had a grapefruit ..." and on and on.
Hans, I will miss you so much. I can still picture those practice rooms, all of us standing around the piano, watching the door and waiting for you to walk in.
Hans was an active part of the student dinner/discussion group, Ecumenical Christians of Oberlin (ECO), during his college years. The first gatherings each year were always "getting to know each other and each other's traditions" discussions. Hans was acquainting us with his deeply cherished religious background, the Evangelical Lutheran Church of America. "How many Lutherans does it take to change a lightbulb?" he asked. We were all stumped (how many times have we heard the "change a lightbulb" joke, with different groups inserted?).
ReplyDeleteAfter we guessed a bit, unsuccessfully, of course, Hans finally responded. "Change? CHANGE? What do you mean, CHANGE?" We all laughed. Then he went on to be serious and share what he loved about his faith tradition. Hans always doled out great doses of both seriousness and fun, all at the same time it seemed.
Hans regularly rode his bike to Eastwood Elementary School where he was a tutor. Whenever I saw him, he would always be in a hurry, because he was always running late. Many times we would pass each other on the sidewalk at Tappan Square, me walking the dog, Hans heading east. As we passed, Hans would always say in his gentle way, "Hi Mary, I'd love to talk, but I'm running a little behind and I have to get to Eastwood!" I had to smile, because I always knew he was always running behind, but he never failed to say hello.
My husband, Steve, and I often had ECO students over for dinner, serving the famous Hammond Macaroni and Cheese. Hans could eat anyone under the table, although one would never know it from his frame. He must have run off all those calories, as he loved running. I'll never forget the way he told the story of his first year on the cross country team when the older students let the new students know that they were going to be streaking through the campus (tradition!). What the team didn't realize was that they streaked by the Dedication of the new Environmental Studies Building where the College President and others were assembled (until they heard about that afterward!). If you didn't hear Hans tell that story, you really missed something!
Hans and I had a little tradition when we were back at Oberlin. We could go on walks in the sun, and point out things to each other that the other person hadn't noticed. It could be a flower blooming, a crack in a building that made a pretty design, two people laughing on a bench. The idea was to open each other's eyes to the wonderful things that we may have missed - but thankfully for the other person there, we didn't miss them. Hans continues to open my eyes, and for years now, every time I happen to walk by something and am inclined to turn my head and find something that I may have missed, I think of Hans. And I always will. What a pure spirit, and an eye-opener. My thoughts are with his family, and my love is with him, wherever he is.
ReplyDeleteEverything Hans ever did, he did with passion and sincerity.
ReplyDeleteThrough our time together at Oberlin, I always admired his unwavering openness to the world—the way he devoured life and savored it. It was infectious. Even with our short encounters, he left a lasting mark on me, and I'm better person for having known him. I know anyone who was lucky enough to have crossed his path feels the same.
I'll miss you, Hans.
-prospie dave
Such sad news. Hans and I tutored together at Eastwood Elementary. He had such a spirit. After talking with him you always left thinking that we all could/would make the world a better place, and that he would lead the way.
ReplyDeleteMy thoughts are with his family, friends, and anyone who had the good fortune, like I did, to cross his path.
He just was so popular, so well-liked, for being so nice. I've seen people be popular for pretty much the opposite reason, but he won over everyone just by sharing his time with you, everyone was worth his while. And you just couldn't resist that warm, goofball aura. Even from afar. Like many of you I'm saddened I didn't know Hans more but from what I could tell he didn't cave in to anyone's negativity. He just brightened everyone's day, and I can't think of anyone else with that power...maybe Alec Leshy? But Hans was blonder!
ReplyDeleteHans touched so many with his talkative nature, laughter, nakedness, generosity, and the infectious vivacity with which he lived. The outpouring of anecdotes, recollections and emotions here reminds me of all I loved about Hans and the good he brought to this world. I can only add a few choice recollections in hopes of helping do justice to our memory of what made Hans so Hans. In no particular order:
ReplyDeleteDavid Bevaqua tersely asking "Where's Hans?" long after practice should have started,
Chance meetings during hot Oberlin summers followed by long conversations,
Cursing his Norse blood in the locker room,
Revealing far to much information about his weekend's derring-do's,
Beating his palms and fingers against his (naked) chest to some unseen music,
The list goes on ...
I ran x-country with Hans my freshman year at Oberlin. I'll always remember how enthusiastic he was that year, sharing the magical craziness of Oberlin with the younger guys on the team. He's one of the nicest people I've ever met. I'm sure that he will go on to do great things, but for now he will be missed.
