AvenJESS ENDGame, In Memoriam✍️

On Thursday, May 16th, at 11 a.m., I went up to the second floor of my sister's house to check on my sick brother. My sister mentioned that my Kuya Jess was asleep, so I tiptoed upstairs. Opening the bedroom door ajar, I saw him lying in a fetal position, his body on the bed and his arms resting toward the floor. His eyes were closed, and his mouth was half-open. I peered through the crack for another second, waiting for a sign of movement, but fear gripped me when I realized his chest wasn’t rising and falling. I rushed to his side and tapped his face, but he was no longer breathing. In deep sadness, the reality was confirmed: at 55, my beloved brother had passed away.

On the way to the Antipolo Medical Hospital, we sat in the car with Kuya Jess' head resting on my lap. I kept patting his face and pressing his arms, hoping against hope for a miracle, even just a slight twitch of his finger. But the lifeless reality in front of me could not be denied. I had to accept it. It was agonizing to grieve over his body up close; just the day before, he was alive, talking, and smiling with us. It felt impossible to grasp that he had suddenly transitioned into the spiritual realm.

The Battle in the Mind.

My brother's death made me realize that the battle of the mind is often more than our humanity can bear. At the hospital, the attending doctor asked me, "Ano ang sakit ng deceased at ilang araw na siyang hindi kumakain?" As we explained his history of illnesses, the doctor clarified, "Malinis po ang pasyente, wala pong kinalaman ang mga history of illnesses niya sa ikinamatay niya." According to their assessment, Kuya Jess died of severe malnutrition. "Malnourished po ang pasyente, at wala nang sustansya sa brain niya. His death is most likely associated with depression.

Eight years ago, Kuya was diagnosed with polycythemia vera and an enlarged heart. I watched him go in and out of the emergency room and ICU.  At times, his body was intensely swollen (sobrang maga) and yellowish. Other times, he battled severe chest pains and shortness of breath. 

He underwent temporary dialysis and narrowly avoided a nasogastric tube insertion, a moment we praised God for sparing him from. During those dark days, we feared he wouldn't survive. Yet, he possessed an incredible fighting spirit and remained deeply optimistic about his healing. By God's grace, he pulled through. It wasn't until this past April, when he noticed blood in his stool three times, that a dark cloud settled over his mind. Without any thorough laboratory tests to confirm it, he concluded in his own self-judgment that he had cancer. This negative mindset began to control him, ultimately breaking his will to persevere. He refused to eat and couldn't sleep. The phantom fear of this assumed disease seeped deeply into his mind. But come to think of it, my brother had no fluctuating on and off fever, a common symptom of cancer. His body temperature was normal, and he had no pain, cough, or flu when he died. There was no trace of pneumonia. It was paranoia, leading to severe depression, that rapidly deteriorated his health and destroyed his enthusiasm for life. 

The Power of Presence.

Consequently, those who are sick need more than just medical treatment, they require focused attention, affection, and words of encouragement. I carry a deep sadness to learn that during the onset of April, the most crucial time of his mental battle, Kuya Jess didn't have someone to thoughtfully nurture and uplift his downcast spirit. While his 83-year-old mother-in-law ("Mommy") was home with him, she required physical care herself being an aged woman. This left Kuya feeling profoundly alone, forced to endure a solitary war in his mind. 

This tragedy has taught me an invaluable lesson: while we are healthy and alive, we must invest heavily in people. Let us value our families. There is so much more to life than working and acquiring wealth. Life is fleeting, and before we know it, our time is up. We must use our days sensibly by nurturing our relationships. People need people; we need each other for survival and support. We need someone especially loved ones who can gently lead us back to the light of the Divine when the darkest moments strike.

I find myself wishing I had shown Kuya Jess more love in simple, tangible ways like granting his requests for feet, back, and forehead massages whenever we visited his house. A day before he passed, we were in the car together. With his head on the car's headrest and his eyes closed, he struggled through his weakness to give me a side-view thumbs-up sign as I sang one of his favorite songs, Boulevard by Dan Byrd.  

A Brother’s Sacrifice and Love.

Hay, I miss my Kuya. It was because of his sacrifices that I had the privilege of studying at St. Mary's Academy in Sta. Ana, Manila, an exclusive private school for girls with a dedicated school service from elementary through high school. Not once did he complain about the expensive tuition, even though he earned a modest income at the time as an Ordinary Seaman (O/S). Truly, a person's goodness is measured by the decency of their heart, not the size of their bank account.  Salamat po, Kuya Jess, sa pagpapaaral mo sa akin. I still fondly recall my kindergarten days at Holy Trinity School in Pasong Tirad, Makati, when he would diligently drop me off and fetch me on his bicycle. Salamat po sa iyo, Kuya Jess.

An Old Soul’s Musical Legacy.

