Remembering a Friend

REFLECTIONS ON ELENA

I’ve asked my dear brother Gil to read this letter to those of you attending this memorial.
Antes de todo, les doy el pesame a los padres de Elena. Les mando un fuerte abrazo de cariño y de dolor
compartido. Y les pido que me perdonen el no haber podido venir a esta reunion de amigos y familia para hacer homenaje a Elena.
Tambien a sus papas quiero expresarles un profundo agradecimiento por haber traido su hija a nuestras vidas. Como se puede ver fue una persona de gran Corazon y Espiritu quien tuvo un gran impacto en
su entorno, supo ganarse muchos amigos y queridos de todas partes del mundo. Indudablemente esto tiene que
ver con el modo de ser de la familia Castañeda. Ahora, gracias a nuestra hermana Elena, nosotros tambien
somos sus hijos, formamos parte de su familia.

I met Elena in the early 1990s when I was in graduate school at Berkeley. We hung out together, laughed and laughed and laughed, and got to really love each other. I have memories of camping with her and Gil, of eating and partying, and hanging out at her place near the university.

For me, Elena was a very welcoming Chicana sister from Chicago; a brown, beautiful, strong, Mexican Indian
carnala, with jet-black hair and a big, wide toothy grin. I remember being impressed with how tough and resourceful she was. An independent woman, she was sanding and finishing floors at that time, getting herself together to go back to school.

I know that her life was not without pain and, without disclosing things shared in counseling sessions, she carried the loss of her brother and the reality of being away from her parents which was a source of constant doubt and reflection. I recall that a recurring question for her was: should I stay in Berkeley or return to be with my parents in Chicago? We talked all the time about relationships, about work, about politics.
And as for politics, so important a topic in Berkeley and in the Bay Area, she was sharp, sharp, sharp. She was crystal clear and way ahead of the times in terms of environmental and health and gender politics and the Chicano/Indigenous movement. Mr. and Mrs. Castañeda, you may realize this already but Elena was a very advanced and deep woman politically, spiritually, intellectually. For me personally, it was natural that she and I, as prietos and Indios, had an affinity, a love for each other. Of course we had to find each other. She became my sister and I her brother.

Elena was no slouch as a thinker. A searcher, a free spirit, she was an excellent Counselor. And she was a hard worker, a class-conscious person and generous to a fault.
One more thing: there was a side to her personality that made it impossible for us not to click, something guaranteed to draw us together, and that was her jokester side.
Anybody who spent time with her soon found out how goofy, humorous, cheerful, upbeat, lighthearted and silly she could be. I was often the victim of her wit and wisecracks and merciless teasing.
I loved her because she was as irreverent as hell and I will forever miss her risa loca, really the laugh of an eternal young girl who loves life.
Did our joking verge on bad taste? You better believe it. That type of deadly humor was how we coped with this harsh, irrational society with its senselessness and injustices.

Years later, after I had moved away, I returned for a visit and we reconnected. We hung out for a few hours in Emeryville and then said goodbye at a café on Dwight and San Pablo. Gray haired now and with more years under our belts, the youthful Elena was ever present. Her vibrancy, vitality and playfulness never stopped shining. That was about a year ago.

So now, carnalita de la piel morena y los ojos chinos, you’re gone. Since I have a hard time believing in an afterlife, what I’ll do is hang on to the memories of your rich laughter and your smiling Indian eyes and your un-breakable human spirit. Those memories can never be taken away.

I close with a cautionary reminder, that
Linda G. has the right idea: we need to hang out, make the time to visit friends while we still have each other. Otherwise we remain with our regrets of not having checked in enough, not having said enough, not having spent the time. Don’t put it off too long, for the Fates have a way of messing with us when we delay and procrastinate. We need to stay connected with one another.

from West Harlem in New York City,
un abrazote,
Andrés Mares Muro