ReplyDeleteHans, who provided back massages to everyone in the computer lab during finals.
ReplyDeleteHans, who made three trips to the store in one morning until he had all the ingredients he wanted to make a dutch apple pancake, never discouraged that each time he seemed to forget something else.
Hans, who knew more names, homes, and personal histories than I in my hometown of twenty years.
Hans, who's gentlemanly ways made every woman feel like a queen.
Hans, who deemed "Crumb-Eater" an official co-op job.
Hans, who appeared on my doorstep en route to Israel carrying one bag and a giant rucksack of textbooks for to complete a term paper before his morning flight.
Hans, who replaced lightbulbs and constructed a new bed while I was at work.
Hans, whose fountain of hope for others was not drained by his own struggle with depression.
Hans, never lacking for a smile, an insight, joke, scripture, favor, or kind word.
Hans, who, standing stark nude on the sunny banks of Chance Creek at our five-year reunion, exchanged these words:
Police Officer: Son, I'm going to turn around. When I turn back around, I expect to see a whole lot less of you.
Hans: Well, if God had meant us to be naked, we would have been born that way.
Hans was already with a smile and a willingness to listen. I didn't know him well. But he made the world better just by being. I remember him at some point jokingly remarking that Old B should create an official "crumb-finisher" position for him since he did such a good job at it anyways!
ReplyDeleteI would count myself among the many others who didn't know Hans all that well, yet feel a surprisingly profound sense of loss at his passing. He's someone I couldn't imagine my Oberlin experience without, probably because he so embodied the idealistic spirit of Oberlin with his curiosity, openness and obvious belief in the slogan emblazoned on the T-shirts we all got in our acceptance package.
ReplyDeleteThe story that comes most immediately to my mind would seem inappropriate to relate for almost anyone else at a time like this but so illustrative of who he was that I can't resist.
One evening I happened to go home with a woman on whom Hans also clearly had designs. The next morning when my companion asked him to join us for brunch at Black River, I thought it might be a little awkward, but he showed up cheerful as can be (and late, naturally) and asked us if we'd had fun, and you could tell he sincerely hoped we had.
I haven't encountered very many other people who radiated such genuine joy and unflinching positivity. I couldn't come close to following his example, but I'll try.
We'll miss you.
hans was probably the first friend that i ever made at University Lutheran Chapl, because of his friendly spirit he was one of the first to reach out to me. i shared many wednesday evening meals with him and I think that one of the reasons he was such a slow eater was because he always listened to you so intently. i will miss him alot.
ReplyDeleteHans and Scott lived across the hall from me and my roommate Beth freshman year in Burton. I remember Scott had this annoying plastic frog that would ribbit at everyone who walked past... I was looking at it one day and Hans came out of the room, looked at me, looked at the frog, looked at me again and just shook his head and smiled. We all HATED that thing and made fun of Scott for having it, but Hans never had a bad word to say about anyone or anything.
ReplyDeleteI remember him streaking through the groundbreaking ceremony for the environmental studies center and getting assigned to community service. I also remember him giving me a picture of himself back flipping off a rope, naked, into Chance Creek when I told him I'd never been there. We took a shower together in the coed showers our freshman year just to say we'd done it... as others have said, Hans liked getting his kit off.
The last time I saw him was at the reunion in 2008. We finally went to Chance Creek, and went skinydipping, and it was just funny and great.
Hans was a rare person in this world and I am really, really going to miss him.
Annie said . . .
ReplyDeleteBeyond my general memories of Hans radiant, often goofy, kindness I have few that replay over and over in my head at this time.
Once, going through a cycle of particularly overwhelming depression, I remember dragging myself to the Oberlin counseling center. Gathering what was left of my composure I approached the receptionist and asked if there was anyway to make an immediate appointment. The receptionist said no. I remember asking if my only other alternative was to go to the emergency room at the hospital. The receptionist then told me to have a seat and fill out some paperwork. It was only then that I noticed Hans sitting in the otherwise empty waiting room, filling out some paperwork himself. As I sat down he looked up at me, gently, cautiously. "Hey, Annie," he said softly. He patted my knee, and gave me a half smile. He didn't ask me a lot of questions or promise me that everything would get better. Just the grace of his presence was the best comfort I received that day. Hans taught me that the smallest gesture is sometimes the most sincere and powerful.
