HANNA ROSE SHUCK

Hanna had a way of making life feel—richer, warmer, fuller. She was the kind of person who loved without restraint, who made space for everyone in her world. Her kindness wasn’t just a quiet trait; it was something alive, something you could see in the way she loved her children, in the way she doted on her nieces and nephews, in the way she made sure no one ever left her home hungry.

And she had a mischievous side—a spark of playfulness that never dimmed. Hanna wasn’t just kind; she was fun. A trickster at heart, always ready with a joke or a prank, the kind of person who could make you laugh even on the hardest days. Life with her was never boring. It was full of laughter, full of love, full of moments that mattered.

And then there was that day. The day she became a mother. The moment when all of that love, all of that warmth, all of that mischief melted into something deeper. You could see it in her eyes—pure, unwavering love. A love so big it filled the room. If time could be rewound, just for a moment, just for a chance to see that look again, to soak in that joy, to hold onto it forever…

Her family remembers her best in their own words:
"Hanna was a very kind and loving person. She loved her children and nieces and nephews. Always the trickster. She was an amazing cook."

If they could tell her one last thing, it would be simple: I love you, Hanna. Because love is what she gave, and love is what remains. It lingers in the memories of laughter, in the scent of a favorite meal, in the warmth of a hug that felt like home.

Hanna, you were magic—the kind that doesn’t fade, the kind that stays, the kind that lives on in every person lucky enough to have known you. You will never be forgotten.