shared by May Reburiano DeGuzman, her friend from college
Dear Cindy,
I miss you. I talked about you in my classes the other day when we were reading and talking about Tuesdays with Morrie and its theme about appreciating the things and people we have in life. It has taken me a long time to speak about you because it’s still really painful to face the fact that we’re not growing old together. Only recently can I stand in front of my students in a classroom that I’ve been teaching in for the past 9 years and mention your name without crying.
The first year you were gone, I thought of you every day, and I know that my grief is miniscule as compared to your family and friends’ who have known you for so many more years than I have, but I guess it goes to show how much you mean to me.
It was only until this past year did you actually appear to me in a couple of my dreams. I remember one very vividly: we were at UCLA and I was walking around campus, and you were there wearing your cargo pants and tank top. I saw you and immediately embraced you tight. I was smiling so hard, and I told you that I’ve been missing you so much, and then you told me not to worry because you were fine. I woke up that morning feeling happy, and when I got ready for work, I felt a sense of peace.
Well, I’m a teacher now; I’m married to Paolo, and we have a 2 year old girl. I wonder what life would be like if you were here with us. You would probably be living in the Bay because your heart was always there. I can imagine you as a politician, on a school board maybe, fighting for student achievement.
I visit Cheryl now and then, and it’s funny because our eldest kids are about the same age; she has 2 kids now. Melanie is getting married next week, but unfortunately, I can’t make the wedding. We always think of you when we’re together. At my wedding, we took a four-fect picture with Bret making a C with his hand to represent you.
Some of my fondest memories with you have to do with our English classes. Every time enrollment came around, we’d consult each other so that we could take at least one class together. During lectures, you’d bring the snacks, and we’d keep each other awake to take notes. Whenever we were done with the food, you’d roll up the empty Ziplock or chip bag and tie it in a compact, neat knot.
Midterms and finals were only fun because that was our time to study, which meant we’d spend most of the time having deep conversations about life, love, and politics. We had great study groups though. I remember reading Waiting for Goddot out loud lounging in your living room when you lived in the apartment off Jasmine St in Palms.
I remember the graphic organizers you’d effortlessly create to split up class material for each study group member to fill in and then share with the rest. I remember sleeping over at your place because we’d be up late talking about where we came from and where we thought we’d be in the future.
My UCLA memories are filled with you. I remember consoling you on the brown leather couch of the SRC in Men’s Gym because you wanted to go home for Winter Break already. I remember us getting a ride from Jerry to Venice to get our belly buttons pierced. I went first, and then watched you get yours done on the lower lip of your navel because that’s just how your belly button was.
I remember going to the park to help with sign boarding for your USAC elections and us running around the playground. I remember when we made friends with the cops outside of Cheryl’s apartment during finals week. I remember us dancing to Britney Spears on the stage at Club Arcadia on Santa Monica Pier.
I remember walking with you to and from your numerous meetings to catch up on how we’ve been. We confided in each other our hopes and anxieties. We shared not only the same clothes and shoe sizes, but also the same ideals and values in life.
I admired your artistic and organizational talents, your carefree and fun-loving nature; I marveled at your ease at making and sustaining friendships with so many different people, your sense of justice and compassion. I and everyone else loved you for your pure soul and unassuming acceptance.
I still miss you, Cindy Rabuy, and I don’t think I’ll ever stop. You’ll never know how much you’ve touched our lives. I tell my students about you because I want them to appreciate and love the people around them and because you’re still a role model of selflessness and hard work in a culture that doesn’t care much about community. I wish you were here, but I know that one day we’ll be together again, and I have a feeling that you’ll have a snack ready to share.
Love always,
May
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