He continued to teach people how to care for their bodies while his own was failing
Aos 38 anos, o nutricionista Aubrey Porto faleceu em Ponta Grossa após 17 anos convivendo com uma síndrome neurodegenerativa rara e incurável — uma vida marcada não pela rendição, mas pela persistência. Enquanto a doença reconfigurava seu corpo de forma progressiva, ele continuou a trabalhar, a ensinar e a se fazer presente nas redes sociais, oferecendo orientação nutricional a quem buscava cuidar de si. Sua morte nos lembra que há uma forma particular de coragem naqueles que ensinam o mundo a se sustentar enquanto o próprio chão vai cedendo sob seus pés.
- Aubrey Porto lutou por 17 anos contra uma doença sem cura que foi, lentamente, tomando o controle do seu corpo — até que, no último ano de vida, ele passou a depender de uma cadeira de rodas.
- Mesmo diante do avanço implacável da síndrome, ele não abandonou sua profissão: continuou compartilhando conteúdos sobre nutrição personalizada e performance nas redes sociais, mantendo uma presença pública ativa.
- Sua morte no Hospital Universitário Regional dos Campos Gerais, no domingo, provocou uma onda de luto em Ponta Grossa — com despedidas postadas online por familiares, amigos e até pelo vice-prefeito da cidade.
- O velório e o enterro, marcados para os dias seguintes no Cemitério Jardim Paraíso, reuniram uma comunidade que o conhecia não como um especialista distante, mas como alguém presente e humano.
- O que fica é a pergunta silenciosa que sua trajetória deixa: o que significa cuidar dos outros quando o próprio corpo é o campo de batalha?
Aubrey Porto tinha 38 anos quando faleceu, no domingo, no Hospital Universitário Regional dos Campos Gerais. Desde 2009 — há 17 anos — ele vivia com uma síndrome neurodegenerativa rara, sem cura, que foi progressivamente transformando sua relação com o próprio corpo. Cerca de um ano antes de morrer, passou a usar cadeira de rodas.
Natural de Telêmaco Borba, Porto construiu sua vida profissional em Ponta Grossa como nutricionista. Mais do que atender pacientes, ele se tornou uma voz pública nas redes sociais, compartilhando conteúdos sobre alimentação personalizada, emagrecimento, ganho muscular e performance esportiva. Era alguém que ensinava as pessoas a cuidar do corpo — enquanto o seu próprio escapava ao seu controle.
A notícia de sua morte mobilizou a cidade. Familiares e amigos publicaram despedidas nas redes. O vice-prefeito Pastor Moisés Faria divulgou uma nota de pesar, invocando as escrituras e a promessa de um reencontro na eternidade. A comoção revelou o quanto Porto havia se tornado parte do tecido afetivo de sua comunidade.
O velório aconteceu na Capelinha Santana, e o sepultamento foi marcado para a tarde de segunda-feira, 18 de maio, no Cemitério Jardim Paraíso. O que fica, além das cerimônias, é a memória de um homem que recusou desaparecer enquanto a doença avançava — e que, ao persistir, deixou algo duradouro para quem o acompanhou.
Aubrey Porto died on Sunday at the Regional University Hospital of Campos Gerais, at thirty-eight years old. For seventeen years, since 2009, he had been living with a rare neurodegenerative syndrome that offered no cure and no reprieve. What began as difficulty walking gradually reshaped his entire existence. About a year before his death, he moved into a wheelchair—a visible marker of how thoroughly the disease had claimed his body.
Originally from Telêmaco Borba, Porto had built his professional life in Ponta Grossa as a nutritionist. He was not simply a practitioner working behind closed doors. Instead, he used social media to reach people directly, sharing detailed content about personalized nutrition, weight loss, muscle building, and athletic performance. In doing so, he created a kind of public presence—a voice offering guidance on how to eat well, how to move through the world with intention. That voice belonged to someone who understood, intimately, what it meant when the body stopped cooperating.
His death triggered a wave of grief across the city. His wife, family members, and friends posted their farewells online. The vice-mayor of Ponta Grossa, Pastor Moisés Faria, also released a statement. Faria wrote of consolation for those left behind, invoking scripture—a passage about how precious in God's eyes is the death of his saints. He promised they would meet again in eternity, by God's infinite grace. It was the kind of public mourning that suggests Porto had woven himself into the fabric of his community, not as a distant expert but as someone known, cared for, missed.
The practical details of farewell were set in motion quickly. His wake took place at the Santana Funeral Chapel in Ponta Grossa. The burial was scheduled for Monday, May 18th, at three in the afternoon, at Jardim Paraíso Cemetery. These are the small ceremonies we perform when someone leaves—the gathering, the lowering into earth, the moment when a life becomes memory.
What remains is the shape of his absence. A man who spent seventeen years fighting an incurable disease, who continued to work, to teach, to show up on screens offering people ways to care for themselves. He did this while his own body was being systematically dismantled. That kind of persistence—that refusal to disappear even as disappearance was happening—is what people remember. It is what they mourn.
Notable Quotes
Precious are the eyes of the Lord the death of his saints. Until soon, my dear. We will meet in eternity, by God's infinite grace.— Vice-mayor Pastor Moisés Faria, in a statement of condolence
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
What was the nature of the syndrome he lived with? Do we know what it was called?
The reporting doesn't name it specifically—only that it was rare and neurodegenerative, without cure. That absence itself tells you something. It was the kind of diagnosis that doesn't have a household name, the kind that isolates you because few people have heard of it.
And he kept working as a nutritionist the whole time?
Yes. For years he did. He was on social media sharing advice about diet and fitness while his own nervous system was failing. There's something almost defiant about that—continuing to teach people how to take care of their bodies while your body is betraying you.
How long did he have mobility before the wheelchair?
Eight years. From 2009 until about a year ago, he was walking, however difficult it became. Then the wheelchair. That's a threshold moment—when you have to accept a different way of moving through the world.
Did he have family?
A wife, yes. And the fact that she and his family posted farewells online suggests they were close, that they were part of his public life too. This wasn't a solitary struggle.
Why did the vice-mayor comment?
Because in a city like Ponta Grossa, a nutritionist with an active social media presence becomes known. He wasn't anonymous. He was part of the local conversation about health. When someone like that dies, it registers publicly.
What strikes you most about this?
That he was thirty-eight. That's young to die. And that he spent nearly half his life fighting something invisible that nobody could fix. Most people would have disappeared. He didn't.