Death—Again

I come from a very poor family, so it’s very easy for me to say that I built myself from the ground up. Not a lot of people would have anything to say against that, too. But to say that everything I have I built myself is wildly inaccurate. In reality, it really does take a village. Behind every successful man is a network of support, a safety net one can fall back on in times of need, or god forbid, crises.

My support network isn’t huge. But right at the center was my uncle, JCINSP Patrick C. Rubio (Ret.). We weren’t very close, but from our very few times together it was very evident that this was a man of God, both in spirit and in flesh. He’s God’s apology to the ones dealt with unfavorable destinies and humiliating fates.

For a child with no parents, I grew up pretty okay. And while a lot of work would be traced back to my aunt, it was my uncle Patrick who filled in the gaps. He was the closest to a father figure I’d ever had. He was smart, and although we didn’t really see each other eye to eye when it comes to matters of the faith1, he respected the level of intellect it took for me to go with the beliefs I once held. He recognized talent, he recognized skill, and most important of all, he craved company more than anything. He was a man of the people; had he been Catholic, he would’ve been canonized as the third Filipino saint, and this is by no means an exaggeration.

He used to bring me to the New Bilibid Prison where he used to work. I don’t know why he kept bringing me in there; I didn’t want to be in there. He tried teaching me how to play chess, which I eventually learned but never got quite good at. He brought me once to their home for a sleepover, gave me at least three different Bible translations, hoping to dissuade me from converting into Jehovah’s Witnesses. He sent me home with a copy of the New Testament. None of those worked, but I sincerely valued having a good example of what an actually good man looks like.

Uncle Patrick kept saving me and my family in our times of crises. Being from a dysfunctional and financially inadequate family, we needed all the help we could get. He gave all the help he could give. When I think about it, Uncle Patrick was the big reason I got to continue my studies, let alone finish it. I used to joke that I am a recipient of the Patrick Rubio Scholarship Grant, because I was. There really isn’t much to say about it other than, yes, he gave me money when I needed it. But I don’t think it could ever be overstated that, yes, he gave me money when I needed it.

In my struggles as a young adult in my 20s, as a queer cisgender male who grew up with no parents, I continue to see Uncle Patrick as one of the best examples of what kind of man God intended men to be. In my struggles to figure out the femininity and masculinity of my identity, my uncle remains one of the foundations upon which I base my personality. His life has become an encyclopedia of sorts, to which I frequently come back to look for references. And I think it will remain this way for a long time.

His death came as a shock to us all. Although he has retired from his profession, it is not inaccurate to say that his death is untimely. His passing is a great loss to all of us. My sympathies go to his family.