At 41 years old, people are often surprised that I love music from the 1930s, 1950s, and earlier—artists like Ray Charles, Perry Como, Engelbert Humperdinck, Tom Jones, and Neil Sedaka. I am proudly tagged as an "old soul," a beautiful piece of Kuya Jess' lasting influence on me. When he was single, he would play cassette tapes on our karaoke every single morning. He also adored the music of legendary Filipino singers like Marco Sison, Rico Puno, Bing Rodrigo, and Basil Valdez. Kuya had a God-given talent for music; he taught himself to play both the guitar and the piano without a single formal lesson. Lacking the money to buy instruments as a young boy, he would constantly borrow guitars from acquaintances (yung mga tambay sa kanto.) Through sheer persistence and God's grace, he mastered them. He was also blessed with a beautiful singing voice. Galing ni Kuya Jess ko, praise God! But of course, the glory belongs to God alone, HE is the Giver of Talents.

Facing Eternity.

His memorial service at Loyola Chapel, covered by the memorial insurance he had purchased for the day of his passing, was truly beautiful. Yet, as I stood there, I realized that while we meticulously arrange funeral plans during our lifetime, our souls require far greater preparation for their eternal destination. Our earthly bodies are naturally perishable, but our spirits will live on in the place prepared for us in the afterlife. What is the value of eternity if we do not come to know Christ while we live? He alone is the way to eternal life, the only Way to Heaven and to God the Father (John 14:6), and He holds the keys of death and the grave (Revelation 1:18). It brings immense comfort to know that Kuya Jess accepted Jesus Christ as his Lord and Savior and was baptized as a Born-Again Christian in July 2017. He was already reading his Bible regularly before his life came to an end. Thank God!

Remembering Kurugkog.

By visiting funerals, you truly discover the legacy a person leaves behind. Hearing the testimonies of the guests at the wake revealed just how deeply Kuya Jess impacted everyone he met. I was profoundly moved by their memories of him, “Jess was the ultimate joker, always laughing heartily, hagalpak kung tumawa, hindi pa nagsasalita pero tumatawa na! He had a bubbly, infectious personality and was the undisputed life of the party. It is why those close to him affectionately gave him the humorous nickname "Kurugkog" (a term for a highly energetic, cheerful person). He was a friend to absolutely everyone, whether you were a tricycle driver, a streetsweeper, a tambay sa kanto, an engineer, a professional, young, or old. He was genuinely amiable and remarkably generous.

From High Seas to House Husband.

Due to medical issues eight years ago, Kuya Jess was forced to step away from seamanship. But losing his career didn’t diminish his worth. Instead, he courageously embraced a challenging new role as a homemaker, a "househusband," ika nga. He would wake up at 3 a.m. to prepare breakfast and pack lunches (baon) for his two school-aged children. He did the laundry and flawlessly ironed their school uniforms. Although severe allergic rhinitis prevented him from dusting the house, his dedication to managing the home never wavered and was highly admirable. For many men, transitioning into domestic duties does not come easily, but Kuya Jess accepted it gracefully. He made it a point to be a profound blessing rather than a burden to his wife and children.

BlindFolds Lifted.

Why is it that we often only fully recognize someone's goodness after they are gone? When a loved one dies, it is as if a veil or blindfold is immediately lifted from our eyes, na bigla nating nakikita nang maliwanag o klaro ang mga nagawang kabutihan ng ating lumisang mahal sa buhay. We appreciate the virtues we took for granted while they were still with us. When kuya Jess was alive, he was often judged primarily by his sharp words or rough way of speaking and his unemployment.  But when he died, his true love language became visibly clear: a life of silent service through household devotion. It is one of life's greatest paradoxes that we fail to appreciate our people when they are still around, only to intensely romanticize and miss them when they are gone. How ironic!

Echoing Emptiness.

During a wake, the steady stream of friends, relatives, and neighbors offering condolences provides a temporary cushion against the pain. Their presence gives momentary relief. But the true, suffocating weight of sorrow falls when the funeral ends, the interment is finished, and the crowds go home. It happens when you return to your regular daily routine, only to find that reality has permanently shifted, that things will no longer be the same. The departed leaves a massive, echoing void. Everything reminds you of them: the way they made you feel special, the shared laughter, the empty chair where they always sat, and the personal belongings they left behind. This is where grief peaks into an intense, tormenting pain where you can do nothing but sigh and weep. Whenever the longing for my brother becomes too heavy, I simply look at his photos and allow my tears to flow freely. That is the raw cycle of human existence: loving and losing, losing and grieving, grieving and mending.

The Wisdom in Funerals.

Attending funerals may be heavy, but it gifts us with vital wisdom. It awakens us to the brevity of our existence, reminding us to live each day purposefully because, sooner or later, our turn will inevitably come. If we live a life that is pleasing to God, we will face that final hour not with bitterness, fear, or regret, but with joyful anticipation of being united with our Creator. As it is written: "For to me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain." (Philippians 1:21).

Final Message to my beloved Brother.

To you, my Kuya Jess, I am eternally grateful that God wove your life into mine as my brother. May God grant you the boundless love and pure joy in heaven that slipped through your fingers during the final, painful chapter of your earthly journey. 

God bless your soul. I love you, Kuya. Until we meet again🫰

Glory to God, the source of all wisdom.