970  Article - - IN MEMORIAM - ALBERTO TOLEDANO (Part 2)

Date: Fri, 24 Jan 2003 12:17:24 -0800
From: tanguero <tanguero@EARTHLINK.NET>
Subject: Article - - IN MEMORIAM - ALBERTO TOLEDANO (Part 2)

This is an edited version of the article which is posted in its entirety at

www.tanguero.com.

The full tribute on the site also includes Alberto Toledano's artwork, as well as letters from his students.





IN MEMORIAM - ALBERTO TOLEDANO

PART II (of II)



Without ever saying "goodbye", each friend left his room strengthened and with a greater commitment to living life more fully. It was as if =
as each person dealt with their pain and vulnerability, their emotional fragility and the specter of mortality, at the very same time their =
spirits were lifted and they were bestowed with a tranquility.

Alberto's wit was a constant. When he could no longer eat and just sipped a little of the "lemon drink" (Sprite-never before had he drunk =
coffee or soft drinks), he suggested to the nurse that she add the juice from the unopened canned pears. "Now I have a Cordon Bleu drink," he =
exclaimed. On one occasion, too weak to move his arms, he said to me, "I am feeling just a little vain. Would you mind to brush my hair?" As I =
brushed through his black curls, he commented , "Now you know what a mad scientist looks like." His belly was swollen, so big and hard. Several =
times Alberto was wheeled on a bed to the bowels of the hospital building where liters of fluid were removed through aspiration by a =
'needle'. This afforded temporary and just a little relief. He took great pride in recounting the exact number of liters removed each time. =
On the first occasion, he told me he had had "a most successful Caesarian." And when on the first of many visits, Karlo from our dance =
company looked around Alberto's hospital room and inquired if I used the folded cot that stood against the wall in the corner, Alberto piped up, =
"Yes, Loreen sleeps on that bed, but I go home at night to sleep in my own bed."

The death sentence was delivered at 6:00 PM, Monday, November 18; the timetable and possible directions (chemo or hospice) were discussed at 5 =
PM, Tuesday, November 19. Alberto, who until then had wanted to keep everything from his brother lest he "ruin" his brother's holiday with =
the children and their mother, now gave me permission to call his brother. He so loved his brother, who he always said was "a very sweet =
and good person".

So overwhelming much in life and in the face of death makes no sense. Perhaps the best antidote is having a belief system. And hope.

Alberto said to me, "I am not afraid. The only fear I have is of pain."

There was something I wanted to ask Alberto, I desperately wanted to ask him. I debated and debated with myself. I reprimanded myself, "How can =
you be so self-centered!" I remonstrated with myself, "If I don't ask, I will forever be with regret."

Ashamed, I apologized to Alberto, and said, "This is purely selfish, so selfish.but I have one favor to ask of you.tell me, teach me, how did =
you come to be unafraid?"

"Reading. I've read the greatest philosophers of different countries and centuries. I've studied many religions, the histories of religion. =
Mathematics, science-theory and practice. Through music, literature and art. I've come to believe we are immortal. We are reincarnated. We =
keep trying until we gain perfection."

"I am so unevolved, so far behind you.Do you think it possible that we will be together one day?"

"Yes, it is possible."

"Will it be forever?"

"Yes, that too is possible. Don't be afraid."

David arrived from his home in Paris on Thursday, November 21 and came straight to the hospital from the airport. Alberto had told the doctor =
he would take one day, Wednesday, until he, his brother, and I could discuss "the options".

I stepped out of the hospital room for about an hour until David came out to fetch me. Alberto, so weakened now that his voice was almost =
inaudible, insisted on sitting in the hospital room armchair. It would be the last time he was out of the bed, the last time he could sit up. =
Summoning everything he could draw upon, he focused on telling us where certain papers were, what some of the things were that we would need to =
do. At the same time as I sensed he knew everything he needed to communicate was urgent because time was running out, he also strove to =
have us believe this conversation was to clarify matters that he, himself, would address in due time-time he was due, time he expected to =
have. Perhaps an hour elapsed when Alberto said he would need "to take a little rest." He was not strong enough to write the few sentences =
required (along with a signature) to execute a will. Signing a typed paper would not be legal.

At one point, on Friday, November 22, I became aware, on some different level for the first time, of Alberto's mortality, that it could be =
possible that his super-human powers, his intellect, his determination, could not will away his death sentence and, in fact, that he could not =
even will time, not even a little. From the moment I learned Alberto had cancer, my belief in him, verging at times on awe, had completely =
translated into optimism, hope, denial. But, suddenly there was this frightful tug-of-war between my heart and my mind. My resentment of =
those who talked about his inevitable death, his imminent death, deepened and then I would switch into self-loathing gear-hating myself =
for beginning to think his death could be possible. I simply could not countenance in myself anything other than the power of positive =
thinking, his abetted by mine and, I was determined, all those people around us.

