Eva Hassell

I’ve been thinking about Eva Hassell. She died about a year ago.

I met her when I was a girl. I don’t even remember meeting her, she was just always there. She was one of the women who would smile at me on Sundays at church. She had one very attractive teenage son. Even as a little girl, I noticed. He had blond hair, an adorable laugh, and piercing blue eyes. His eyes were like his mother’s. Aqua blue. No. That’s not quite right. Not blue like an ink pen. Maybe like the Carribean Sea. I don’t know because I haven’t been there, but they were blue like heaven.  So pure, and so bright I really felt like they were windows to her soul,  and she didn’t even mind you looking right in there and see it.

She tried to teach me piano when I was about 10 or so. I wasn’t really into it. I may have lasted four lessons. Fun fact about Eva, she taught herself how to plan piano as an adult.

Then when I was in high school she was the freshman sophomore early morning seminary teacher. I showed up late most days.  I also tried to ditch my class and go to the junior/senior class. My freshman year I had basketball practice starting at 5:30 am, then I went to seminary at 7. I don’t even remember the curriculum, or a single lesson. My sophomore year we learned about church history, I do remember that. Eva had recently been on a tour of early church sights. Nauvoo, Illinois, Palmyra New York. She had pictures and pronounced “Adamondioman in a different way.

Here’s the thing about Eva Hassell. I didn’t learn things from her because she was a good teacher.  As a teenager, I thought she was kind of boring. Her kind and gentle approach lulled me into a stupor. I took her humility as weakness. I took her lack of aggression as a lack of confidence. I was wrong about Eva Hassell. She was a good teacher, not because she was entertaining or particularly compelling, but because was a good person. A really, really good person. She loved us. The whole lot of us.  She saw through our teenage annoyances, and straight into the part that mattered.  I don’t know what she saw in the other students, but I know what she saw in me.

She saw that I was a writer. She saw that I loved teaching. She saw someone who liked adventure. She saw that I was critical, and she didn't hide from it. She saw things about me that I didn’t even know about myself, yet, and she did little things to foster those talents. She had me teach a few seminary classes on my own.  She told me about how she was learning Russian. She told me about the trips she took. She told me about the Ensign articles she had published.

Eva saw me. She saw my mother, too. I think she saw everyone.

Growing up, my mom had untreated depression. I am not sure if it was diagnosed or not, but she wasn’t in counseling. She wasn’t taking medication. She was in bed a lot. She was sad a lot. I didn’t know, but she was also suicidal. She just told me a story I had never heard. The story of how she met Eva. They didn’t really know each other, but one day Eva had the impression to call her. Eva just called and asked if they could go walking together. It started a pattern. They would talk, and walk. Eva would ask question, and wasn’t afraid of what she would find. She became someone my mom could trust. Maybe the only person she could see on a regular basis. One night my mom woke up. She had a suicide plan and she was going to act on it.  But she thought, “I could visit Eva instead.”

When my mom told me that story, I was overwhelmed. I don't even know if Eva knew what she did for my mother. This is a woman who adopted a family of 7 siblings from teenagers to little ones so they could stay together. I can't even comprehend the compassion and ability she had. Maybe that is why her eyes were heaven. 

I miss her.