Vicente G. Orlina, Jr.

It is with deep sorrow that we announce the passing of our beloved Vicente G. Orlina, who passed away on December 30, 2024, at the age of 73. Born on October 6, 1951, in the Philippines, Vicente—known to many as "Nonoy" or "Vince"—was a loving father, husband, and friend whose presence will be greatly missed.

Vicente studied architecture in college in the Philippines before pursuing a career as an office administrator at Lockheed Martin after moving to the United States. He also followed his passion for cooking, making Lechon on weekends for the local Filipino community for the last 20 years. His dedication to his work and craft earned him the respect and admiration of family, friends, and the community.

Beyond his career, Vicente loved spending time with his wife and family, going fishing, attending yard sales and auctions, and was a big fan of boxing, basketball, and football.

Beloved husband of Sylvia; Loving father of Mary, John, and Paul; Son of the late Capt. Vicente Orlina Sr., and late Paulina G. Orlina. Also survived by his beloved grandchildren, Arianna, Tatem, Pierce, Gabriela, Thiya, and Savannah.

Rest in peace, Vicente. You will forever be in our hearts.

A visitation will be held on January 9th at De Vol Funeral Home, located at 10 East Deer Park Drive, Gaithersburg, MD 20877, from 2:00 PM to 4:00 PM.

The Mass service will be held on January 10th at St. Rose of Lima Parish, located at 11701 Clopper Rd, Gaithersburg, MD 20878, from 10:30 AM to 12:00 PM.

If you are unable to attend you may watch online via Streaming: https://www.youtube.com/@stroseoflimagaithersburgma2618Please wait to log on until 10:25 am EST. Otherwise, if we haven’t started the stream, you won’t find it unless you refresh the browser.

Following the Mass, Vicente will be laid to rest at All Souls Cemetery, located at 11401 Brink Rd, Germantown, MD 20876.

In lieu of flowers, people can donate to St. Jude Children’s Hospital

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My Dad, by John Patrick Orlina

I wish I could find the words to truly express what my dad meant to our family. He was everything to us—the best husband, father, and friend any of us could have asked for.

My mom, Sylvia, was the great love of his life. He loved her more than anything. She was the firecracker, and he was the quiet, calming presence in our home. Together, they created a beautiful life. They were completely in love for almost 50 years, living in their own little world, always laughing and joking with each other. Only my dad could make my mom laugh that way. I will always remember how often they would laugh hysterically with joy, and how beautiful it was to witness that. The energy they put out into the universe was pure and filled with love. For 35 years, he dropped her off and picked her up from work every single day, always giving her a kiss and saying, “I love you.” He would drive her everywhere because he didn’t want to spend a moment of the day without her, if he could help it. No relationship is perfect, but no matter what, they always chose each other. They were the epitome of true devotion and unconditional love.

In his final years, when my dad was seriously ill, my mom never left his side. She stayed with him in the hospital every time he was admitted, ensuring everything was taken care of. In his last days, he told us he didn’t want to be in the hospital anymore—he wanted to be with my mom at home. He joked that he had his own personal nurse. What he really meant was that he had his own personal angel. They were each other’s angels—always taking care of and loving each other unconditionally. As you can see, I’m already struggling to describe their love. Thank you, Mom and Dad, for showing us what true love and marriage should be.

As a father, he gave me and my siblings the best childhood anyone could ask for. When we were young, he always took us fishing, to the park, to visit friends and relatives, and on countless other outings. He gave us everything we asked for—whether it was toys, sports equipment, bikes, rollerblades, or every video game console. He even had a custom-made, detachable basketball hoop installed in our driveway. One of my many favorite memories is going to yard sales with him every Saturday. At the time, I dreaded going and wondered why my dad wanted to buy other people’s things that he hardly ever used. But looking back, I realize that my dad valued those things because each one had a story. My mom always gave him grief for it. How I wish I could go to yard sales with my dad again.

He always had the best advice. He would tell me to slow down, especially when I was rushing through everything. “Patrick, if you do something, do it right,” he’d say. He knew how to discipline us in his own way. He never hit us but would tell us that he was disappointed and that we needed to do better. That was more impactful than anything else, even for a mischievous kid like me. He was the kind of man I never wanted to let down. I just wanted to make him proud.

All of this carried over as a grandfather as well. I hope that his grandkids are able to remember him. When he was healthy, he was always playing with them. And when he was sick, he was always watching them, as if he were living vicariously through their youth. He just loved when the grandkids were around. Not too long ago, he told me the house was quiet without Yanna, Thiya, and Tatem running around upstairs, and that he missed them. He loved the grandkids so much. He would even pick up Gaby from school and drive my mom to see Pierce and Savannah when he was sick. I, Rox, and Paul will always tell them stories of their grandfather.

As a person, he was so brave and strong-willed. Even though he never showed it, he was the toughest man ever—mentally, physically, and spiritually. He was our superhero. When my dad was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s lymphoma, our family was devastated. He said to us, “Why are you crying? I’m going to be fine.” He said the same thing when he was diagnosed with skin cancer, when he was recovering after being intubated for almost two months due to pneumonia, when he had his entire colon removed, when he had surgery on his kidneys and needed dialysis three times a week, when he had a heart attack, and in the end, when he could no longer walk on his own—he kept saying, “I’m fine.”

And he loved everyone. He was the kindest man you could imagine. He never judged anyone or spoke ill of anyone. He was accepting and always found the best in people. He was so giving and kind. Despite the rising costs of making his famous Lechon, he hardly ever raised the price. He always asked how everyone was doing. All of our family, friends, and acquaintances—those who had moved along with the ebb and flow of life—he remembered them all and always

wanted to know what they were up to and how they were doing. He was the kind of man who would give of himself first. The old saying goes, “You can’t pour from an empty glass.” I’d like to imagine that my dad’s glass was filled to the brim with love and happiness. He was always just so happy and seemed so above every day's troubles.

And let me tell you about his cooking—he was by far the best cook! I’m going to miss his food so much. No matter how much I try to follow his recipes or the instructions he gave me for making Filipino food, I could never quite get it right. He had a magic touch, always knowing the perfect taste for whatever he was making in that moment. It was always different, and he took pride in that. I look back on the times I’d come over after moving out. I’d fix myself a plate and sit down to eat, and he’d join me. He would sit there, watching me eat with a smirk on his face, not saying much. He simply enjoyed taking care of everyone.

I could go on forever talking about my dad. One of the last conversations I had with him, he told me that he was happy and content. He said he was proud of me and my siblings. And, no surprise, he also reassured me that he felt fine—that he was going to be okay, just like he always said.

I’m so grateful for my dad. If there’s a way someone could live their life, it would be the way my dad did. He married the love of his life, raised three kids with love, enjoyed life and every person he came across, did what he was passionate about, lived with strength and honor, and passed away in the arms of my mom the way he wanted to. You can’t do it any better than that. Well done, Dad.

We will always remember you, Dad. We are so lucky to have had you throughout our lives. Thank you for your love. Thank you for your kindness and patience. Thank you for everything you’ve done for us. Thank you for fighting for so long, giving us extra years with you that we had no right to expect. We love you, and I know one day we will reunite to continue the journey. Until then, we’ll carry on with the lessons you’ve taught us and the love you’ve given us.

These words fall infinitely short of what you mean to us. I love you forever, Dad. Goodbye for now.