We’re not mere relatives, we’re soulmates

OPINION | Letter to the Editor Posted on 2026-04-28 01:35:52

Three years after losing my wife Leni, I had begun to understand what it means to live with absence. Life does not stop, but it changes shape. You move forward more deliberately, drawing strength from family and from the quiet routines that keep you grounded. Then, just when you think you have found your footing, loss returns without warning.

The passing of Linda Manuel Mañalac on March 21, 2026 was one such moment. In a span of days, grief revisited spaces that had only just begun to heal. And yet, as her 40th day approaches, something unexpected has taken root alongside the sorrow. Gratitude.

It is often said that a person’s true measure is revealed in the stories left behind. In Linda’s case, those stories form a clear and consistent portrait. She was, in the words repeated by many who knew her, generosity personified. Not in grand, performative ways, but in gestures that were immediate, sincere, and deeply human.

Her son, Carlos “Pop” Mañalac, captured this best when he spoke of a life lived with complete and unconditional love. It is a powerful statement, but one that finds support in the many voices that echoed the same sentiment. For her family, grief has slowly given way to a quiet sense of peace, shaped by the knowledge that they were loved fully and without reservation.

Among her grandchildren, nephews, and nieces, Linda’s presence was defined not just by affection, but by time freely given. In a world where attention has become scarce, this may be one of the rarest forms of generosity. Her nephew Rico Manuel recalled how, despite early losses in their own family, her steady care ensured they were never truly alone.

Beyond family, the pattern remained unchanged. Stories of her kindness extend into places where recognition was neither expected nor sought. One recollection tells of how she helped bring to life what would later become Sonya’s Garden in Alfonso, Cavite. Without hesitation, and without conditions, she gave support at a moment when it was most needed. The result is now a well-known sanctuary, but its beginnings trace back to a simple act of trust.

For over three decades, she also opened her home to the Franciscan Missionaries of Mary, hosting Christmas gatherings that offered more than just meals. They created spaces of comfort and renewal, especially during difficult times. It is telling that those who benefited from her generosity remember not the scale of what she gave, but the spirit in which it was offered.

There is a certain irony in how people like Linda are often described. She was known to be modest, even frugal, when it came to herself. Yet when it came to others, there was no hesitation, no calculation. This contrast reveals something deeper about generosity. It is not about abundance, but about priority.

I witnessed this firsthand. There was a moment during one of her birthday celebrations when a guest admired her pearl necklace. Without pause, Linda removed it and placed it around the guest’s neck. It was done lightly, almost casually, but it left a lasting impression. For her, giving was instinctive.

Her homes, whether in the city or by the sea, reflected the same openness. Friends could arrive unannounced and stay as long as they wished. Fishermen knew her as someone who would pay more than asked, not out of excess, but out of empathy for their circumstances. These were not isolated acts. They were habits, quietly practiced over a lifetime.

Linda’s spirituality was not defined by ritual, but by action. She embodied the idea of giving without counting the cost, of serving without expecting recognition. There were no grand declarations, no need for attention. Her life itself was the message.

This raises a question for those left behind. What does it mean to honor a life like hers? Words, no matter how sincere, will always fall short. Perhaps the more meaningful response is imitation. To give more freely. To notice others more closely. To act without waiting for acknowledgment.

Grief does not disappear, but it evolves. It softens at the edges, shaped by memory and meaning. For those of us who have lost spouses, friends, and companions, there is a quiet understanding that life must continue, even as we carry what was.

There was a time when Linda, Tong, my Leni, and I shared laughter, meals, and journeys together. Those moments now belong to memory, but they remain vivid. And while the present may feel incomplete, there is comfort in believing that those we have lost would not want us to remain still.

They would want us to live fully. To carry forward what they embodied. To continue giving, loving, and showing up for others in ways both big and small.

In doing so, their absence becomes something more than loss. It becomes a presence that endures.

NPO News Team | Philippine Daily Inquirer - PR

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