In the past two days Mary Hammond has reminded me of a Hans memory that I had forgotten. She said something like, "Do you remember how long it took Hans to wash dishes when he volunteered to do dishes after ECO dinner?" Every dish had to be meticulously scrubbed and dried and some story retold in great Hansian detail before the process was over. I have a visual image of him holding a plate motionlessly in a dishtowel for what seemed like minutes while he searched for the perfect adjective clause for some part of his story. It seemed like hours passed before the last dish was put away, but you laughed so much you didn't mind.
I last saw Hans in Harvard square in 2006. I was coming home from my teaching internship when I saw him waiting for a bus in front of the Kennedy School of Government. I did a double-take while my carpool buddy (who was driving my car) stopped at a stoplight. I told my friend to drive my car home and leave the keys in my mailbox, threw open my car door into oncoming traffic, yelled, "HANS!" and then ran across the street. I am so grateful that this serendipitous meeting led to an idyllic hour of catching up and story-telling.
As sad as I am that we have only had "Obie grapevine" updates about our lives since then, I still think of him as a dear friend, and a soul whose presence continues to bless me and all who love him.
I first met Hans at the Chapel in Berkeley. It was nearly impossible to not get along with him instantly. He was one of the happiest, most genuine and spiritual people I've ever met. We bonded over our mutual love for history and everytime he spoke I knew that he would say something deep and meaningful (and often funny). I will miss his articulate contributions to discussions, his warm presence and his brilliant smile. He has touched so many lives and I am blessed to have known him.
ReplyDeleteHans thought of us as his adopted parents, while he was a student at
ReplyDeleteOberlin.
We thought of him as an adopted son...
(That's all I can say at the moment.)
- Dale & Kim Preston
When I met Hans a couple years ago, he was an absolute shock to my system. I was (still am) a cynical wise cracking city girl and I was not at all prepared for his boundless kindness, non-judgmental nature, his easy laugh, this wild satyr with a luscious lust for life. On our first date, we rode our bikes up and down gorgeous wooded rolling hills on a hot summer day and then he barbecued the most amazing burgers (with oats)! We swam naked (big surprise) and then ate ice cream and watched "Purple Rain" while cuddling on a couch. He even fixed my bike! I had never met anyone who lived life so fiercely and so well. I never knew life could be so juicy and sweet. I was a melted iceberg. I love you dearly Hans and am so grateful for the gift of your joyful presence in each of our lives. We are reeling with pain and anger at your loss and smiling through it all when we remember just how blessed and lucky we were to know you.
ReplyDeleteYes, Jennie!!!
ReplyDeleteS.
I was blessed to work with Hans at the Oberlin Heritage Center where he was our Museum Fellow for over a year. You all can imagine how that wonderful smile and the way Hans made people feel welcome made him a good fit in our business! And also, of course, his love of history and his research and writing skills--and weeding ability and entertaining kids on Family Fun Day and vacuuming the attic . . . . All with great enthusiasm and joy. He really didn't prefer sitting at the desk all day. Hans was also only a few years younger than, and a friend of, two of my sons, so he became a recipient of some of my mothering behaviors rather quickly. It was always a great joy to have his prodigious appetite at the table.
ReplyDeleteAfter Hans left Oberlin he returned as often as he could. Some of your stories about Hans preference for being as lightly clothed as possible remind me of one occasion, when he was staying with us, I got up at 1:00 a.m. to go to the bathroom and the light was on in the front bedroom still. There was Hans, in his plaid boxers, asleep in the doorway on the floor, still sort of propped up on one elbow. (Only Hans and cats could sleep like this!) He was just about to head off to France for his Taize experience, and he'd seen a book on France in the bookshelf by the door and sat right down to read it. I did glide on down there in my nightgown and give him a little shake and tell him to go to bed.
It seems to me he's been here this week,as he's been with some of the others of you--I hear his voice, see that wonderful smile and those blue, blue eyes, hear his giggle and his big guffaw laugh, see those strong forearms, sense his presense and almost expect to see a freshly baked scone disappear from the counter. Wish I would.
Oh, Hans. Like so many others, I don't know where to begin, the list of positives is so long. You were kind, warm, generous, compassionate. It was always amazing to the people I knew that you seemed to know or at least be acquainted with absolutely EVERYBODY. But, as I recently explained to a friend, it was not a popularity contest. It was just that you WANTED to know everybody. You were that curious and open. And you were so warm, caring, and unassuming that I think almost anyone could relate to you. The world is slightly darker without you in it, but slightly brighter for those of us who had the opportunity to know you, for however long. May we reach out our arms to each other in kindness, warmth, and compassion, as you once so generously welcomed us all into your life.
