It is heartbreaking to have to announce the passing of everyone’s friend or brother, Tim Hernandez. Timothy Ozzie Hernandez was born on October 17, 1969 in Tepic, Nayarit, Mexico to Osvaldo, a pastor, and Maria Hernandez. Soon after, the couple moved to California to be close to family and for better medical care for their tiny son.

Tim was an only child for six years. He followed his mom around during this time, earning him the nickname, Pato. Then, when Tabitha was born, his true calling in life presented itself. First to her, then to Esther, Tim learned what it meant to be a brother. His job was clear: to look after the little girls he cherished so much.

Eventually, the family settled in what would become their home, Hacienda Heights, California. Tim grew to love music from a variety of places. He graduated from Wilson High in 1987, having spent a few years in the school’s marching band. Soon, he started working at a nearby drug store, unknowingly starting his career in retail sales. We can talk about his work at the drug store, the car dealerships, the appliance stores, or even Guitar Center (I think that was secretly his favorite job ever), or we can talk about the people he met and changed forever while he was employed there.

Because Tim was more than a place, a date, a diagnosis, or a job. He was someone who loved everyone he met regardless of status, from a man standing outside the dollar store to the state senator who had an office near his home. He wanted to help. He offered up whatever he had: time, a few bucks, a hug, some advice. Tim wasn’t just someone you knew, someone in your community, someone you worked with, someone you played music with. He was someone you loved, and he loved you back. He was not just your Uber passenger; he was your brother.

Or, he was someone you cared for . . . in a different way. Yes, Tim loved the ladies, and from the time he was old enough to know there was a difference between boys and girls, he’s had a soft spot in his heart for females. Relationships? He’s had a few. So, it may surprise some that he still wasn’t married in the spring of 2017, when he was 47 years old. Looking for “the one,” he tried match dot com one more time, having “lost all faith and nearly lost all hope.” He sent a couple of messages one night before turning into bed, only to be awakened early the next day by a familiar buzz.

“Good morning, Tim. I’m Hope,” was how the message started. His final love story had begun. Hope and Tim were forever linked at that point. And the best part was that now he was more than a partner or a brother; now he was a dad. Beth and Dana - you might know them as Punchy and Button - were his new daughters and he’d never known a love greater than this. Don’t wonder about their father, Doug, because Tim loved him too! Tim called him his “husband-in-law” (which makes no sense) and enjoyed holidays and birthdays with his newly-constructed family in West Covina, California. This family included Hope’s brother, Bryan, the girls’ cousin Veronica, Dana’s wife, Meriden, and furbabies past and present like Baxter (rip), Daisy, or Taco.

Diabetes? Ok. Chronic kidney disease? Yep. Retinopathy? Sure. He took all of his diagnoses in stride. Take some insulin, go to dialysis, get eye injections. Those were the EASY parts. In January of 2023, a routine CT scan showed nothing unusual. By February, he was back again at PIH Whittier Hospital, and there were four masses in his brain. The biopsy indicated lymphoma. In March, Tim was to meet the most difficult threat to date. Chemotherapy, the treatment for this diagnosis, was the toughest challenge he’d faced. His body was tired, though. Tim had fulfilled his life’s ambition, to spread love to each person he met. He took his last breaths peacefully with Hope by his side, holding his hand.

He was a young 53 years old, but he had loved so many in that short time. If you are reading this, you can certainly count yourself as one of the people he loved so much. And he taught you about love, as well. In his honor, please move forward through your life loving others in the same way he loved you. Give whatever you have because everyone is . . . your brother.

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