When Love Has No Words

Yeye and I took a picture while enjoying our conversation. We had so much to tell each other. We laughed, talked about ordinary things, and looked forward to extraordinary ones. We were excited.

Neither of us imagined that just days later, a heartbreaking event would change everything.

Drex and Yeye posted this on social media:

“Bigat sa pakiramdam. Hirap tanggapin…We love you Baby Cloud. Dada and Mama love you very much.”

As a mother, my first instinct—as it has always been—was to reach out and comfort them, especially Yeye. I thought a mother would always have the right words to say.

• “I’m sorry.”
• “It will be okay.”
• “God has a purpose.”
• “Bata ka pa naman. Bata pa naman kayo.”
• “Yung iba nga years pa bago nagka-anak.”

Three years have come and gone, I still remember the intense emotions of that day more clearly than any words spoken.

I no longer remember exactly what I said that day—only the heaviness of it, and how little any sentence seemed to help.

I was a mother who wanted her children to be okay. I wanted Yeye to feel my love and care, but I eventually understood that this was pain she had to carry in her own way. No explanation could soften the unfairness or the loss.

What kind of love was this?

A love with no words.

The Power Of Presence

Maybe she simply needed a hand to hold, an embrace, or a whispered prayer carried more by tears than by words.

It dawned on me that the most loving thing I could offer was simply my presence.

A close friend said:

“It’s sad, probably no less than death. Like grief oftentimes, the best thing to do is not to say anything but to just be there.”

At that moment, all I could do was pray for comfort and strength for Yeye and Drex. It broke my heart to see them carrying such deep sadness, but in faith, I believed God would see them through.

One by one, her siblings sent messages and called her. They talked about ordinary things, and I watched her quietly enjoy those conversations.

Still, my stubborn motherly instinct refused to surrender.

Even with prayers, I couldn’t fully accept the thought, “Hayaan na muna. Lilipas din ’yan.”

Umiral ang kakulitan ng Nanay.

By God’s grace, I was eventually able to convince her to talk—not so much about what happened, but little by little, about how she was doing.

After several emotional, roller-coaster one-on-one conversations—which were never easy—I sensed that Yeye was beginning to move forward, even though I knew grief would not simply disappear.

A Spontaneous Road Trip To Baguio

So the moment she finally agreed to go out, her siblings and I immediately seized the opportunity.

We went on a spontaneous road trip to Baguio shortly after Typhoon Egay. It was only a three-day staycation.

Hindi kami namasyal. Kumain lang, nagkuwentuhan, at naglaro.

As I look back at those pictures, I see more than smiles.

I see love quietly carrying grief.

Throughout that short staycation, no one ever mentioned what Drex and Yeye were going through. It wasn’t planned. It simply unfolded that way—by God’s grace.

Nothing had to be spoken.

Our presence was enough.

What I Will Always Remember

Looking back, perhaps that trip was never meant to erase their grief.

It simply reminded me that even in sorrow, our family would always find moments of laughter, endless kwentuhan over meals, and joy in simply being together.

And this is what I will always remember:

Sometimes love arrives not in the right words, but in ordinary conversations, in silence, and in the simple act of staying.

And sometimes…

the deepest love has no words.