The final day, Alberto indicated he wanted to sit up. In the moment he was told it would not be possible because his blood pressure was =
falling, I think he, too, became aware on some different level for the first time of his own mortality. The nurse, he could see, had her =
'marching orders': "keep his legs elevated, his upper body lowered to the maximum allowed by the hospital bed." Her expression conveyed "this =
is what we do under these circumstances-all the signs of encroaching death are there, now we just maintain, wait 'it' out, follow hospital =
procedure." His hands were very cold and very moist. Throughout the night, his breathing was more and more labored, increasingly shallow. =
And then the unthinkable occurred. I thought to myself, "When will this end? It's best that he die, die now. No more hours of waiting and =
watching." I began to wonder if my sleep deprivation had turned me into a cold-blooded killer. Until this point, my processing had only gone so =
far as to think Alberto's death could be possible. Consistently and always, I had managed to tell myself, in between the emotional =
floodgates and utter despair, yes, it would all work out, he wouldn't leave. After all, he had, not so many hours before, managed to lift his =
arm and gently caress my cheek with his hand, just ever so briefly-but time stood still. But now the end seemed inevitable and imminent. It =
was as if his breathing, so irregular and difficult, had no purpose.

More and more drugs flowed intravenously into him. Once, only once, he became a little confused. It was only for a few minutes. David and I, =
to each side of the bed, watched over him as he slept. He would awaken and smile in recognition that his beloved brother was there. He =
responded, best he could, to questions. He could no longer converse. But his eyes, his deep set dark always curious and probing eyes, told =
many stories. And we spoke of many things, all from the heart, to Alberto. We spoke of our love, each in our own way. It did not go =
unsaid that we would be there every moment; he would never be alone.

About twenty-four hours before Alberto passed away, a gentle nurse quietly said to me, "I have observed, over many years, that music gives =
great solace to the dying. It distracts, it calms, it comforts, it transports." Within the hour, someone brought a CD player to me. The =
room was filled, from 10 AM Friday until two hours after Alberto died, 8:10 AM Saturday, with Schubert lieder; compositions for piano written =
by Louis Gottschalk; short guitar pieces by Spanish composers played by Liona Boyd; Angel Vargas; Miguel Calo; the voices of Jorge Falcon, =
Alberto Podesta, Raul Beron, Roberto Goyeneche, Nina Miranda.

Juan D'Arienzo played/was played before and after the simple gravesite memorial service three days later.

Virtually all of Alberto's students of the last semester and from prior courses he taught at two colleges, as well as the deans and department =
heads, paid tribute to him in calls, letters, and through their presence at his Memorial Service. One professor had organized a two hour span of =
time for all the current students to visit the hospital to tell Alberto how much they missed him, how highly they regarded him. The gathering =
was scheduled for a Saturday afternoon so as not to conflict with their classes. Dozens drove into Los Angeles from as far as San Francisco and =
San Diego-not knowing that he had left us that very morning. They arrived after the hospital's mandatory declaration by a physician that =
the deceased is deceased, after the four hour wait before the deceased either is taken to the hospital morgue or directly to the funeral home.

In the very last minutes, at about 8 AM Saturday, Alberto opened his eyes and looked up, way up. Just the bottom of his black =
eyes showed, beneath which was a wide span of white. And then his eyes came down; they seemed to focus on me. Just before he drew his last =
breath, a tear slid from the corner of his right eye.

I am haunted by his words, "Thank you for saving my life." And by that tear.

Did I fail him? Did he experience fear, after all? Did a final truth, an absolute truth, reveal itself to him? Did he regret =
learning this truth-or not knowing it sooner? Was he in physical pain? Was he with regret about leaving life? Had he come to believe that =
beyond that last breath was nothingness? Or did he understand what was to come next?

At the time that David and I selected Alberto's casket-it was not easy to find a simple one, as Alberto had requested-we also =
looked at the different burial areas of the Hillside Memorial Park. Within a split second, we rejected the idea of burial above ground, in =
the filing cabinet-like constructions. As commercial (and costly!) as dying in the U.S. is, at least we had found a cemetery where there was =
virtually no distinction between the haves and have-nots, the famous and the unknown. The promised equalizing experience of death was more or =
less evidenced-all of the head stones were the same size, none rose above the ground-in this business establishment of forty years. The =
challenge was to find Alberto a tree. The sun shone upon us that day. Literally and figuratively. We found a tree, a sapling, in the most =
remote area, by a wall beyond which was a road but beyond that a dedicated park. Alberto lies under the infant branches of the little =
tree. I paid in advance for another plot. I will lie beside him for eternity.

My dearest Alberto, my very best friend in this world, will live forever-in my heart.




Loreen Arbus



12.30.02