ReplyDeleteThere is a song by the Bobs called "H[oward] Peterson", which in male a capella harmony presents a set of increasingly surreal voicemail messages left for the man. At the end, Mr. Peterson calls in "from the back of beyond" asking if anyone called for him.
ReplyDeleteI just listened to this in tears. Hans, you are missed.
Reading through everyone else's memories of Hans on here and on his facebook page, I'm struck by one thing that many people have mentioned but which I never really realized when I was around Hans: he hardly ever talked about himself.
ReplyDeleteI remember once talking with Hans about my adviser Ron DiCenzo. I would see Ron almost every day in some capacity or another, and went out to dinner with him every Sunday, and even lived in a room in his house the summer after I graduated. We talked about a lot of things, intellectual and personal, I felt like I knew Ron fairly well.
But as I was talking to Hans about Ron he casually mentioned how interesting it was about the two years he had spent in a Zen monastery, something I had never heard before. A lot of others have mentioned it, but Hans was a great and perceptive listener, and was able to get the most remarkable stories out of people. It was a small thing but I remember being very impressed and a little humbled by it at the time.
On the day of our graduation in 2002, hours after commencement, a small crowd of newly-minted Oberlin alums gathered in the backyard of a house on N. Pleasant St. Bags had been packed. Neighbors ate and drank together. The sun began to set. As folks laughed and reminisced one man whipped his shirt off, stood in his jeans and began playfully tugging at a dear friend of his. Within moments they were rolling across the grass, grunting and laughing as they wrestled.
ReplyDeleteThree pictures of this wrestling match are the only ones I have of Hans from all our time at Oberlin. How is it that everything is this hazy swirl of smiles, but still so amorphous?
Like some of you, I don't have the most concrete of memories about Hans even with all the time we spent together. In a way, that frustrates me because he and I were roommates in Burton the first semester of our sophomore year (I was abroad the second).
The thing is, I also have so many variations of all of the memories each of you have shared. It can be said again and again and again but it will not be any less true just how much of a presence Hans was, just how sweet, just how connected to the world, just how thoroughly, sincerely nice he was.
As a room-mate he was beyond what one could hope for. Admittedly,I - being infinitely less patient than he - would get exasperated by little things he did, even while I was fascinated and entertained by others. In reflecting on all those little things I see so much more of the big picture of who he was and how whatever exasperation there was existed in my mind alone.
And what beautiful exasperating things those were, anyway: Flossing his teeth in the dark because he didn't want to wake me turning on the light (in the dark!). The crazy piles of everythingness that spilled from his bed, ever more chaotically as the semester progressed, yet somehow maintained in this space that Hans considered his part of the room. If I'd gone to bed before him, he'd return to the room, gingerly try to make his way from door to bed and inevitably stumble all over his stuff, papers and books and shoes and whatever else he had gathered cascading every which way. He'd then carefully work his way into bed so concerned about waking me and about confining the chaos in that half of the room.
I'm likely not exaggerating if I say he cherished you, the one reading this right now, and your friendship so thoroughly. He took such pains to be sure he'd done right by all of us. I can remember him weighing -- as he did in that story from Ben about the reunion DJ gig -- each decision he'd made, him so sincerely apologizing for not being too busy to spend time hanging out with me even though I was busy with whatever may have busied me, and of course just what he should say to the girl he was interested in (even when I was abroad I'd hear reports from my girlfriend and other Burtonites about just the same sort of concerns). Hans was so ceaselessly appreciative of everything in the world -- especially the women we'd talk late in the night about. I always found his uncertainty so funny, so surprising and yes, a little sad, because he seemed so natural expressing himself and so capable of bringing a smile about from anyone.
I've noticed something else thinking of Hans the past few days. The air has felt fresh, the Spring's scent has been stronger, time has been taken, friends have reconnected, smiles have burst across faces even beneath tears, food has been savored, colors have been brighter. We will probably all have trouble with the fact that he's gone. I can't imagine not missing him. On the other hand, look at how many of us are left so grateful for and joyful about the world he reminded us about so often.
Having lived with Hans at Holden off and on for the better part of two years, I felt a deep sense of loss when I learned about his death. No matter where we have ended up since, sharing the daily rhythms of life with people in such an isolated and strikingly beautiful place has kept each of them permanently in my heart.
ReplyDeleteThinking of Hans I am struck, as many have been, by his enthusiasm, particularly when hashing out his ideals with other people. During Hans' time at Holden, I was part of many such conversations with him.
