Sudden Goodbyes

An old friend departs.

During this time of grief and loss across the city, so many of us are saying goodbye—not just to people, but to places that held meaning. The Eaton Canyon fire has left a scar on the landscape of my hometown, consuming homes, memories, and pieces of our shared history. Smoke still lingers in the air, a reminder of what’s been lost. In the midst of this, I had to face a different kind of loss—one that came just as suddenly. My friend Rose moved out of the Cecil, and I didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye.

Rose was one of the first residents I met at the Cecil. Over time, I watched her grow, heal, and fight through struggles that would have broken many. She had her ups and downs, but her progress was nothing short of amazing. She became a reminder of why this work matters—why presence, patience, and compassion are so vital in a place where hope can be fragile.

I would have loved a chance to celebrate how far she’s come, to send her off with a blessing, or even just a simple “take care.” But sometimes, goodbyes don’t happen the way we hope. That’s part of life at the Cecil—people come and go, and you don’t always get closure.

This isn’t the first time someone has left the Cecil without saying goodbye. People come and go all the time, often without warning. Some leave for better opportunities, some just disappear, and sometimes I only find out they’re gone when I notice their door is empty. But Rose’s departure hit differently. We had built a real connection over time—through conversations, struggles, and moments of hope. I had seen her grow, heal, and push forward despite the odds. She wasn’t just another resident; she was a becoming a sort of friend. That’s what made this goodbye feel so shocking. I thought we’d have a chance to reflect on her journey, to celebrate how far she’d come. Instead, I was left with silence, wondering where she is and hoping she knows she’s still in my prayers.

And I choose to believe that Rose carries with her the support and love she found here. And in that, there is hope.

Wherever she is now, I pray she keeps going, keeps growing, and knows she is not forgotten.

Your Support Makes a Difference at the Cecil Hotel

The work I do at the Cecil Hotel is only possible because of people like you—readers, advocates, and those who care deeply about dignity and justice. As funding for social programs continues to decline, your generosity is more crucial than ever. Every contribution helps provide vital support to residents facing housing insecurity, food scarcity, and daily challenges.

Please give today and be part of this mission. Your support changes lives.