elizabethlevett

On a hot afternoon in Novato, we stand by your gravesite. Unbelieving. Are you really gone? Will you really never be out there on Hayes Street loading burlap sacks of coffee beans into the café again? Do we really have to let you go? Standing near a simple pine box with our offerings of white roses to place on your casket, adorning your passage, and with your brothers, Muhammed and Abdi standing by, so dignified, as they say goodbye, we feel the reality of this farewell.

Back in ’95, when you opened Central Coffee Tea & Spice, David and I were regulars. We’d come over every morning for two large French Roast coffees – “Skip the lids, we won’t spill a drop.” You called us King David and Queen Elizabeth, which always endeared you to me. Sometimes you’d arrive late and flustered, with huge boxes of baked treats. I’d tell you to go ahead and start the coffee – I’d move the chairs and set up the tables. You worked so hard, but were never strident; instead, there was always that signature warmth, the lightness of heart that made everyone in the neighborhood want to come back again and again to start the morning off with you.

Standing around crying in the sun, many of us are strangers to each other – after all, Central Coffee has been on that corner of Hayes and Central for nearly thirty years. But so many told stories of what you created in this tiny spot near the Panhandle. Young people who met in your café fell in love and started families. Children were trusted to cross the street and visit you on their own for some hot chocolate. Parents knew that kids would be safe with you, that you would look after them, would listen to them, would always make time for fun. That trust, that warmth, these things you gave without question. This is what so many of us came to count on, came to love in you.

Available. That’s what you were. And in your boundless generosity there was also a touch of  innocence. You genuinely wanted those you’d gathered around yourself to feel joy, to feel contentment. It was as if you couldn’t imagine any other way of living, couldn’t imagine a life that wasn’t one of service. You took in strays – welcoming new friends as family. At times your young employees may have had troubles. Without any of us knowing, you stepped in – sometimes even going as far as to cover rent if that’s what was needed. You were always ready to give, ready to help out in any way you could.

There was an urgency in your kindness even then, almost as if you were aware that your time in this place, your capacity to nourish and look after others was limited. Maybe this, more than anything, is the legacy of your beautiful and generous life. As we hold our white roses before releasing them to you, we wonder if maybe you left us more than memories of what a good-hearted person you were. You left us a message. Each one of us has only so many early mornings to wake up and be kind. We literally don’t have time to waste in living any other way.

Alireza Gharavi — November 1961 – September 2024