Hi, my name is Kimberly; I'm Danny's little sister. I made this gofundme in hopes of getting help with the funding of Kuya Danny's funeral/wake. As many of you know, funeral and viewing services are absurdly expensive. It is truly a shame that in death, money is still an issue. This is an extremely difficult time for my family and I, and on top of the passing of our beloved Danny we must also focus on the complications of finances. Any amount of donation would be greatly appreciated, and it will help lessen the load. Any funds donated here will go directly towards the funeral/viewing expenses.

Thank you, and God bless.

[ His Story ]

February 22, 2021.

This was the day that it all began for us.

When my other brother, Jeffrey, came home from work he found Danny on the ground unable to stand up/hold himself up and he could barely speak. We brought him to the hospital ourselves and after half an hour of his admittance into the hospital we were informed he was suffering from hydrocephalus.

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February 27, 2021

We were informed by the neurosurgeon that he had a cavernoma, the size of a golf ball on his brain stem.

We all were shocked to hear this news. The family and I didn’t know about his condition until this very moment; from then I began piecing together the hints he had left me. Hindsight is 20/20.

The doctor gave us two options.

He could operate and he could possibly survive, or we could leave it in and he would pass in a few days. We asked him while he was still unstable, and he chose the route of the operation. To this day I am still unsure if he truly wished to have the operation, or if he was pressured into it because of our presence and sadness.

After the operation he was asleep for a while. It seemed like forever, and maybe it was because it was.

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April 03, 2021.

This way the day he finally woke up. I came in to visit him in the ICU. I was telling him about my day and what was new, as I usually did. Then I saw him move. I asked him if he was there, if he could hear me and he nodded. I teared up, but I couldn’t cry-- Not in front of him. I was filled with overwhelming joy. I let him know that I loved him, but that I had to go to let dad come in and visit him. I said, “I love you kuya Danny, okay? I love you.” He couldn’t speak, but the look in his eyes and the soft squeeze he gave my hand was enough. I knew he was telling his little sister that he loved her too.

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The days, weeks, and months after were hazy, but what we knew for certain was that he endured so much-- Yet he continued to fight for us. It was always like him to put others before himself. The facility neglected him, but he couldn’t speak up for himself to get the care he needed and deserved. We fought on his behalf time and time again, and although things slowly began to change, it could never fix the damage that was already done.

He was on life support: a ventilator, a PEG tube, undergoing hemodialysis 3x a week, and so much more.

The doctors, nurses, and other workers at the facility said the same thing over and over to us each time: “he’s not there anymore”, “he’s gone”, “he can’t hear you”, “that’s just a reflex”, “you’re just prolonging a life that’s not there”, the list goes on and on.

But we knew that everything they said was far from the truth. When we asked him questions and had him squeeze our hand or blink, once for yes and twice for no, he would do it just as instructed. When we asked him to follow us with his eyes, he’d do it. We knew he was in there. We knew how much he loved us. We knew how much he tried to fight. We knew how badly he tried to get better.

It breaks my heart that the healthcare workers gave up on him, even when he was trying his hardest to get better.

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September 04, 2022.

Come Sunday, the day was like every other day before. My boyfriend and I attended mass, and during the homily of the priest he spoke of death. In my mind I thought of him considering the situation. We knew his time was coming. I thought I was prepared for it, however, this was far from the truth. Two hours later dad got a call from the hospital; they let him know of his passing and he let my mom and I know. I had to be the bearer of bad news for everyone else. I didn’t cry at first, perhaps it was because the truth hadn’t yet settled in my mind.

On the ride to the hospital to see him, and to say one of our last goodbyes, I finally broke down. Kuya Jeffrey held me and tried to make sure I was okay. I didn’t want to believe it, I didn’t want to go and see that it was real. But when we were there, it was. I was scared, I was devastated, I couldn’t stop crying. I told him how much I loved him, how I wish he would have just come back and that we could have been playing video games together, and so much more.

Seeing him laying there, it was like the truth was set in stone.

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September 07, 2022.

It’s hard to lose someone, especially because life doesn’t stop moving. Today we will be speaking with the mortuary to discuss the arrangements for his wake and burial, but my heart continues to ache and my mind is running haywire. I have always wondered why death had to be so expensive, but I never thought I’d be on this end so soon.

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{Personal Message to my Kuya}

~ Written September 04, 2022 ~

I haven’t heard your voice in over a year. I almost forgot what you sounded like. I remembered you had a youtube channel, and I listened to you speak. You were sharing a recipe that you created. And although it wasn’t a conversation directed towards me, just hearing your voice was enough to make me smile (and cry).

It hurts to know that I’ll never be able to hug you again. I’ll never be able to hear you say you love me and you’ll always be my big brother. I’ll never be able to play video games with you again. I’ll never be able to go to Disneyland with you again, the list goes on and on.

Seeing you today was bittersweet. I knew you weren’t going to suffer anymore, but I also knew that was one of the last times I’d ever see you again.

I never imagined I’d lose my kuya so early on. I always imagined you cheering me on as I graduated from my nursing program, I imagined you’d be there for all my birthdays, I imagined you’d be there at my wedding, and so much more.

I know you’ll be watching from Heaven. I know this thought is supposed to comfort me, and it does, but not completely. I wish you were physically here for all the milestones of my life.

I love you kuya Danny, I always will. Thank you for being my big brother.