When I welcomed 2026, I carried a quiet hope in my heart.
After everything that happened in 2025, I longed for a year that felt lighter. The previous year had been one of the most emotionally challenging seasons of my life. It seemed as though every month brought a new heartache, another disappointment, another goodbye, or another lesson I wasn’t ready to learn. There were moments that stretched my faith, tested my resilience, and left me wondering when life would finally slow down.
By the time Christmas arrived, I was emotionally exhausted.
Yet, Christmas gave me something I desperately needed: hope. Being home with family reminded me that joy could still exist, even after difficult seasons. We laughed together, shared meals, exchanged stories, and made memories that, at the time, felt beautifully ordinary. Looking back now, I realize those ordinary moments would become some of the memories I treasure the most.
As the calendar turned to 2026, I quietly prayed that the new year would bring peace. I hoped the pain of the previous year would remain behind me and that the months ahead would be filled with healing instead of heartbreak.
But sometimes, God’s plans look different from our own. Just three days into the new year, my Tita Helen sent a message to our family group chat saying that my maternal grandmother, whom we lovingly called Lola Inay, had been admitted to the hospital.
At first, I wasn’t overly concerned. During our Christmas gathering in Quezon, she already had a persistent cough. Before going back to Naga, Tita Helen had mentioned to me that she wanted to bring Lola Inay to the hospital for a check-up, so I assumed this admission was simply a precaution. Lola Inay had been hospitalized before, recovered, and returned home. I genuinely believed this would be another one of those times.
I was wrong. She was transferred to another hospital, and eventually the doctors shared news none of us were prepared to hear. If her condition didn’t improve, they believed she only had a few days left. At that moment, my heart refused to believe what my ears had heard.
The Woman We Called Lola Inay
When someone passes away, it’s easy for our minds to return to hospital rooms, diagnoses, and final goodbyes. But that’s not how I want to remember Lola Inay. I want to remember the woman who lived.
God blessed her with ninety-three years, and what a beautiful gift those years were. She witnessed generations of our family grow. She watched her own children become parents and become grandparents themselves. She saw some of her grandchildren reach their dreams and build a family. She celebrated birthdays, welcomed new life into the family, experienced seasons of abundance and seasons of hardship, and remained a steady presence through it all.
To me, she wasn’t defined by the final chapter of her life. She was defined by everything that came before it.
Whenever I think of Lola Inay, I don’t immediately picture a hospital bed. I remember family gatherings, warm embraces, familiar conversations, and the comforting feeling of knowing she was there. I remember seeing her surrounded by the people she loved most. I remember the quiet strength that often comes with a life shaped by decades of faith, sacrifice, and unconditional love.
The older I become, the more I realize that the greatest legacies are rarely loud. They are built in ordinary moments. They are found in the countless meals prepared for family, the prayers whispered when no one else is listening, the sacrifices children never fully recognize until they become adults themselves, and the consistent love that quietly holds a family together.
That was the kind of legacy Lola Inay left behind.
Learning That Love Sometimes Means Letting Go
Even after the doctors shared their prognosis, my heart continued to hope. I wanted more time.
I wanted Lola Inay to witness another chapter of my life. I wanted her to see me get married someday. I wanted her to carry my future children and meet another generation of our family. I imagined future homecomings where I could still hug her, sit beside her, and hear her voice.
I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. But while I was praying for more time, another reality slowly settled into my heart. Lola Inay was tired.
Videos shared in our family group chat showed her saying she wanted to go because the pain had become too much. During one of our video calls, we could see how difficult it had become for her to breathe. Every breath seemed like a battle.
Watching someone you love suffer changes the way you pray. At first, I prayed for healing. Eventually, I prayed for peace.
As painful as it was, our family reached a place where we lovingly told her that if she was ready, it was okay. We didn’t want her to keep fighting simply because we weren’t ready to let go.
That was one of the hardest acts of love I’ve ever experienced. Because sometimes, love doesn’t cling. Sometimes, love releases. Even then, Lola Inay continued to fight for a little while longer before peacefully going home to the Lord at ninety-three years old.
A Different Kind of Grief
What surprised me most wasn’t simply losing Lola Inay. It was how differently I experienced grief. Years ago, when my mother passed away, my faith was shaken. I wrestled with God. I questioned Him.
I struggled to understand why He would allow someone so important to leave so soon. My grief was tangled with confusion, anger, and unanswered questions. Looking back, I realize I wasn’t only grieving the loss of my mother. I was grieving the future I thought we would still share.
With Lola Inay, my heart responded differently. Not because I loved her any less. But because somewhere along the journey, God had been quietly transforming my faith.
This time, I didn’t question His goodness. I didn’t feel that He had been unfair. Instead, I found myself thanking Him.
I thanked Him for giving our family ninety-three wonderful years with Lola Inay. I thanked Him for every birthday she celebrated. I thanked Him for every grandchild and great-grandchild who had the privilege of knowing her. I thanked Him for every memory we now hold close to our hearts. Most of all, I thanked Him for bringing her home after a life well lived.
This is one of the graces I received. I surrendered and peacefully placed this grief into His loving hand, knowing that God’s love for the people we cherish is even greater than our own.
