On Saturday we said goodbye to Solveig Haugland, my dearest friend. Here’s my eulogy from her memorial service.
When I first met Solveig, we were just teenagers, and I was in awe of her self-confidence and her brilliant mind. Those were the first things I noticed about her. (Also, I noticed that she was really, really tall.) It wasn’t until later that I began to appreciate what defined Solveig most: her exuberance, her empathy, and her ability to act upon her dreams.
Many people have described Solveig as exuberant, and she truly was. She embraced life, often exploding with snorty laughter, or breaking joyously into song. She had a burnished alto voice, so rich and so evocative that in a Christmas concert at our college, she was chosen to portray the voice of God. (As Solveig would say, “Take that, patriarchy!”)
I have so many memories of her singing joyfully—once, when I was going through a hard time during the holidays, she came over with Norwegian krumkake pastries, and we sang Christmas carols. Last fall, the two of us drove from Fargo to Minneapolis and back in one day, and we spent the entire trip singing along to The Book of Mormon in the car. Another time, we went snowshoeing on the first day of spring, and then drove down the Boulder canyon road with the windows open, belting out power ballads.
Solveig’s exuberance was matched only by her empathy. She cared deeply for her friends, and she saw all of us as real people with real and distinctive needs. Even when she was grieving the loss of her beloved parents, she always looked beyond herself. She reached out to help her family of friends: designing costumes and cocktails, knitting baby sweaters, throwing parties, bringing people together.
Solveig loved us all, and she loved finding ways to help us. She understood us because she paid attention to us. Like Sherlock Holmes, a character she absolutely adored, Solveig was a master at noticing important details. That’s why she was so good at giving the perfect gift.
Solveig loved making my life better, in big ways and small. She helped me find the best writer’s group for my career, but also the best lipstick, the best Thai food, the best snowshoes. It took Solveig only three hours to find me the perfect wedding gown. (Actually, it took her three hours to find the dress, fill me up with Chinese food, serve me a cocktail, and drive me safely home. Solveig was efficient like that.)
When she decided to help me find the best possible husband, she once again paid attention, relying on her insight into our personalities. It didn’t matter to her that Steve and I lived a thousand miles apart and had never met. She knew when she had a good idea, and she understood us so well. Solveig understood us because she loved us. With that endlessly big heart of hers, she loved and treasured us all.
For Solveig, caring was combined with energy and hope. She believed the world could change for the better, and she acted fearlessly on that belief. If something mattered to her, she found time for it. Solveig knew how to get things done. She authored or coauthored more than a dozen books. She knitted over eighty sweaters. She rescued numerous kitties. She cared tenderly for her parents in their final years, and she found time to nurture a huge number of friends.
Solveig was never one to wait around for the world to change. She had a utopian vision of a place called Hauglandia—a place characterized by fairness, creativity, and compassion—and she knew Hauglandia wasn’t going to happen all by itself. (I’m pretty sure that Hauglandia is now an official district in heaven, with Solveig as its benevolent overlord.) With love, exuberance, and boundless energy, Solveig was constantly changing the world. She changed my life in more ways than I can ever express. I feel so blessed to have known her. I will always be grateful, I will always miss her, and I will always love her.
