“Punching” Out Glioblastoma Through My Art

My brother Emilio was my hero from the day I was born. Eleven years older than me, he was the best brother a sister could ask for — kind, generous, and deeply devoted to family. He was the picture of health, never even having a tooth cavity. So when he started feeling lethargic and obsessively craving sweets in late 2014, it was completely out of character, and we knew something was wrong.

After repeated visits to his primary, his doctor diagnosed him with depression, but Emilio continued to decline and was not himself. Depression was a word that no one would ever associate with my brother. He had a storybook family, was married to the love of his life, raised four successful children, was a world traveler, and had recently retired from a successful career in engineering. His doctor continued to just increase the antidepressants and insisted nothing else was wrong with him. 

It wasn’t until Emilio visited his daughter in February 2015, where he exhibited some confusion and weakness in his left leg, that he was rushed to the ER, and we were afraid he had a stroke. A scan revealed a tumor in his right frontal lobe. The next day, he underwent emergency surgery and was diagnosed with glioblastoma, a term our family had never ever heard. To say we were shocked is an understatement. 

Emilio faced his diagnosis with incredible strength. He underwent the standard of care and had a year of clear MRIs. But, in February 2016, the tumor returned to an inoperable location. He enrolled in an immunotherapy clinical trial, hoping for a breakthrough, but it didn’t work. A second surgery was offered to remove a part of the tumor that was accessible, and without hesitation, he said yes. He wanted another chance to beat this cancer. Gliadel wafers were placed to try to kill the remaining tumor, but nothing could stop its aggressive growth.

Seventeen months after Emilio’s diagnosis, he passed away on July 24, 2016 — the same day our father had passed five years earlier. I like to think that our dad came for him to end his suffering.

Grieving My Brother

Losing Emilio left a void in my life that nothing could fill. He was the best at every role he played — a devoted husband, father, son, and brother. Emilio also never met a stranger. As an example, on 9/11, while returning home from a business trip, the plane he was on had to make an emergency landing in Omaha. He had the foresight to rent a van immediately and offered to drive seven strangers to Denver, refusing any money. That was my brother — always helping, always giving. 

After he passed, I poured myself into my engineering work — a career he encouraged me to pursue — trying to distract from the grief. After I retired, I wanted to find a new purpose. I stayed active in glioblastoma support groups, offering advice and encouragement to families navigating the same painful journey. But I wanted to do more. I turned to art, and I discovered tin punching and polymer clay.

Southwestern tin punching is an art form that dates back to Spanish colonists who upcycled tin canisters into candleholders, frames, and other household items. Using a hammer and nail or an awl, I create intricate designs — dragonflies, angels, boxes, and ornaments. Some pieces take an hour, others up to 10, depending on the complexity. 

Working with tin and clay became my therapy. I found solace in taking a flat piece of tin and turning it into something beautiful. I look at this as a metaphor for life — all the punches, poundings, and stresses we face in life can turn us into a piece of work or artwork. It’s our choice.

Fundraising My Way

At first, I gave away my work. Then, people started asking to buy pieces, and I realized I could use my art for something greater. I began selling my creations, donating all proceeds to the National Brain Tumor Society. I once read that brain cancer is one of the most underfunded cancers because it’s considered rare. But when it happens to your family, it’s anything but rare. I told Emilio to visualize chemo killing the cancer cells, and now, with every punch of my hammer, I visualize striking back at glioblastoma.

Over time, my fundraising grew. I started selling at local galleries and art shows, using my booth not just to sell but to raise awareness. I created a flyer explaining my art and my mission. Strangers resonated with Emilio’s story, and many supported my cause. It’s a win-win — I get to create, share his legacy, and contribute to research that could one day save another sibling from this heartbreak.

Each week, I meet with my tin-punching group at the senior center. These friends supported me from the start and even nominated me for a Pay It 4Ward award on the local news. It was a complete surprise! The recognition is humbling, but what truly matters to me is honoring Emilio’s memory in a way that makes a difference.

For those who think fundraising is only about 5Ks, raffles, or benefit dinners, I hope my story shows that passion can drive change in unexpected ways. I am grateful that NBTS recognizes my artwork as a form of fundraising. Every drop of water fills a bucket, and I want every punch, every penny from my work, to go toward finding a cure for brain cancer.

TAGGED WITH: glioblastoma, Fundraise Your Way

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Opinions expressed within this story belong solely to the author and do not reflect the views or opinions of the National Brain Tumor Society.