Cecilia Alvear: Saying Goodbye To A Friend Dying of Cancer

I called my friend Cecilia two weeks before I flew from New York to visit her in Santa Monica. She sounded strong and happy. Her lilting Ecuadorian accent sounding like soft music on this Spring day. “I’m coming Cecilia to see you at the beginning of April,” I said into the phone. “Come, come, I’ll be here,” she replied. “I’ll be waiting.” For some time I had known that Cecilia was battling breast cancer. She learned she had it for the first time in 1994. It seemed to have disappeared—but it returned 18 years later. I first met Cecilia in 1982 as a young Latin American Correspondent for CBS News during the the civil war in El Salvador. She was a producer for NBC in Latin America. As two Latino journalists in a business where there were few, we bonded immediately. She was about a decade my senior and she took this rookie reporter under her wing and was the most maternal of mentors. I was scared to death but her calming manner put me at ease. Because she was not afraid to go out with her news crews to the most dangerous of areas where guerrillas and death squads roamed, her courage rubbed off on me as well. We stayed friends through the decades, attending meetings of the National Hispanic Journalists Association. She was the articulate president of the organization(NHJA) who crusaded for more Latinos in newsrooms. She was a leader and she was also my heroine.

In the Winter I had seen a photo on Facebook taken by her longtime partner George Lewis, a veteran NBC News Correspondent, now retired. George and I had worked together at the NBC News Bureau in Burbank, Ca. from 1986-1988. In the photo Cecilia’s usually luminous eyes looked vacant. She was smiling but I could tell there was something terribly wrong. I called her. She confided that matters had taken a turn for the worse. I promised to come visit. For one reason or another I postponed my trip, but in late March when I saw another disturbing photo, I bought my plane ticket .I needed to see her. When I came down with HIV years earlier and feared I would be fired as an on-air reporter, Cecilia gave me hope and encouragement. “You’ll get through this,” she said. She promised “I’m always here for you.” Now I needed to be there for her.

Kathleen Garrett(my friend of many years) and I arrived at the home George and Cecilia shared at noon on a Monday. Kathleen and I bought flowers. I had also bought her some beautiful gauze and cotton scarves, the color of the sand and sea of her beloved Santa Monica Beach. “Come say hello to Cecilia,” George said as he led us to a room off the kitchen. Cecilia was laying in a hospital-type bed. Her right hand was raised. Her head was covered in a cloth. She had lost so much weight. She looked so frail. But then a smile flashed across her face. Although she couldn’t speak, her green eyes and beaming smile did all the talking. “Cecilia, how are you? And look I brought Kathleen with me,” I said cheerily. I kissed her forehead. She grabbed my hand tightly and wouldn’t let go. With my other hand I pulled the two scarves from a bag. One was yellow, the other was a light blue the color of the Santa Monica sky. I wrapped the scarves around her as best I could. Again she smiled. I had bought her a card and because I thought she might be too tired to read it, I opened it and read it to her:

“My Dearest Cecilia:

You are one of the women in my life I admire so. Fiercely intelligent, strong and resilient, you have always represented strength, courage and most of all kindness. I’ll never forget our days in Central America dodging skirmishes- but always finding humor in the darkest of days. I cherish the photo of us at the National Association of Hispanic Journalists—and of course the photos of you, George and my little Prince Harry. I love you Cecilia. You’ve always taught me that to be interesting, you must always be interested—in others and in life.

Te quiero, Sincerely, Chuck Gomez

I couldn’t finish the letter before breaking down in tears because I realized in that instant, that this was my last goodbye. Cecilia grabbed my hand and with her index finger rubbed back and forth. For several moments we just stared into each others eyes. Kathleen soon joined us and she too held Cecilia’s hand. After a few moments we realized she was getting tired. We slowly retreated but in the background George had turned on some jazz music. As we backed out of the room, Kathleen stood in front of me. Cecilia raised her hand and began opening and closing it as if to say goodbye. But suddenly she raised her other hand and as the jazz played she began waving her arms in front of her as if dancing, as if playing on the beach. Kathleen mimicked her movements. Then I, standing behind Kathleen, raised my arms too until all three of us were “dancing” together. And in that spontaneous magical moment, Cecilia sent us her love.

Two weeks later I got the call from Kathleen. George called her and told her Cecilia had passed away. It was a gloomy afternoon in New York and all I could do was stay silent . Finally all I could say was “Oh dear God.” I said it over and over again. Cecilia was no longer suffering. I had been blessed to say goodbye to a friend. And in that moment, I could suddenly see Cecilia lovingly moving her hands in front of her to the sweetest of jazz refrains.