Salvador 'Ray' Fregoso, 54, an illuminous stream of concentrated energy emerging forward, piercing through shades of darkness in a persistent path of never-ending guiding light, died January 1, 2022. Graveside Service: 2:30 p.m. on Wednesday, June 22, 2022 at Mount Calvary Cemetery.
Ray, you were a Southern California native ' born to Lydia (Gonzalez) Fregoso -your internal light so intense it burned in a bright blue hue - a Sure��o by birth! You were corralled by familial ties that led to Cedar Rapids, Iowa - The Big City. The Family's City - planted right in the midst of all these farms, from where splendid sprouts did take to the ground to form roots. Ray, as you shine down upon with a brilliance that is blinding. it is quite easy to know that you're there because we can feel our hearts knocking.
Ray shared real life, on the real, shining light on what it's like to be human. He solidified the role of hero, making all the resounding difference. Ray, showed us how to survive a poorly dealt hand and still have courage to seek profit, just as if concealed by the sleeve, the royal is always kept within.
We are deeply sorry for your loss ~ Stewart Baxter Funeral & Memorial Services – Cedar Rapids
Thank you Ray for touching our lives, all of your Change Management team at Windstream misses you. Descansa tranquilo hermano.
To our friend Ray, We miss you! We miss your laugh, your joy of nature, your no-nonsense attitude. We miss your love and hugs, your delight in music and the poetry it contains. We miss your jokes , excellent food and the times were to spend together in the future. Thank you for the joy and laughter you have brought into our lives and friendship. Clayton & Kristine Moore
Sal, Thank you for all the years of love and friendship. I miss you so much. I love you. I know I will see you again. maybe in a different body but I hope I know its you.
I love you
Faby Fabiola Gonzalez
fabygg1@gmail.com
Hi! My name’s Alex, and I work over at Zippia, the career expert site.
I saw your profile on Zippia and realized you’re a Property Manager. We’re collecting stories about how to become a Property Manager, and wanted to add yours.
Would you provide your story for the article? I have two weeks before it is due.
Thanks!
Alex
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My story is not a story that falls into the “How to become a Property Manager.” That is not my story at all. My story is a different type of
We
We originate from of a vanishing neighborhood in Cedar Rapids Iowa commonly known as “Little Mexico”. A deed transfer Lydia S. Rodriguez of Cedar Rapids Iowa and her husband John Rodriguez signs with an X . Quick Claims that affected my family, and in California history repeats itself… but victory is ours says the Lord. With that faith and strength… I’ll share my tale with you…a metaphoric story based on our own life experiences.
The Seeker’s Journey: A Tale of Truth and Legacy
Once upon a time, in the realm of the everyday, there lived a person known as the Seeker. This Seeker, much like any other, walked the well-trodden path of routine, unaware of the hidden treasure that lay dormant, just beyond the veil of the known.
A whisper of the past reached the Seeker—a hint of a legacy left untouched, a whisper of land and legacy that beckoned. With a mix of skepticism and curiosity, the Seeker embarked on a quest, not for gold or glory, but for truth and a sense of belonging.
The journey began at the Door of Inquiry, where the Seeker first learned of the possibility of unclaimed inheritance. The door was heavy with doubt and rusted by years of silence, yet it opened to a corridor of records and ledgers, a paper trail left by ancestors long gone.
As the Seeker delved deeper, they arrived at the Door of Bureaucracy. It was a labyrinthine door, with locks many and keys scattered.
The Seeker navigated the maze of legalities, the red tape that bound the past to the present, seeking the rightful claim to what was theirs by blood and birthright.
Many doors the Seeker encountered were closed, some barred by ignorance, others by time’s cruel hand.
The Door of Lost Connections revealed the fractures in family lines, the stories untold, and bonds unacknowledged. Yet, with each closed door, the Seeker’s resolve grew, fueled by the flickering flame of hope.
