In a society that has us counting money, calories, this is what our son, Aurelius, a rebel, believed: “If you have more than you need, it’s better to build a longer table, not a higher fence.”
As his parents, we’re grateful to God for the gift of him. Many stand a little taller, walk a little lighter, dream a little bigger, all because our Auro said they could.
Life threw many curveballs at him, yet his positivity and determination remained steadfast. Despite being an athlete and footballer all his life, he needed an angioplasty at the age of 25, and later underwent spinal surgery that left him with a metal plate and six screws in his back at the age of 30.
Our son almost always turned a deaf ear to our instructions. He dabbled in everything, whether out of curiosity or rebellion, who’s to say? The petty arguments we had as a family never lasted long, because Auro would simply toss those little hiccups in our relationships into the bin where they belonged.
When I was struck with the life-threatening G.B. Syndrome, Aurelius was two years old. He grew up almost overnight, learning to take care of himself and assisting me. I don’t think I ever thanked him for that.
Aurelius was a perfectionist. Whether a work-related project or cleaning the home, he found satisfaction in paying attention to every small detail. A self-taught computer geek, with an uncanny ease with numbers and a solid engineering background, he made his own blueprints while designing homes for people as a self-employed civil contractor.
An insomniac, Auro could make do with 20–30-minute power naps, waking up refreshed. If awakened before time, he’d jump up startled, eyes wide open, totally lost, only to regain his composure a second later. He laughed wholeheartedly while watching funny videos, movies, and memes, and did a lot of reading on Kindle. As a result, he was well-read and had a pulse on most issues, especially current affairs, probably why he loved giving unsolicited advice. From childhood, his flair for drama and flamboyance meant that a true story was often embellished with tall tales.
Auro lived life KING SIZE. We nicknamed him “Brand Master.” From his cap to his slippers, it was Levis, Nike, Jockey, BOSS, and the like, not for him budget-friendly, bargain items. Amazon parcels made their way in and out multiple times a day. The regular delivery guys, who became good friends, were left shell-shocked at his death.
His broad shoulders were always available to anyone in need. He added much-needed laughter and light to the lives of senior citizens, with whom he developed a rapport by respecting and listening to them. Standing at 5’11” and weighing around 80 kg, this big softie was adept at handling children, no matter how small. With him, the fussiest of them would finish their meals almost to the last morsel; the fidgetiest would sit quietly practicing their parts for community or church programs; the naughtiest would behave like perfect angels during the Community Rosary or Stations of the Cross animated by the Children and Youth groups. They loved working with him on the colony star and other Christmas decorations.
On such occasions, to others it might have sounded like a cacophony, but I believe God heard a symphony. Auro was like human medicine, his many faults and failings notwithstanding. An hour with him and everything felt better!
Aurelius would walk uncountable miles for family and friends, even playing the role of a 4:00 a.m. friend to perfection, but he never let on to anyone the pain and anguish he was most definitely experiencing. In retrospect, I think he simply loved us too much and didn’t want to burden us.
As I cradled the motionless body of my son, who had collapsed on my lap within a span of two seconds from a massive heart attack at home, different versions of him flashed through my mind, the wriggling thin baby, the filled-out curious toddler, the overachieving young student at St. Michael’s Primary School, Mahim; the avant-garde student at St. Stanislaus High School, Bandra; the perpetually hungry collegian; the hardworking, sensitive employer; the pub-hopping young man… and in an instant, every expectation for our family and our future was gone.
The days since March 27, 2023, have been hard. Grief is a clingy guest. Crying ceaselessly, relearning how to survive each day, quietly gazing at his photographs, cooking his favorite dish, laughing faintly while watching reruns of his favorite movies… It’s like living with a scream inside you, waiting to rush out.
Whatever be the reason the Man Above chose to bless my family with this heavy loss, I am edified by the truth that a child’s soul never dies; it lives on in the hearts left behind.
Aurelius,
You were our first everything, cries, baby steps, learning curve for parental instincts.
You taught us patience, helped us discover strengths we never thought we possessed.
Mistakes we made aplenty, but your broad smile and total trust made everything all right.
You didn’t just make us parents, you made us us.
Thank you for being our beginning.