One of the most memorable began during a long brunch at Lodge 1, where he and my partner and I were living at the time, during which Hans examined, in great detail, the ethics of the raw juice I was making. (Was it overly wasteful to compost the pulp and drink only the juice? Did I visit undue violence upon the fruits and vegetables by shredding them before taking them into my body?) As we talked, Hans became more and more adamantly convinced that juicing was morally problematic; he challenged me to rethink my participation in such a system. Now, I am not one to back down from a charged conversation and as was often the case with me and Hans, I enjoyed bantering with him for a while at first, and then gradually began to lose interest... eventually a little bit of patience...I can't remember exactly how we ended the conversation, but I may have said something like "oh for cripes sake," and declared the topic finished. Hans, for his part, would have been kind enough to let the subject drop.
Now for a confession: a week after that brunch I was preparing to make another batch of juice. I assembled all the parts of the juicer I could find, but when turned it on and shoved in a carrot, nothing much happened. Taking the machine apart, I noticed it was missing its blade. After what I thought was a thorough search of the kitchen, I came to the only reasonable conclusion: Hans must have stolen the blade to keep me from juicing any more carrots.
Now, anyone who knows Hans well knows he was not exactly the stealing kind. But I became convinced, and eventually, against all standards of community trust and propriety, I snuck into the room he was sharing with Jorge (you could have drawn a chalk line down the middle of that room-Jorge's neat bed and extra pair of pants folded in one corner; on the other side Hans' cascade of cassette tapes, bedding, running shoes, rumpled underwear, etc.) and I poked around until I was satisfied that either a)he had not taken the blade or b)he had put it in one of about a hundred places where I would never find it. I abandoned my juice-making operation for the morning & stewed over how I was going to confront him.
The next day, of course, I found the blade, which had slipped between the rack and the drip pan of the dish drainer. At the time, I felt too sheepish to admit the accusations I'd leveled against him, or to the fact that I had compromised his privacy by venturing into his room. (Knowing Hans, he probably wouldn't have minded. But it was the principle of the thing).
Some years later, Allison and I met up with him in Berkeley while we were on the Equality Ride. He showed us a good place to eat and announced to the other twenty people in our group what great people we were and how they should be sure to love us.
That generous spirit is what I most want to honor about Hans, that and the joy in pure inquiry he brought to so many of the questions in his life, even the question of how properly to consume a carrot.
Love to all of Hans' friends and family, and may you find yourselves generously accompanied in your grief.
As a side note, I will be running Bloomsday in a few weekends, a race I know Hans loved. I would be honored to collect pledges in his name and add them to the Holden donation that folks are putting together. Perhaps people could pledge a certain amount per minute (keeping in mind that I am a MUCH slower runner than Hans!)
ReplyDeleteIf people are interested in the idea that can email me: ejvankley@holdenvillage.org
That is not my email address. Oops!
ReplyDeleteIt's ejvk@holdenvillage.org
Sorry for all the posts!
For Bill--
ReplyDeleteWell said. I'm looking out the window from my office - an office, by the way, that Hans has visited: once, when my colleagues and I came back into it after an arduous staff meeting, he was standing on my desk fixing a light fixture on the ceiling - and I see a spring afternoon that he would cherish. So much of my life felt like spring when I was with Hans: full of vitality and virility, bursting with beauty and promise.
I would really love a scanned copy of those wrestling pictures, or digital copies if that's possible. It seems likely that those pictures are of the two of us wrestling. If the other guy wrestling Hans is just about Hans's height and build with short dark hair and grass-stained corduroys, that's almost definitely me. And if he's getting his ass kicked by Hans, well, that pretty much seals it. Please e-mail me at trials_of_miles@hotmail.com. Many thanks, John R.
Like so many others, I have many, many wonderful memories of Hans. If I had to choose one, as I think Shel Silverstein said, to warm my feet when I am old, I think it would be from Nov. '08, when I was visiting him in the Bay Area. He had just gotten through the mail a box of Christmas ornaments from his mom. He wasn't sure what to do with them, so I suggested we decorate the poor little houseplant. Not sure what kind it was, but something tropical. It was ridiculous, of course, but gave us the chance to reminisce about childhood Christmases. I remember that he said that his favorite ornament as a child was some sort of toy soldier. A very sweet, serene memory of the most delightful human being I ever hope to meet.
ReplyDeleteHans, I didn't know you that well but one evening last summer in Oberlin you came to my place and helped me with my painting.
ReplyDeleteYou own one of my squares.
You came over specifically to help me. We had a great conversation that evening.
