Elizabeth Hurd

On Sept 11th, 2017, Liz Hurd (Miss Liz to many. Mom and sometimes Lizzard to us) lost her fight with cancer. She was 66. When I was in middle school, mom began to substitute teach; I had her for a few classes, in fact. Basically, the situation was a middle-schooler's worst nightmare. Then, as the semester went on, I got over myself and saw what was really happening in her classes: she connected with EVERYONE. "I love it when your mom teaches!" was the consensus across my friends and acquaintances. Between classes, mom's room was constantly inhabited by a rotating group of students; some chatting, some studying, all drawn together by her magnetic personality and wry, witty perspective of the world. This wasn't a unique occurrence. This pattern repeated itself wherever she went; turning new places into hubs of friends in a matter of days. Friends that lasted. Friends that, even now, are reaching out to see how they can help or to give thoughtful, heartfelt condolences. That's mom. Mom's likes and dislikes are a perfect glimpse into her personality. She loved kitten and bird iconography, grackles, the beach, movies about time and space or violent drug wars, gross scientific facts, strange bugs, interesting rocks and plants, going out for coffee, armadillos (and the 'bony rattle' of their plates as they moved), all of the kids she ever met, Thailand, Alice in Chains, margaritas, antiques, forcing dad to celebrate Texas Independence Day with a Texas bandanna. She disliked the concept of dynastic royalty, most technology, Lidia Bastianich's hands, and all movies not about time and space or violent drug wars. She lived her whole life to be a caretaker. The moment we would outgrow a toy (usually around 12 years old), she would scoop it up, "for my grandkids" she would say. We rolled our eyes. Decades later, when the first grandkids showed up, she was more than ready and up to the task. I wish this time in her life could have extended more than it did as she was truly in her element here, but she exuded love and warmth and excitement every time the kids came around, and they loved her so much that on the way home we always has to talk about how quickly we could see her and dad again. This bears a bit more elaboration: mom understood kids on a fundamental and intuitive level. She could engage with a child, and within seconds, they were enthralled with her, the secret toys and stickers she hid in her purse, her weird and wonderful perspective. They knew she 'got it', and were friends with her immediately. I learned everything I know now about how to be a supportive and loving spouse from mom and the way she and dad related to each other. Rarely serious, always loving. Now, having some kids of my own, I understand what enormous effort and patience went into making it appear effortless and natural. To our wickedly funny, lovely, intelligent, compassionate, selfless mommy: cancer took you too soon, but not so soon that you didn't leave an indelible mark in our lives, in the city and community you lived in, and across the eclectic and wonderful tapestry of friends that support you even now. We love you dearly and we miss you. Thank you for everything. Your family, Dan, Stephen, Sarah, Tim. Your grandchildren, Neko, Imogen, Julian.