I learned of Cindy Rabuy’s passing through e-mail. I
couldn’t make sense of what I read as I sat at my computer at
12:15 a.m. this past Thursday. A cacophony rang in my head as I
read it again and again, maybe 30 times.
My body reacted to what my mind would not. My muscles seized, my
legs twitched and my hands sought to cover my mouth in disbelief. I
couldn’t focus. When you lose someone so abruptly, you
struggle to remember whether they were even real, whether the pain
you’re feeling is connected to someone or just a
nightmare.
In the following pre-dawn hours, I scoured photo albums,
records, anything, desperately seeking proof of our shared
experiences. I needed those artifacts. I tore through old USAC and
ASUCLA binders, recovering scraps of paperwork with her smudged,
hand scrawled notes. I scoured inconsequential e-mails. Recalling a
flippant phone message she left recently, I cursed myself for
deleting it.
I found a few creased photographs. Why weren’t there more?
Why weren’t we better friends? Why weren’t we hanging
out last Wednesday night far from the 405 Freeway, away from that
drunk driver? I sat consumed with these unbearable thoughts until
dawn gradually approached and they began to subside. And then, I
began to remember.
I remembered sitting alone with her on the edge of a lake. A
chilly afternoon breeze splashes water on our bare feet dangling
over the dock. A sudden gust whips my towel into the air, flinging
it into the choppy water below. She laughs as I strain to fish it
out with a stick. It is getting colder but we stay on the dock,
sometimes talking, sometimes silent, enjoying the solitude.
I remembered an Arizona nightclub. Her face in close-up, eyes
closed, broad smile, thin wet strands from her bangs cling to her
cheeks. She dances away in her own world. Her boundless enthusiasm
dispels my usual self-consciousness. We are happy.
I remembered reviewing budgets for USAC late into the night,
resting in the backstage shade at JazzReggae Festival, whispering
and passing irrelevant notes at an ASUCLA board of directors
meeting as I struggle to keep from laughing aloud.
I remembered the Getty Museum at sundown. I scamper around the
garden in the fading light snapping ridiculous pictures while she
waits patiently. I turn the camera on her and she springs to life,
striking goofy poses. She makes that face that I absolutely adore,
where she looks at you, cracks a smile tinged with disbelief, mouth
agape, and opens her eyes wide in the most expressive way
imaginable.
I talked to her on the phone just last week. She wrestled with
her plans for this quarter. Should she squeeze out every last drop
of her final weeks at UCLA or distance herself from campus to
prepare for the next stage of her life? She exhaled a nervous
stream of words alluding to deeper hopes and aspirations, excited
to be back with her boyfriend, dreaming of teaching in Japan. She
mulled over the possibilities, positive and determined. We talked
until conversation seemed exhausted, and we had nothing else to
say. She ended by telling me that she’d “worry about
that stuff later.” We set a time to meet next week.
Now one week later, inexplicably, my pain and rage has eased
into contentment, even bliss. I am not religious, but I cannot
describe this progression as anything less than miraculous. I no
longer feel fear or anger. I no longer ask why or how this could
have happened. Agonizing thoughts and painful memories are replaced
by sweet recollections, tears increasingly replaced by smiles and
even laughter.
I feel a deep regret for those who never had the opportunity to
know her and I feel so blessed to be one of the many that did.
Still, the sadness remains. I cannot stop thinking of Cindy. I want
to share so many more things with her. The finality is
devastating.
The Daily Bruin has hailed her exceptional contributions and
celebrated her grand accomplishments. Her legacy as a student
leader is matchless. Yet it pains me to know that someday, despite
our best intentions, no matter what we say or what scholarships and
rooms in Kerckhoff Hall we name after her, that people will fail to
appreciate who she was as a person.
Memories fade and commemorations lose their luster. I accept
this as natural but then ask myself, what is the meaning in all of
this? Cindy provided an answer in the loving attention that she
lavished on friend, family and stranger alike. She never stopped
thinking of other people, lending assistance with both light
brushes and broad, sweeping strokes. She touched so many lives in
so many different ways.
For me, it was those small things that made her special, that
made her a great friend. There never was one big event; it was
always a series of tiny isolated moments that tied together to
create such a magnificent life. Such moments exist independent of
life and death, their purity timeless and indestructible. Cindy
appreciated the preciousness of those moments and embraced all the
uncertain ones to come.
As amazing as I now realize that was, that was just how she
lived, how we all should live. That was just Cindy.
Seltzer is a 2002 alumnus. He served on USAC and the ASUCLA
board of directors with Cindy Rabuy.