Cuavia Carrillo Peraza

On the death of my girlfriend, Cuavia Carrillo Peraza

My girlfriend died on Thursday, November 5th, at 7:20 pm local time in Tepic, Nayarit Mexico. She was 37 years old. I had been her boyfriend for a scant seven months. She died in hospital, and was surrounded by those who loved her most .. me, her mother Sofia and her 10 year old daughter Cecy.

Those are the bare facts of the situation. I am writing this about her in an effort to mark her passing, more for mself than anyone else. Another bare fact.

I am posting this on the internet, on this blog, because I cannot think of any other way to immortalize her. I know that this must sound ridiculous to any anonymous reader who chances to pass by, but nothing published on the internet ever disappears, so here we go:

She was a beautiful woman, but quite sick with what was supposed was asthma when I met her.

She did not have the money for doctors, so I began taking her to doctor after doctor to try to get a decent course of treatment for her. We finally found a doctor whom we felt might be the one to help. He started her on an aggressive course of treatment not only for her asthma, but for the Cushing's Syndrome she had developed over the years when, due to lack of money, she had used excessive amounts of prednizone to treat her symptoms.


During the course of this "treatment" she went into a deep crisis from which she never recovered.

I loved her very much. Everyone she knew loved her. She lived in Tepic for six years prior to her death, working as an English teacher in various schools. The last one she worked in was Universidad Viscaya.

I persuaded her to quit working so we could concentrate on improving her health.

Irony at this point ran out into the street and got crushed beneath the wheels of a bus.

She died much as she had lived; gently, slowly, and with little complaint. It is impossible for me, a Canadian, to express the level of sorrow I am feeling at having discovered this great treasure in Mexico, and then to have watched it slip through my fingers due to the years of medical maltreatment she had received from others, inflicted on herself and that I caused through my bungling enthusiasm.

The only consolation I can rescue from this tragic experience is the knowledge that for the seven months that I knew her, she was a happier person, according to her family. This is a very small comfort to me, for having lost a great, too-short love in my misbegotten life.

I shall try to keep in my memory always her optimism, her love of laughter, her gentleness, her keen intelligence, and most especially her love and empathy.

"That time of year thou may'st in me behold,
When yellow leaves, or none, or few do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare, ruined choirs where late the sweet birds sang......:

...This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong
To love that well which thou must leave ere long"

Wm. Shakespeare, Sonnet LXXIII

The Old Curmudgeon