I held him for the last time and said, “Dax, I love you. I will miss you.” Those were the only words I could utter after his last breath. Even my tears could not give justice to the sadness I felt at that moment.

He was six months older than me, and that small gap gave us a natural closeness. We practically grew up together.

How close?

When we were kids, we joined art and computer classes together. We played the whole day during family reunions. We played Family Computer in Greenhills for entire afternoons. We played whenever we were at our family’s office there.

But our relationship went beyond simply doing things together. We became confidants. We shared things with each other that we didn’t necessarily share with others. And that is one of the things I will miss most about him.

Love was one of the topics we would often talk about. But, of course, I want to honor him by not spilling the beans.

Some of those conversations happened under the falling stars of Puerto Azul. Others happened over a bottle of beer, quiet moments when we shared stories, dreams, and things that were meant to stay between us.

The last time we had a long conversation was on a cruise in 2023. We talked well into the night until the crew eventually had to send us back to our room at 2 a.m.

That was Dax.

He could be poetic, playful, and even philosophical, but there was always something deeper underneath. He had a mind that was constantly imagining possibilities.

One time, on the way to Quirino, we talked for many hours about his many what ifs, how to make the lives of constituents better, what farming machines could be invented, and all sorts of possibilities.

But before he became that person, there was the Dax I knew as a kid—the pilyo one.

Kapag natutulog ako sa bahay nila, kapag dumarating si Tito Junie, sasabihin sa akin ni Dax:

“Wag kang maingay. Papagalitan ka ni dad. Papaluin ka niya.”

Ako naman, takot na takot.

Kaya nung gabi na dinala kami ni Tito Junie sa Pizza Hut sa Greenhills, hindi ako nagsalita buong gabi sa restaurant. Hindi rin ako kumain ng pizza sa takot.

Tapos si Dax, mahilig mangiliti.
Wala siyang ginawa kundi kilitiin ako nang kilitiin.

At kapag picture-taking, pupunta siya sa harapan ko at haharangan ako.

One time, nag-bump car kami sa SM North EDSA. May batang lokoloko na panay ang bangga sa amin, pinag-initan kami ni Dax.

Afterward, nag-usap kami.

“Tara, bili tayo ng tokens. Balikan natin.” we bumped him till the end of the run.

Nung teenager na kami, hindi alam ng mga magulang namin, nagkakarera kami. Walang masama kung sa racetrack, pero ang problema, ginagawa namin sa loob ng subdivision nila, mula basketball court hanggang bahay nila.

The funny thing is, that pilyo side of Dax never really disappeared.

Dinala niya hanggang pagtanda.

Pag may party, Sasabihin niya kay Ingrid, my wife:

“Ingrid, hiniram mo ba kay Mickey Mouse ’yang suot mo?”

But Dax wasn’t just my playmate or my co-conspirator. He was also thoughtful.

I will never forget that, at the height of a law that he needed to pass, he took the time to visit me in the hospital and said he offered a decade of the Rosary for me.

His thoughtfulness was something he also showed his family.

We were in Baguio once, and we went to SM. He went into a store and started buying things for his family. I remember him asking my wife:

“Okay ba ito kay Joy? Kay Diwat? Kay Portia?”

And perhaps that is why what happened in the last few weeks was difficult for me to understand.

Common friends had been asking me about his condition. I had a hunch, but I did not ask him directly.

Not because I didn’t care.

But because I knew Dax.

If it was something he thought he could overcome, he probably wouldn’t bother telling me.

This Holy Week, he messaged me about our Cua genealogy and that Rizal was a Cua. I told him that the repository of records was just a few minutes away from us. He said he wanted us to go and do some research after the holiday.

I had a feeling he wanted to tell me about his condition that bothered him.

Dax was like that. He wouldn’t always tell you things straight.

April 7 came, and I never received a confirmation.

I knew there was a problem, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask him directly either.

So I just texted him:

“Dax, sige, next time na lang. I’m sure busy, maraming gawa.”

“Yes, next time,” he said.

Kaya nung nalaman ko ang tungkol sa kanya, I told my wife that I wanted to visit him, even though I wasn’t supposed to know.

Sabi niya:

“Maiintindihan ni Dax ’yun. Kaya puntahan mo na.”

So we went, but I had to muster enough courage to open the hospital door for fear of what he and I would feel when we see each other.

I was sad when I saw him but I didn’t want him to feel my sadness so I kept a straight face. He raised his hand slowly and that was enough for me to have hope that he will get well.

Moments after I handed Dax the first-class relic of Padre Pio.

He held it tightly and sought his intercession.

Then I pulled a prayer card, and started reading the first line. My voice cracked, my tears about to fall. I stopped and took a deep breath before reading again.

That moment will stay with me.

And now, when I look back at everything we shared, the games, the jokes, the adventures, the conversations, the secrets, even the mischief, I realize that these were not just memories of growing up.

They were the ordinary ways God gave me a brother.

I will miss the cousin who was almost my twin in age.

My playmate.

My co-conspirator.

My confidant.

And, in many ways, my brother.

Dax, I love you, and I will miss you because I will no longer see you.