An Open Letter To My Late Lola: I Wish My Children Knew How To Be Loved By Someone Like You

"The measure of love is to love without measure."

This is a St. Francis de Sales quote that I learned from my late grandmother. Looking back on the life she had and the heart she shared with the family—I think the rest of the clan would attest to the fact that she lived up to those words, too. She managed to bring the entire family together and place us all inside her heart: 10 children and probably a hundred grandchildren and great grandchildren while there’s still enough room for faith, hope, and humor.

She can laugh without a sound with her wrinkly eyes shut and her shoulders bouncing up and down and that’s when you know you’ve really hit a funny spot. And on a day like today, when the earth celebrates Grandparents’ Day—a day we didn’t get a chance to celebrate because it isn’t probably a “thing” then—I hope she knew how grateful I am to have been loved by her and I wish my children had a chance to feel how to be loved by her, too. 

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An open letter to my late lola on Grandparents' day

Dear Mameng, 

You must be very happy in heaven since we rarely get “visits” from you (not that I’m asking, since you know how I get to be easily frightened of things paranormal or anything linked to the spiritual realm). But, I just want you to know that I take comfort in knowing that you are free from worldly pain, and I like to believe that you are just as happy to have crossed over to the other side. 

I have children of my own now, and I could see how proud my parents are of them. I can see in their eyes and hear in the tone of their voices that same love, warmth, and genuine concern I once saw in your eyes. 

I remember the nights I used to sleep beside you in bed because you slept alone in your room since grandfather passed away when I was a baby. I remember how you’d stop me from texting at night because you could hear my phone’s rubber-silicone keypad with every button tap. “Tama na yan, matulog na,“ probably saved me from early love relationships because I couldn’t respond to my suitors. Those are the pros. What about the cons?

I used to hate the sound of the AM radio playing in the background while you slept, while my brain is half-awake, listening to late night news or relationship advice from "Dr. Love." And if you think it couldn’t get any worse, you'd start folding clothes and organizing things in tons and tons of plastic bags. In my drowsy state, I would try to figure out what time it was, and it would usually happen between 3-4 o’clock in the morning. Who folds clothes at 3:00 am?

Fifteen years later, I understand.

Now, in my late thirties, I also do housework if I can’t sleep until I'm exhausted enough to go back to bed.

Sometimes I would also play something similar to a podcast to help me to sleep, just to drown the noise inside my head. What were you thinking back then? What kept you up at night? I wish I could have listened so you could unload your intrusive thoughts.

You probably had a million things on your mind, but I never saw you flinch; even in tears you’ve kept your pride, and then smiled it all away. 

I remember the days you’d slip bills into my hand so I could buy things I couldn't afford. There were a lot of things we couldn't afford. Do you remember the time that I was joining a beauty pageant, and my mom couldn't afford to send me to the salon? She used her lipstick for my cheeks, lips, and eyelids and styled my hair the way she remembered it from a previous pageant.

But you couldn’t just stand there, send me into war without the proper preparation. You were living off a pension but you didn’t hesitate to spend money on things that didn’t matter to me at the time. But you taught me this: “Kung lalaban ka na din lang, ibigay mo na lahat.”

So I always tell my children now, as young as they are, that it doesn’t matter whether you win or lose; what matters most is that you give it your all. Give them a good fight. 

I am crying now thinking about the days you’ve kept me under your wing. We were together like night and day for every Bible study session you conducted on summer days and every house visit for praying the rosary. I inherited your role when it was time for you to manage matters at the church while I did the fieldwork. I learned from you how to do house-to-house visits, keep the kids off the street, treat them all equally, and not judge anyone by their appearance. You gave me the foundation of my faith, and you taught me to pray in all circumstances. It seemed mundane to me back then, but only when life hit rock bottom did I realize how important hope and faith are. 

You are the voice inside my head when I need a boost of grit and resilience. 

I remember the days you’d save an extra bar of soap for me or a bottle of perfume or a secret chocolate treat from the “balikbayan box” just to make sure I had my “share.” These little sneaky gestures were like a secret language that said, “I got you.”

There was a time my daughter wanted gladiator sandals—she was only four or five and I didn’t hesitate to buy her a pair. That’s because there was a time that I wanted one so badly, but we didn’t have money for extras—we could only manage the essentials. Yet, you surprised me with a brown pair of gladiator sandals, and for a girl who was used to not having much, it felt surreal.

I realized that the love and thought you put into it, no matter how simple the gesture, were much more important than the material thing itself. I felt seen and heard. 

Fast forward to today, we could have been celebrating Grandparents’ Day, and I could be the one treating you for making my childhood a memorable one. We could have done a couple of TikTok videos, and my children could have made vlogs and pranks with you. I think the kids would have been over the moon to include you in their content. They should know you had some quirks, too.

But for now, you should enjoy your indefinite leave with your favorite ice cream treat while my parents take their turn to love unconditionally, just as you did.

I trust they'll do just as great. 

You are missed without measure, 

Bang 

In 1978, President Carter signed a proclamation to mark the first Sunday after Labor Day as National Grandparents Day; a tradition we adapted in 1987, typically on the second Sunday of September. Read more stories about grandparents here.