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A Hug For Everyone
By Suzy Quinn
10/10/06

Susy Quinn (left) and Lizzy Hafter (right)

This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to write.  I would easily trade in this assignment for a 20-page research paper on the major laws of thermodynamics, and I got a C+ in “How Things Work”.  Lizzy Hafter never got poor grades in school.  If something was hard for her, she would face the challenge with a stubborn will to overcome it.
           
The hardest thing in Lizzy’s life was when her father died in high school.  The death wasn’t sudden, but that didn’t make it any easier for a self-proclaimed “Daddy’s Little Girl”.  So she did what she could to honor his memory and celebrate his life.  She grew closer to her mom Joanne and to her sister Stephanie, she told stories about him everyday, she even wore his orange-and-blue knit scarf when it was cold outside.  I would be content to learn that Lizzy was gazing out onto the breathtaking Shenandoah Valley and its trees with their changing colors on that fateful day in September.  The leaves in their yellows, oranges, and reds would be her signal that she could soon wrap a little treasure from her father’s life around her, hugging Lizzy as if he were with her again.
           
When I received word of Lizzy’s death, I couldn’t comprehend how someone so young, so vivacious, so compassionate, so anything, could be taken from us in this unpredictable world.  Lizzy could comprehend how unpredictable it was, more so than most of her peers.  She was both intelligent and wise for her age, which was twenty-two years.  And yet, she also loved to regress to her childhood by maintaining a collection of Care-Bears memorabilia (friends at school would recognize her signature black hoodie emblazoned with Grumpy Bear – it was part of her “look”). 
           

Lizzy Hafter

For her birthday this past February I gave her the Care-Bears movie.  She was ecstatic over it, and mentioned through shrieks of joy that she already had taped it on VHS but now could watch it with higher-quality images.  Lizzy also loved her mom’s cheesecake, and even shared one from home with the cast and crew of Truth & Beauty.  She was always offering signs of love like that.  Another favored gesture was her patented hug.  At five feet, nine inches tall, I was accustomed to embracing mostly her head, but Lizzy’s modest height didn’t even stop her from throwing her arms around the school quarterback.  There was so much power and light in one hug from her that it had the ability of making anyone’s day better.
           
I met Lizzy during my first semester at UVA when we were both singing townswomen in the department’s production of The House of Bernarda Alba.  As the reserved new girl, I admired Lizzy’s ease in conversation, her eagerness to make connections with other people.  I quickly figured out that this cheerful force of friendliness with the body of a mouse had the spirit of a lion.
           
My initial impressions of Lizzy were reaffirmed in the three years I knew her.  Through several drama classes, an endless number of auditions, and four productions we grew closer.  I had the privilege last fall of having her in a play I directed, Bad Seed.  She was the veteran actor of the bunch, and I attribute much of the success of our acting ensemble to the example Lizzy set early on.  Always punctual and prepared, Lizzy was the first at rehearsal, the first to memorize her lines, and one of the most willing explorers of her character.  She made fast friends with her fellow actors, and I think they admired her never-ceasing enthusiasm.  As for the role she played, I cannot help but find irony during this time of mourning.
           
I cast Lizzy as a mother searching for answers about the murder of her son.  This mother in many ways resembled how I saw Lizzy: the center of attention, persistent, cynical but often in humorous ways.  Since Lizzy died, I have envisioned her devastated mother adapt to the very role her daughter played in front of a proud mom just ten months ago.  Joanne never missed a show Lizzy was a part of, making the eight-hour drive from Columbia, South Carolina every time to witness her younger daughter realizing a dream born inside her a long time ago.  The two Hafters were more alike than any mother-daughter set I’ve known, and had recently made their transition to being best friends.
           
Lizzy was loved by so many, both in Charlottesville and in her hometown.  The tragic news that she had been killed brought a wave of sadness over the southeast.  Mutual friends I’ve talked to can only ask why such a horrible event could happen to a bright young woman meeting the prime of her life.  She was studying in graduate courses at the Curry School to become a history teacher, though she hadn’t ruled out teaching drama either.  In her selfless mission to help others through learning, Lizzy has unknowingly already provided us with some of the most important lessons we can ever learn: to live life humbly, to keep our goals in focus, and to love our fellow neighbor.  She can be remembered how she would’ve wanted to be remembered, as a teacher and as a star.
           
Bravo, Lizzy.  This one’s for you.

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