The History

The Children

6/16/2017

Part I

The Vassar library looks a lot like a smattering of private East Coast liberal arts college libraries.

The escape plan from Central California was going swimmingly. I had entered my first semester at Vassar College in upstate New York and thought maybe I'd left my adolescent angst and depression behind me.

It was quickly apparent that this wasn't the case, and the geographic isolation and general demographic of the Vassar student body wasn't well-suited for a clinically depressed late bloomer like me. Of course it's futile to play the What If Game (what if I had gone to Cal Berkeley? what if I had taken a gap year?), and it's impossible to say whether I would have been quite so despondent if life had zigged instead of zagged. What I can say is that I felt lonely and unlovable at Vassar College.

That is, I felt lonely and unloveable until I met Marshall, Maribel, and their two children, Drake and Hali.

The Pregnalls lived as the host family in my dorm (Vassar doesn't do the RA thing like other schools), and I'd met them briefly at an all-freshmen meeting. One evening in the fall of 1999, I was walking (alone) to the campus dining hall. Drake, who was seven at the time, ran past me, and his parents, with tiny Hali in their arms, were quick to follow. We ended up walking together, and I told them I missed being around children. I see now, as a legitimate adult, that this was a silly thing for an eighteen-year-old to say. But it was true. I didn't have to be cool enough or rich enough or smart enough or pretty enough or thin enough for children to like me. I just had to be my normal goofy self and they came a' runnin'.

Soon after that, I become the Pregnalls' primary babysitter. I loved being spared the embarrassment of college parties and spending my weekend evenings instead playing hide-and-seek with Drake and Hali in the dorm laundry room... or, more specifically, the dorm washing machines. When I got married in 2002 (a child bride!), Drake and Hali were part of the service. I truly loved those little people (and still do): Hali with her precocious art and communication skills, and Drake with his quiet willingness to grant me entry into his little-boy world, which often revolved around Pokemon.

I was welcomed into the Pregnall household as if I were family, and I strongly believe their kindness saved my life. To be clear, I doubt my depression would have ever manifested in suicide, but I certainly longed for an end to my perceived suffering. I felt like a normal person around the Pregnalls: a priceless gift which allowed me to persist and eventually graduate.

And that's how it started: with the children. I will forever be grateful to Marshall and Maribel for entrusting their most precious passengers with me; and I thank Drake and Hali, in their naturally childish ways, for helping me find my way back to joy.

Part II >

Hali and me smiling on my big day in 2002... Drake brooding as usual.

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The Visits

6/15/2017

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Part II

2012: Marshall captivates my boys.

2012: Drake tries and fails to hide his adoration of this adorable baby.

2009: Marshall, Maribel, Hali (with gymnastics bling), me, and my first little guy, M.

2014: Piano for 6 hands, featuring Hali, M (5) and D (3)

2014: Marshall carries D, 3, who complained of being too hot and tired to walk and who I absolutely refused to carry.

My then-husband Adam and I skipped across the globe in those early days of marriage, but we always managed to return to Poughkeepsie every other year (or so). When Adam couldn't join me, I showed up without him. I never considered that it might be uncouth to simply announce my arrival date and ask the Pregnalls to make up the guest room; it never occurred to me that it was bad form to invite myself over. Of course, it wasn't bad form with them. They were family.

The only concern we might have for the visit was whether or not they would be home on the given days. They were, shall we say, an active family: climbing each of the forty-six 4,000 foot peaks in the Adirondacks together as a family, SCUBA diving in the Galapagos, initiating local projects to save nesting turtles, shuttling Hali to gymnastics meets, coaxing Drake to speak occasionally, and, in their spare time, working as science educators at the high school and college levels.

Such shenanigans, as outlined in their biannual holiday letter (always delivered with affable apologies for the skipped year), unfailingly coaxed the same response from Adam: "why are they friends with us, again?" The Pregnalls were and are over-achievers who somehow never made us feel like our contribution to the world was any less important than their own.