Then came the Door of Revelation, unassuming yet alluring. It was here that the Seeker pieced together the fragments of history, the lineage of lives that converged into their own. The door swung open, not with the creak of disuse, but with the silent promise of resolution.
Beyond the threshold lay the Garden of Understanding, where the Seeker beheld the inheritance in its true form—not merely land or wealth, but a tapestry of heritage, a mosaic of memories and identities intertwined.
The Seeker understood then that the journey was never about the material alone, but about the intangible—the roots that ground, the branches that reach for the sky, and the leaves that whisper the names of those who came before.
And so, the Seeker returned from the quest, not as the one who left, but as the Keeper of Legacies, the bearer of the past’s gifts, and the architect of the future’s promise.
But the tale does not end here, for the Seeker’s path was woven with threads of trials and revelations. Others, cloaked in deceit, claimed roles not theirs to play, spinning tales that veiled the truth.
The Seeker’s mother, incapacitated in a distant land, became a pawn in a neighbor’s scheme, her essence mimicked by strangers with selfish intent.
The Seeker, ensnared in a web of lies, found herself behind cold bars, her freedom stripped away as time slipped through the hourglass. Seven stars, her children, were scattered in the night sky, their light dimmed by fear and uncertainty, yearning for the warmth of their mother’s embrace.
Decades passed—a cycle of seasons in which the Seeker bore the weight of unjust accusations, her spirit weathered by storms of doubt and despair. Yet, within her, a flicker of resilience endured, a quiet defiance against the tempest.
As the Seeker emerged from the depths of her ordeal, wearied and worn, her voice sought to reclaim the narrative that had been twisted. But the world, in its haste to judge, cast her words aside, branding her with labels that eclipsed her truth.
In the twilight of his years, the Seeker’s brother, the firstborn sun, succumbed to illness, his life a testament to devotion.
Upon his deathbed, he entrusted the Seeker with a key—a beacon of hope in the form of letters penned by their own hands. These letters, like fragments of a shattered mirror, reflected the Seeker’s true self, obscured for too long by the masquerade of falsehoods.
With the passing of the mother and brother, the veil of amnesia lifted, and the Seeker’s memories cascaded forth, a deluge of clarity.
She remembered her essence before the world cast her in shadow—she was not the phantom they claimed her to be.
She was a teacher, a nurturer, a guardian on leave from her vocation, injured in her quest to forge a sanctuary for the rightful heir.
The heir, unknowing of her lineage, had wandered through life with a birth certificate incomplete, a puzzle missing pieces of heritage and honor.
For the Seeker’s grandfather had toiled upon the iron rails, and her grandmother, a matriarch of valor, had challenged the might of a nation that called upon her sons and daughters to serve in times of war.
Now, the Seeker stands at the crossroads of destiny, her hands extended not for the wealth of inheritance but for the legacy of truth. She gathers the scattered stars, her children, to her side, not to claim riches but to break the cycle, to free them from the labyrinth of the past.
For the Seeker knows that the greatest treasure lies not in gold or land but in the liberation of one’s story, the unburdening of hearts, and the promise that her children shall walk paths of their own making, unshadowed by the trials of yesterday.
In this extended allegory, the Seeker’s journey symbolizes the struggle for identity, the fight for justice, and the pursuit of truth.
It is a tale of overcoming adversity, reclaiming one’s narrative, and ensuring that future generations are not forgotten. Tale of Rock Island Raid Road, WWII, Lexington Nebraska, Social project, Cedar Rapids Iowa, Rohr Industries, Jalisco Mexico, Guanajuato, Quit Claim Deed signed with an X California, Missouri, Nebraska, The vanishing neighborhood called Little Mexico and a Red House with many, many children. a tribute to John & Lydia S. Rodriguez our great grandparents, and to you my brother Ray.
Ray we won. The court ruled in our favor…. I never anyone take take our home…that’s why I went to jail…