Robert Gandara Valdivia
“Every man's life ends the same way. It is only the details of how he lived that distinguish one man from another.”
? Ernest Hemingway
My dad, Robert Gandara Valdivia, passed away on February 23, 2026, after a long illness.
I’ve picked up a pen to write this more times than I can count and just couldn’t finish it. It’s taken over a month to finally put words on paper because I’ve thought about him every single day since he passed, and every memory, every word or joke, would pull me off course. Writing this has been one of the hardest, but also most worthwhile things I’ve ever done. There’s so much to say, and still no perfect words for the man he was, the life he lived, or the love he gave. We all lost a really, really good man.
He was born on January 11, 1943, in Delicias, Chihuahua, Mexico, to Kenneth and Margarita Valdivia. Early in life, he experienced loss that stayed with him. When we were kids and argued like siblings do, he would remind us to appreciate each other, saying he had always wished he had a brother growing up.
Dad lived in Chihuahua, then El Paso, Texas; Hollister; Los Angeles; and eventually Ventura, California, where he made his home. Over the years, so many people in Ventura knew him. Depending on who you asked, he was Robert, Bob, Roberto, Beto… even some of his care nurses called him Bobby. All of these names belonged to the same man who cared deeply, worked tirelessly, and left a lasting impression on everyone he met.
As a young man, Dad was endlessly curious and creative. He loved science and nature and especially enjoyed drawing and designing cars. One of his dreams was to be a car designer in Detroit. He would share old sketches and scribble designs on napkins for cars that would eventually resemble models years later. Limited formal education and opportunity kept him from pursuing that path, but he poured that same creativity and drive into building a life for his family.
Dad graduated from Ventura High School in 1962. Not long after, he married the love of his life, Virginia, whom he had met a couple of years earlier. They shared 62 years of marriage—until her passing in June 2025, just months before his own. Together, they built our family: me, Robert Jr., born in 1965; Andy (Daniel Andrew) in 1969; and Julie in 1971.
His childhood shaped the man he became. His father was a traveling musician, often away from home, and his mother worked tirelessly to care for the family, making sure there was fresh food and tortillas on the table and that everyone else ate before she did. Dad carried that same spirit into his life. He loved hosting family gatherings and big barbecues, always ensuring others were cared for before himself. That sense of dedication and sacrifice was woven into everything he did.
Because of his early life, Dad didn’t always express love in conventional ways. When I was little, he rarely said he loved me face-to-face. Instead, he would come into my room while I slept, rub my head, and quietly tell me he loved me. It was the only way he knew how at the time. The day before I left to join the Air Force, he shared that story—and for the first time, told me he loved me, face-to-face. That moment has stayed with me my entire life.
Dad worked tirelessly throughout his life. He spent many years as a machinist at Vetco Offshore in Ventura, while also running small businesses and a weekend trucking company. He often missed baseball games, school events, and Boy Scout activities—but all to provide, to build, and to make life better for his family. One of his proudest accomplishments was buying his first home. Providing for his family wasn’t just an achievement—it was a highlight of the life he built with his own hands.
He had a way of teaching that left a mark. I remember learning to drive in his old Chevy pickup, a stick shift, “three on the tree.” We got stuck in the Santa Clara River bottom, and though he was frustrated, he smiled the whole time because he knew I was learning. And then there were lessons like, “If you’re gonna punch somebody, don’t tuck your thumb into your fist—you’ll break it.” Simple, funny dad wisdom—the kind that sticks with you for life.
He also passed down his love of classic movies and TV shows. He would laugh out loud at the Bowery Boys & East Side Kids and tolerate the Three Stooges & Little Rascals, because he knew how much we loved them. That love became part of me, and now I share it with my grandchildren, passing along a little piece of him.
Family meant everything to him. He loved his in-laws, nieces and nephews, and cousins, even those who lived far away. Those connections stayed with him throughout his life. In his final years, as he became bedridden, both he and Mom carried a quiet sadness, wishing for more time and closeness with the family they cherished. My hope is that those who knew him honor him by reconnecting with someone they’ve lost touch with—he treasured all of you more than he ever said aloud.
I didn’t see Dad cry often. The first times were at his parents’ funerals. When my sister Julie passed away, that was the first time I saw him truly break. He wept openly, calling her name, and it’s a moment I will never forget. Losing your own parents leaves a profound emptiness, even when your children and grandchildren remain. When Dad passed, I felt that same emptiness—now I understand why he felt it so deeply.
When Mom passed in June 2025, he was already in long-term care. Though he could no longer speak or move much, he cried when I told him, looking at me as if his whole world had just been taken. In his final months, the sadness weighed heavily on him. Their routines had kept him grounded, and when Mom stopped visiting, it seemed to take a little more from him each day.
He was predeceased by his parents, Kenneth and Margarita; his brother, Arturo; his daughter, Julie; and his best friend, companion, and wife, Virginia.
He leaves behind his sons Robert Valdivia Jr. (Lorie) and Daniel “Andy” Valdivia; his grandchildren Devin Valdivia (Valerie), Alyssa Ward (Matthew), Mario Arreguin Jr. (Brittany), Aimee Arreguin, Marissa and Sara Valdivia, and Gabe and Julian Silva; six great-grandchildren; sister-in-law Rosie Gutierrez; beloved former son-in-law Mario Arreguin Sr.; and many nieces, nephews, cousins, and friends.
Per their wishes, Robert and Virginia will be together one final time, with their ashes entrusted to the land and sea in a quiet, private family ceremony.
The family extends its deepest thanks to the sub-acute care team at St. John’s Camarillo. Their care over the past several years was a real blessing. They became like a second family to him, and we will always be grateful for the kindness, compassion, and support they gave to him and to Mom during her daily visits.
I'm gonna miss you forever.
“I love you. Thank you. Please forgive me. I forgive you.”