Hayag Gihapon: The Light That Never Left

We never met, yet your light reaches us all the same. Somehow, I know you through the people you loved... in the laughter you passed on, the love you built, and the stories that still make their way to our dinner table.

Happy birthday in heaven, Papa. 

We celebrate you, dili sa luha, but with gratitude – for a love that outlived time.

This one’s for you.

A Letter to Papa in Heaven

Dear Papa,

I never had the honour of meeting you, but I’ve come to know you — in stories, in laughter, and in the way your love continues to live through your family.

They say you were palabiro, masayahin, makulit... the kind of father who brought joy wherever you went. You had a gift for turning ordinary moments into memories, for bringing lightness to the heaviest days. Mamila, they say, was the strict and serious disciplinarian — though now she’s known as our living beacon of calmness, generosity and grace. I imagine how perfectly you must have complemented each other: your laughter balancing her quiet resilience, your spirit blending with her unshakeable determination. And even now, I see both of you in your children — especially their warmth, humour, unity, and faith.

You and Mamila built a life not only of love but of shared dreams. You supported her through college, believing in her even when life was not easy. Together, you built your own bookkeeping business — founded not on wealth, but on faith, hard work and trust. You proved that love can build both home and livelihood when two hearts are truly one in purpose.

When you were called home too soon, Kuya Nanan stepped forward — still so young, but with a heart already full of courage. He vowed to take care of the family, and he did. To this day, he does... Faithfully, without fanfare — carrying your love and strength in his every act of service. He has been such an anchor; the bridge that keeps everyone together. And through his dedication to Singles for Christ, your legacy has touched even more lives. It was, in fact, through that same community — which Kuya Nanan encouraged my husband to join — that our own story began. So in a way, Papa, you led me to your son. You were there, unseen but guiding, stitching together love stories across time and distance.

And not just Kuya Nanan, but also Kuya Hati — steady, caring, selfless — continues to look after everyone with quiet strength. Together, they embody the best of you. My husband and I are deeply blessed to be surrounded by such brothers — men who love and give without measure. So are their sisters, and most of all, Mamila... whose heart remains the home where all your love still gathers.

Papa, I see so much of the qualities you're known for in my husband too — in his humour, his timing, and the light in his eyes when he's affectionately joshing the kids. He inherited your wit, your charm, and that easy kindness that draws people close. Of course, he’s not perfect — he’s wonderfully human. He gets impatient sometimes, and he’s learning (as all parents do) that love can take many forms: laughter, discipline, gentleness and grace. But in all of it — in every sigh, every laugh, every bedtime story, and every lesson learned — I see a man trying his best, guided by love... and maybe by you too.

Sometimes I think that if he had grown up seeing you not just through the eyes of a child and teenager, but through the eyes of a young father, he might have understood sooner the beautiful, messy, sacred work of parenting... how love can be equal parts patience and chaos. Still, I know you’d be proud of him — of the man, husband, and father he’s become — a living echo of the warmth and light you once brought into this world.

I often imagine what you would have thought of me, and of our two little girls. I like to believe you would have teased them endlessly, made them laugh, taught them silly songs, and told them stories of faith and courage. And maybe you would have told me that I fit right into this family you built — because somehow, even without meeting you, I feel like I belong to your story.

How my heart yearns for a way to know for sure what you’d say, or how it would have felt to hear you call me by name. But maybe this — these memories, these stories, this love that refuses to fade — is your way of speaking still. So we celebrate you whenever we can; mostly in quiet prayers on your birthday. I prompt my husband to keep sharing his fondest memories of you with our children, so they’ll know you too — maybe not in form, but in heart; maybe not in sight, but in spirit. And that, perhaps, is the truest way of being remembered.

A Prayer for You

Loving Father, thank You for the life of our beloved Papa — for his laughter that still echoes, for his strength that still anchors, and for his love that still unites. May his soul rest joyfully in Your embrace, surrounded by light and peace. Bless the family he built — Mamila, his sons, his daughters, and all of us who now walk in the grace of his legacy. And may he see from heaven how his love continues to grow, even in those who never met him, yet carry his memory in their hearts.

✨ Hayag Gihapon (A Quiet Light)

You left before we knew your face,

but heaven left your laughter here.

It hums between our everyday,

in every story Mama keeps near.

Your love became our family’s thread;

woven deep, unseen, divine.

Bisan layo, bisan dugay na —

your light still finds its way to mine. 

With love,

Your daughter-in-law

✨ “Love is strong as death; its passion as unyielding as the grave.”

~ Song of Solomon 8:6

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🌿 Afterword

Have you ever loved someone you never got to meet? 

Maybe they left before your story began, yet somehow, their light still finds you... 

Isang mahigpit na yakap sa atin. 

Thankfully, love doesn’t end where time does. It lingers in laughter, in faith, in stories told again and again.

Somewhere between heaven and home, the people we miss remain —

alive in grace, and glowing quietly in the hearts that remember.