Watching Drake and Hali step into care-giving roles with my sons represented a magical evolution; watching Marshall and Maribel play with my own children as I had played with theirs brought such a unique brand of joy to my heart, it's foolish to attempt to describe it.

During one visit, I remember thumbing through an introductory biology book laying casually about their house. When I found the short list of means by which organisms survive (e.g. predation, herbivory), I was appalled to find 'parasitic' on the list. "That's not fair," I complained to Marshall. "Parasites don't do any of their own work! They're just lazy cheaters!" Marshall refrained from rolling his eyes, but barely. "Evy," he said patiently. "It is the fate of most living creatures to meet their demise by being eaten alive. This isn't about fair."

Thank you, Marshall, for setting that stage. Because, though it doesn't make the injustice of your death any less unjust, it helps reframe the pain caused by your early departure. And it reminds me, in general, to keep problems in perspective. And also: it makes me laugh and remember you. So thanks, again.

Part III >

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The Fall

6/14/2017

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Part III

The Vassar Farm in October: a brief and welcome respite from the mountain of sad.

I had been social media clean for almost a year when Adam, my husband at the time, came home one afternoon and said he'd read something sad on Facebook. I'd learned from Stephen Dubner the human brain hears BAD louder than good, so I was immediately on high alert. When Adam told me Marshall Pregnall had been diagnosed with an aggressive form of cancer, I was incredulous. Marshall was as hearty as they come! He was fit in the body and the mind, a gifted educator, an engaged father and husband, and an all-around compassionate human being. Certainly a person of Marshall's calibre couldn't all of a sudden have cancer. It wasn't right, and it certainly wasn't fair.

Once the news took root, I called Maribel to see if a visit would be a help or a hindrance. Only after her approval did I think to talk to Adam about the finances: could we afford such last-minute, cross-country airfare? Adam's response embodies the kind of man he is, and one of the reasons I still love him so much: "It doesn't matter if we can afford it. You need to go."

I arrived in Poughkeepsie the same day that Marshall came home from the hospital for hospice care, but I didn't pop in as I usually did. A helpful woman at Vassar had connected me with another professor who had room to accommodate me; this time around, I wanted to give the Pregnalls as much space as they needed. At my host's house, my brain self-sabotaged certain synapses in an apparent attempt at self-protection. I called my mother, who is a nursing instructor, to verify "is hospice when you're for sure going to die?" She confirmed, and I cried and cried. This whole mess was a mountain of sad. There was no way around it.

The next day, I ventured over to the Pregnalls' place. Marshall was propped up in a hospital bed that had been squeezed into his and Maribel's bedroom. There were oxygen tubes in his nose, his whole body was too thin, and his eyes were closed. I tried to make a joke about parasites. It was all wrong, and I left the room almost immediately.

I decided I could be helpful in other ways. Drake, who had become an active if still reticent young man, was home from Colorado. Hali had started her freshman year of college, and had returned to school just before my arrival. As in a previous era, the way I was most useful translated into spending time with Drake. We biked around the Hudson Valley and he showed me parts of the city I'd never seen before. We visited the Vassar farm, and ate pea chutes and stolen raspberries. We invented harmless pranks that lightened the mood. Then we got back on our bikes and kept riding.

Soon, of course, I needed to see Marshall again.

I entered the room this time with no intentions. I didn't need to make him laugh, or make him feel better, or express any of my own feelings. I was open to simply being with a person who had played such an important role in my life.

I sat on the bed next to his and gently held his hand. I asked if that was ok, and he opened his eyes and smiled. I held his hand with both of mine and looked into his eyes. The room disappeared. It was like falling in love because, I've realized, we were IN love. Please do not read this incorrectly: this was not a crush. This was not infidelity or romantic interest. This was a warm, living river that somehow pulsed between us, running through our hands and our eyes, and I saw the deep essence of love that ran underneath everything else he was (father, husband, professor), and he saw the deep essence of love that ran underneath everything else that I was. I couldn't help but smile and I couldn't help but cry. He smiled and squeezed my hand and didn't look away.

It was a Tuesday in October, and it changed my life.