It was likely I would never see you again in my life but I will still miss you. I'm sorry you are gone.
I am deeply saddened to hear of Hans Peterson's passing. I met Hans as an intern at the Oberlin Heritage Center. When I think back to my time there, I often think about Hans because he was cool and easy going.
ReplyDeleteThe best memories I have of Hans are of researching for numerous projects in the basement of the Monroe House. Now this might seem boring to some, but we made the most out of it. Mainly by shooting rubber bands at one another. If I remember correctly, Kathy McCardwell got caught in the crossfire a couple of times too.
My thoughts and prayers go out to his family and friends... Hans, I will always remember you.
Thomas Reeves
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ReplyDeleteI've been reading through everyone's comments for the past couple of days, just sitting with them and letting the weight of this terrible tragedy fully sink in. I'm filled with a lot of conflicted feelings as I remember Hans and read through all of your beautiful writings about him. My deepest sympathy goes out to all of those lucky enough to have been closer to him than I, who are feeling this loss all the more deeply.
ReplyDeleteI guess Josh and I at least had a unique experience of Hans, singing with him for four years in the Obertones. I feel honored to have known him in that way, but I so wish that I had experienced more of him. I feel greedy for more Hans memories...
But here's what I do know: Hans was an absolute riot to sing with. His dancing, his chest tapping, his low, reedy baritone voice, slinking through his perpetual, perfect smile... It was infectious. He became the unofficial group mascot, because he literally seemed to embody the innocent and carefree spirit of the group.
I am humbled by this outpouring of emotion and reverence for this wonderful, unique and gracious man, and slightly ashamed to admit that I think I --we-- underestimated him. I always had great fondness for him, but my mind is plagued by ways in which I feel we may not have given him enough credit or respect. I said before that he was the "mascot", and I mean that with the ambivalence I believe the term carries--we all loved him, but didn't take him seriously enough.
He was just so full of funny non-sequitors, interspersed between bites of banana and excuses for being late... And the way he burst into laughter whenever you tried to call him on it! You just couldn't stay mad at the guy!
The group was fond of recalling the time in rehearsal that Hans famously said, seemingly out of nowhere: "Pat Benatar's early stuff is really underrated". We all cracked up at the time, as did he, and he never heard the end of it from us. Hans and I shared that dubious talent-- to laugh even while wounded, to try to get in on the joke and maintain comeraderie, even under fire. In retrospect, I feel like we often behaved like immature, bullying high school kids, and he was tolerant of our ostensibly good-natured ribbing, but almost to a fault. In retrospect, as funny as he was, I wish we hadn't treated so many of his comments as mere one-liners.
But of course he was not always on the butt end of the joke--far from it! Of course everyone knows he was hilarious in his own right. And for the record, totally right about Pat Benatar.
The last time I spoke to Hans was a phone call I did not deserve. He was working for the Oberlin Historical and Improvement Organization, and he just called me for the hell of it. I remember being glad to hear from him, but somehow wary, as though he were asking me for an alumni donation or something. But no, it was just Hans being Hans, checking in on an old friend. I so much wish I could call him back now, just to check in, and tell him how much I appreciated having him in my life, and in this world.
As I think Mooch will inform you guys, Derek Ailes and I will be meeting in Mccarren Park in Williamsburg, Brooklyn this Sunday at noon to remember and honor Hans. If anyone in New York would care to join, please do! We'll be meeting by the running track, near the intersection of Lorimer and Driggs. My number is (917) 968 7962. I'm bringing the kale!
ReplyDeleteWow. I'm so glad I checked the site tonight. I haven't read through these memories of Hans since posting mine; in the meanwhile, I've become a father, which explains why I'm still awake at 4:45 in the morning. With my little son sleeping quietly (for now) on my chest, I've spent the past half-hour reading through these posts, and I'm amazed/saddened all over again: amazed at the number of people whose lives were affected by Hans, often in similar ways (because Hans was always himself, uniquely himself) and saddened that my son will never have a chance to meet him. Matt and D$, I wish I could be there with you on Sunday: I'm there in spirit.
ReplyDeleteOne more Hans memory for the day:
ReplyDeleteA few years ago I was feeling bitter about love and I immaturely decided to change my Facebook status to "In a Relationship with Your Mom". (Yeah.)
Turns out Facebook doesn't allow write-in candidates for relationship partners. However, it did somehow change me from Single to In a Relationship to Single over the course of a few minutes.
