Agripino Alvarez Rocha died on March 29 at Sharp Grossmont Hospital in La Mesa, Calif. He was 73. The cause of death was cardiopulmonary arrest brought on by pneumonia, said his son, Michael James Rocha, who moved him to San Diego County in the summer of 2015 to care for him after a fall in October 2014 resulted in a hip fracture. Mr. Rocha, who was known to friends and family as Way, recently underwent full hip replacement surgery and was recovering at Cottonwood Canyon Healthcare Center in El Cajon when he fell ill with pneumonia. A native of the Philippines, Mr. Rocha was born on July 26, 1942, to parents Jose P. Rocha, an American government professor and physical education teacher at Far Eastern University, and Manuela "Nela" Alvarez Rocha, a film actress-turned-homemaker. He graduated from Far Eastern University and dabbled in acting before starting a long career in advertising. It was in that line of work where he met his future wife, Aida Sales, a former model. On Nov. 8, 1969, they got married at Ermita Church in Manila. Just a few weeks shy of their first-year anniversary, on Oct. 19, 1970, they welcomed their first born, a son they named Michael James. They had two more children: Way Gerard, born on March 21, 1975; and Barbra, born May 23, 1977. Mr. Rocha had a child from a previous relationship, Rhoneil Paul, who served as the ring bearer at their nuptials. Mr. Rocha's wife, Aida, passed away from cancer on May 22, 2005. As a young child, Mr. Rocha showed interest in acting, following in the footsteps of his mother, Nela, a pre-World War II actress who was under contract with LVN Pictures. He was featured in several commercials, including one for Colgate. In his 30s, he established a career in advertising, eventually becoming vice president of Adformatix, one of the largest advertising agencies in the Philippines with a client list that included KLM Airlines, Phillip Morris and Carnation. With a deep voice, he also did voiceover work for commercials and radio. In 1984, he sold his stake in Adformatix and moved to the United States, eventually bringing his family to the States to join him. They settled in Albuquerque, N.M., to join his sisters before moving to Los Angeles, where he worked for a medical equipment company. He lived in Los Angeles County for more than two decades, most of that time spent in Alhambra and Azusa, where he and his wife raised their family. At a memorial service at Mission Hills United Methodist Church on April 1, Maureen Fernandez Miranda, a niece, recalled his passions: food, cars and slot machines. "He loved food," she said, "and many of our interactions with him revolved around food. He made it a point to visit us in Northern California during the holidays. Family was important to him." Edward Fernandez, a nephew, said he was the patriarch of the Rocha family and his presence will be missed. "We knew how important family was to him," Fernandez said, "and we'll do our best to pick up where he left off." Mr. Rocha was preceded in death by his wife, Aida; mother, Nela; and father, Jose. He's survived by sons Rhoneil of Atsugi, Japan; Michael of San Diego; Way of Glendora; daughter Barbra of Azusa; sisters Zandra, Rebecca and Josie of the San Francisco Bay Area; grandson Joshua of Littleton, Colo.; granddaughter Giuliana of Chicago; sons-in-law Markland Gray of San Diego and Tony Phavorachith of Azusa; and many nieces and nephews. Fr. Dermot Rodgers of Saint Peter of Rome celebrated holy Mass in his honor on April 1 at Mission Hills United Methodist Church in San Diego. A graveside service will be held Saturday, April 23, at 11 a.m. at Queen of Heaven Catholic Cemetery, where he will be buried alongside his wife, Aida. Following is the text of the eulogy delivered by his son, Michael James Rocha, on April 1 at Mission Hills United Methodist Church in San Diego: Thank you for your presence here today. I know I speak for my brothers Ron and Way and sister Barbra when I say that it brings tremendous comfort to our hearts and souls to see all of you. I never really knew who my father truly was until last year. After mom died in 2005, I had to discover a new way to relate with him. He was more an authority figure, and as such, there was an emotional distance that I never quite figured out. Through the years, I knew that distance was a gap I had to close. An emotional gap that inch by inch, day by day, closed as I got to know him on an entirely new level. Moving him to San Diego last year was a spiritual and emotional leap of faith. I had my doubts about whether we were doing the right thing. Uprooting him from his world was going to be a shock for him and for us. And for me, caring for him was, physically, going to be one of the most difficult things I've ever had to do. Caring for him tested my patience. Where I thought I had a bounty of patience, on some days, I wondered why I had so little. It tested my ability for compassion. Where I thought I had a bounty of compassion, by the end of many long days, I feared I had none. It tested my faith. Where I thought I had a bounty of faith, on many sleepless nights, I wavered and doubted if I had any at all. But somewhere along the way between Aug. 22 and March 29, he taught me some lessons. Listening to him ask again and again whether it was dialysis day, what day it was, whether his transportation was on the way — when I put myself in his shoes, he taught me patience. When I heard him complaining about pain or suffering from confusion on bad days, if I put myself in his shoes, I discovered I had compassion to spare. Whenever I thought I was at the end of my rope — too tired and too angry — I'd ask for a sign. In the dead of night, I'd often hear him fumbling around for his prayer book and his rosary. His faith never wavered, and through that, he taught me how to trust again. And finally he taught me to not be afraid of saying three words I've always had a hard time saying aloud. He ended many conversations with them. Often during rushed phone calls, before I hung up, he'd quickly say them — words that for most of my life rarely escaped my lips. On Tuesday, at 4:48 a.m., as he left this physical realm for the heavenly realm, I know that if he could utter these three words, he would have. Dad, "I love you."