NOTE: you can leave your own remembrance in the comment box at the end of this post
by Ramsay Davila

My Mom had been battling cancer for a number of years now. Her journey with cancer can only be described as utterly graceful. Somehow, she escaped the pain and suffering that goes along with this horrible disease.
Most people aren’t aware that my mom had this amazing ability and strength to be there for people in their dying days. A number of people died in my house as a child, people who are sick and needed support. Other times she would fly across country to be with people who are alone, people who she hadn’t seen in years and years. I always thought my mom was doing this because she had some sort of fear of dying alone, and she was trying to use karma to head your bets. I was completely wrong. My mom is not afraid of death. She chose to discontinue cancer treatments, even though they could’ve extended her life. She had seen so many friends struggle with different cancer treatments and decided she wanted nothing to do with it. My mom is karma was to not die alone, but die without pain and suffering with the most grace I ever thought imaginable. She was with her kids at her passing.
My mom‘s name Luzita, translates to “little light”. That could not be more of an understatement. There was nothing little about the light my mom brought. She brought warmth and comfort to everyone around her. She was an amazing mother and wife to dad of 52 years. We lost a good egg. You’ll be missed, mom.
By Halimah Collingwood
For nearly 60 years, Luzita Davila and I were the best of friends. We met in the music scene of the Bay Area in the mid-1960s. She was this happy, smiling, friendly genuine spark of Life that was at every music concert, party or gathering where she would light up the room. My boyfriend at the time and I moved in with her in a tiny funky one-bedroom house in Larkspur, a small town in Marin County. She always had her friends from Santa Cruz visiting and going to, you guessed it, parties. When it was just the two of us living in the house, we were like sisters of the Spirit, ready to be on the go…somewhere.
I had already joined Subud when we met and when a job took her to New York City, I knew she was going to need something to keep her sane. I gave her the phone number of a helper I knew there and soon she was an applicant. I’ll never forget the first time I saw her after she was opened. She came to visit me on my houseboat in Sausalito. I went to the door at her knock, threw it open and there was this Light in front of me – her smile was so bright, her eyes twinkling and I fell in love with her all over again. My feelings were so deep, I knew that I would die for her to save her life.
We met up again in 1970 at Skymont just before Bapak’s visit. She was dating Ralph and they became a couple while there. I went to Indonesia after Bapak left and then the UK, but we continued to write (real letters) and keep abreast of the happenings of our lives.
I wasn’t able to attend her double wedding with the MacNeils at Skymont but I was there for their first child’s birth. My dear Godson, Hartwell, was born in their tiny cabin in September of 1971, surrounded by her Subud sisters and her Subud midwife. I distinctly remember Ann Holiday saying after two hours of pushing, “If you don’t have your baby now, I’m going to take you to the hospital.” He popped out shortly after that!!
In 1983 when my family moved from the UK to the US, we stayed with Ralph and Luzita for 10 days while we decided where to go to find our new home. My sons, three and five, who had lived their first years in a village of 100 people in Scotland without any nearby friends, were overjoyed to be living with four Davila children and with the many Gleeson kids next door. Our lives were bound together forever.
When Luzita was a National Helper, she traveled around the country, making close friends wherever she went. Everyone loved her. She was everyone’s best friend. I remember going to Subud meetings and gatherings and spending very little time with her because she had to catch up with this lady or have lunch with someone else. I once told her that I was jealous because she never made a point to be with me. She was surprised because we were so close that she thought we’d always be there together. Ever after that she was conscientious to spend time with me at each event.
Over the years, Luzita helped many women transition to their new life, giving her all to those people she loved and who deeply loved her. I once told her I wanted her to be my death doula when it was my time. Little did I know that it would be me who was one of her close friends at her side to say good-bye.
“We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when, but I know we’ll meet again some sunny day!”