Hans happened to log in to Facebook right as my status was changing to Single, making it look like I'd just had a breakup. We hadn't been in touch in a WHILE at that point but he immediately called me and left me a voicemail going on and on about how great I was, and how he saw that I was recently single. He went on to say something to the effect of "either some guy just made a really stupid decision or you just kicked somebody undeserving to the curb...in which case, go you!" This Hans pep talk voicemail went on for a while.
I basked in this message for a while, but I did finally call him to admit that actually there was no breakup and no boyfriend and the entire chain of news updates was a result of my failed attempt at making a joke. We shared a good laugh, but somehow his warm message didn't feel invalidated. Hans' belief in others' goodness, their worth, was so unshakable.
So sweet! I love the reference to the long Hansian voicemail.. such an analog boy in a digital world..
ReplyDeleteI got to know Hans when I took Geoffrey Blodgett's architectural history class at Oberlin. Of course I also knew him through mutual friends and from seeing him around campus. When I think of Hans, I think of the good humor, warmth and kindness he showed in every situation and interaction. I feel thankful that I took that class with him and had the opportunity to know him in even a small way. I will be holding him and his loved ones in the light.
ReplyDeleteThank you to you all. You are dear people.
ReplyDeleteEven though Hans has been on his own, leading his own life, for some years, we nonetheless miss him terribly. We are bereft. But it is so good to know how well he was and is loved!
Tomorrow is the wedding of Michelle Webster, a Colfax, WA girl and friend of Hans. Carol and I are here. I will do the wedding. Next Tuesday, in Colfax, we will celebrate Hans' life--God's gift to us.
We thank you for your thoughts and memories, for cards, for gatherings, for gifts to Hans' memorial fund.
Peace to you all
News of Hans’s passing reached me last week.
ReplyDeleteSix years ago a friend and I rode out a violent spring thunderstorm drinking under the bridge of the Oberlin science center. A first-year friend stopped to chat. She continued on her way, past the big tree in the courtyard, when – KCHARAAAT! – lightning tore through the tree and, it seems, she claims, my friend at its base. Then, into this scene, through the downpour: Hans! Bare, running, smiling. A reliable complement to any storm.
We shared an interest in buildings and arcane Oberlinia (former names of Oberlin streets anyone?), the latter being all the more fun out of context. I last saw Hans a year and a half ago in the Bay when our friend visited from Oregon. We met in the city for beers, and the next day Hans led us on an architectural tour of the East Bay. We snooped around. We floated high in a cloud forest. We finagled and laughed.
A while back a couple friends and I started calling Hans “The Golden Boy.” The reasons are probably evident. I hope we all may know and share his joy moving ahead.
Give me a shout if you want to have a belated Pittsburgh, PA, gathering in honor of Hans: tommonterosso at gmail dot com.
And hey, to whomever wrote the tribute on the PLTS website, thank you.
A couple months before you died, I called you (or you called me.. I don't remember).. and you told me that earlier that day.. you took your laptop into the living room, planted yourself on the couch and did your taxes. You were excited because you had secured yourself a tidy little refund. Knowing what a big deal this was, I was ecstatic for you. "You know what you should do?!? You should totally get the windshield fixed on the car and sell it!!" I was quite proud of myself for offering this bit of pragmatism to you. And you were so gracious about it.. you didn't outright say to me that there was no way in hell that was ever going to happen.
ReplyDeleteThis was before you went and got the enlarged lymph node on your thigh tested. You were wondering.. we were all wondering.. if it could be the early onset of some fast acting cancer. So, after you did your taxes, you consoled yourself with a very sappy movie, 'One Last Thing', in which a teenager with a terminal illness is granted his wish to get busy with a supermodel before he dies. This exasperated me. "OH JEEZ STOP THIS RIGHT NOW!! YOU ARE NOT GOING TO DIE, OKAY?!? REPEAT, NOT GOING TO DIE!!"
You were not perturbed by my screaming. You said that if even if you had just one more week to live, that you wouldn't really do anything that differently. You felt as if you had lived a really full and happy life and that you were content. It seemed ridiculous for me to be upset at you for feeling this way and so I conceded. And there you have it.. you prepped me for your death. It's just that you were so easy-going, so seemingly carefree about everything... it's taken me by surprise that you had the big picture in view that whole time. It was our usual Punch and Judy routine for me to poke fun at your piles of things on the floor or lost paperwork, but the joke's on me because you taught me how the most important thing in life is to actually really live, to savor and celebrate each other in a million small ways. I don't know if I'm ever going to be as good at doing that as you but I'm sure as hell going to try. Love you. Say hi to Jesus for me.