A Christmas We Didn’t Know Would Be Our Last
One of the greatest gifts God gave our family was our last Christmas together with Lola Inay. For as long as I can remember, we always celebrated Christmas in Camarines Sur. It had become our family tradition, and there was never really a reason to do otherwise. But last year was different.
Almost unexpectedly, we decided to celebrate Christmas in Quezon instead. It wasn’t something we had planned months in advance. In fact, it was a last-minute decision. Even until now, I still can’t fully explain why, but something within all of us wanted so badly to go home to Quezon for Christmas.
At the time, it simply felt like a change of plans. Now, I see it as one of God’s quiet gifts.
None of us knew that it would be the last Christmas we would spend with her. None of us knew that just a few days later, she would be admitted to the hospital. None of us knew that the hugs we shared, the meals we enjoyed together, the conversations around the table, and the family photos we took would become some of the last memories we would ever make with her.
I’m so grateful we listened to that quiet desire to go home. If we had chosen to stay with our usual tradition of celebrating Christmas in Camarines Sur, we would have missed those precious moments together. Instead, God gave us one final Christmas with her, one more opportunity to laugh together, embrace one another, and simply enjoy Lola Inay’s presence without realizing how priceless those ordinary moments would soon become.
What Makes a Life Beautiful?
After Lola Inay’s passing, I found myself reflecting on a question I’ve never really considered before: “What makes a life beautiful?” Is it a success? Recognition? Achievements?
The longer I sat with that question, the more convinced I became that none of those things truly define a person. A beautiful life is measured by the love that remains after someone is gone.
When I think about Lola Inay, I don’t remember awards or accomplishments. I remember love and kindness. I remember faithfulness. Her faith was so strong that even after losing her parents, a husband, four of her children, a daughter-in-law, a grandson, siblings, cousins, and friends, she remained a servant of God. I never once heard her questioning God’s plan or getting mad at Him.
I remember a woman who lived long enough to watch her family grow across generations. I remember someone whose presence made family gatherings feel complete. I remember someone whose absence is deeply felt because her love was so deeply experienced.
There’s a line from the famous poem by Linda Ellis, “The Dash,” that reads,
“What mattered most of all was the dash between those years. For that dash represents all the time that they spent alive on earth. And now only those who loved them know what that little line is worth.”
That idea has stayed with me. The years themselves tell us how long someone lived. The life they lived tells us who they were. Between those two dates are thousands of ordinary moments that become extraordinary because they were lived with love.
Every sacrifice, prayer, embrace, forgiveness, meal shared around a family table, and every quiet act of kindness… those moments become a person’s true legacy.
Measuring a Life in Love
As I reflected on Lola Inay’s life, I also remembered the song “Season of Love” from the musical “Rent”. The lyric goes like this,
“How do you measure a year in life? In truths that she learned, or in times that he cried? In bridges he burned, or the way that she died? How about love? Measure in love.”
It’s a beautiful song that invites us to look beyond calendars and accomplishments. Maybe we should ask an even bigger question: How do you measure an entire lifetime?
Perhaps the answer isn’t found in numbers at all. Maybe a life is measured by how deeply someone loved. By the people they encouraged. By the family they nurtured. By the faith they lived. By the compassion they showed when no one was watching.
If love is the measure, then Lola Inay lived an incredibly rich life. And perhaps that’s the kind of richness we should all pursue.
The Legacy I Want to Carry Forward
Losing Lola Inay reminded me that none of us really know how many years God has prepared for us. Some lives are short. Others, like hers, are wonderfully long. But whether we are given thirty years or ninety-three, the invitation remains the same: live in a way that leaves love behind.
Live in a way that your family remembers your kindness more than your accomplishments. Live in a way that your faith becomes part of someone else’s story. Live in a way that points people toward hope.
When people remember Lola Inay, I don’t believe they’ll remember the final days she spent in the hospital. They’ll remember the ninety-three years that came before them. And that’s exactly how it should be.
Until We Meet Again
I still miss Lola Inay.
There are days when I wish I could hug her one more time or hear her voice again when I go home. Grief doesn’t disappear simply because we have faith. Love leaves an empty chair, a familiar silence, and moments when we instinctively reach for someone who is no longer here.
But today, my grief is filled with hope instead of despair. I believe she is finally home with God. I find consolation knowing that she’s no longer struggling for every breath, enduring pain, and is not confined to a hospital room.
She is now resting in the loving presence of the Lord she trusted throughout her life.
As I continue walking through my own journey, I hope I never forget what Lola Inay’s life taught me. A meaningful life isn’t built in extraordinary moments alone. It’s built in thousands of ordinary acts of love that eventually become someone’s greatest memories.
One day, each of us will leave behind our own story. My prayer is that when my story is remembered, people won’t speak first about what I achieved or what I owned. I hope they remember that I loved well, remained faithful through life’s changing seasons, chose kindness whenever I could, and pointed others toward Christ.
Lola Inay did exactly that.
Thank you, Lola Inay, for ninety-three beautiful years. Thank you for your love, your prayers, your quiet sacrifices, and the legacy you leave behind. Your life reminds me that while our years on earth are numbered, the love we give has the power to outlive us.
Until we meet again.
PS: If this resonates with you, keep coming back to Shine Brightly for more gentle reminders, grounded insights, and stories that reflect the quiet parts of life.