40 days and 40 nights--seems so Biblical; I think they had something in mind with this span of time. And in less than a week, Pentecost, 50 days since an Easter that became much less triumphal this year.
ReplyDeleteTears still come from my eyes--for Hans, at the thought of losing him, the thought of him losing his time on earth, the though of the grief of many at his loss, I don't know. But especially so in these night watches, when his memory also cheers a dreary, cough-filled night, like that one 40 nights ago, when I found out about his death some 12 or fewer or more hours before.
And I am as always in these dark hours aware of how the longing for the dawn and the longing for God are so intertwined. And the longing for a friend, for *this* friend, is, in some ways, Godly. For that dawn comes now only in his memory, in the captured light of pictures, but will once again be bright as the daylight. And as I wait to see God face-to-face & my loved ones once again, including Hans, dear, sweet, funny, sexy, faithful, thoughtful, traurig, exuberant Hans, the line from the Psalms echoes this complex longing--"more than a watcher waits for morning, more than a watcher waits for morning."
From Guerric of Igny:
ReplyDelete"Coming he is not seen, departing he is not understood; he who while he is present and only while he is present is light to soul and mind. In that light, invisible he is seen, inconceivable he is understood."
In our deepest darkness, we cried out for comfort. It has come to us in any ways: tears, hugs, phone calls, emails, thoughts and prayers, sermons, cards and words of caring, a loss for words and silence, presence, memories of Hans shared, Facebook and website posts, flowers, food, liturgy and hymns, memorial services and celebrations of Hans' life, and memorial gifts in honor of Hans. This comfort has come from every corner of the United States and even around the world. For your part in helping us along our journey of grief, we are grateful. And we are humbled that Hans lives on in the hearts of many.
ReplyDeleteWith grateful hearts,
Carol and Glenn Petersen
This isn't getting any easier. I see you everywhere, I hear you everywhere. I miss you so much that it hurts to breathe. I wish I could just focus on the wonderful memories I have of you and be thankful that you shared your life with me, but I can't - I desperately want more of you. I wish I were able to celebrate the memory of you - I know you would want that, and I'm sorry I can't do it for you, but I'm just too sad. I love you.
ReplyDelete"I am living; I remember you." -Marie Howe
ReplyDeleteHans, you are with me and on my mind as we enter this Lent of 2011. I wish you were here. I love you. And as I've given up Facebook for Lent I have to write it here!
Missing you. Honoring you! Open to the mystery of not knowing where or what you are now.
I worked with Hans at an after school program in Seattle in 2005 and 2006. He lived in a pretty dismal rooming house in the U District. He was extremely frugal - bringing home the ends of vegetables we prepared for the kids, and forming scraps of modeling clay into a cross pendant, a birthday present for an uncle. He showed up at work at 2, having logged a major run or bike ride in the morning. He loved to reminisce about wild times at Oberlin, and raved about Holden Village up in the Cascades. I provided two of his Holden friends with a couch one night, and the three of them treated me to a LONG breakfast and engaging debate at Elliot Bay Cafe.
ReplyDeleteI finally got to see Oberlin this summer on my way across the country. And since arriving in Boston I've met a few of his Oberlin classmates, each with their own stories.
I feel privileged to have known him.
Hello everyone, especially to Hans' family, parents in particular. I can't believe I missed the anniversary. I suppose the first thing that comes to mind is often in the wake of tragedy, everyone converges, and then, as time goes on, people recede, emotions and sadness fade, and those aggrieved, those closest to the departed, are left alone. My dear sweet God, please shed your grace on those who loved Hans. Protect them, cherish them, give them solace and peace. I cannot imagine what it is like to lose a child, the daily pain, the birthdays foregone, the anniversaries and grandchildren removed from possibility. I have to say, though, that he truly does live on. His spirit and kindness were immense, beyond comprehension—and his humor, too. I remember him riding his bike around Oberlin, our parked by a group of people, and everyone reacted with glee. There was simply no one who did not love his company. We remember him. And it is in these memories, in the lasting impact of his amiability and Christian kindness that his soul persists. I believe this, truly. While alive, we are vividly that. When we depart this earth, it is up to those around this to sustain the outreach of that soul and so also sustain the everlastingness. In you despair, which has, I’m sure, worn on you, I hope you find refuge in this. Someday, your spirits will join your sons, in a way that we meager beings cannot understand. But it will happen. In faith and with affection, I am Hans’ friend, whom you’ve never know. Be well. Jason Stenar Clark
ReplyDelete