In February 2025, many years after her parents passed away, author Minerva Gerodias shares her Mama Nenet and Papa Amor's second chance at love and how, in her eyes, that became "the greatest love I have ever known and witnessed."

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My parents met in the mid-70s in Bato, Samboan, Cebu when my Mama was in her 20s. Papa, eight years older, was in his early 30s. Despite the age gap, he was my Mama’s first and greatest love.

At 25, my Mama became pregnant with me. My grandparents went to see my Papa and asked if he was ready to marry her. He said he would — but not yet. My Lola did not force him and took my Mama home. And so, I was born an illegitimate child, growing up without knowing my father until my elementary years. One of my most vivid childhood memories of him is from my elementary graduation — one of the very few times I remember seeing him.

I remember being in first grade and asking my Mama why my classmates had someone they called "Papa" while I only had my Lolo. I don’t recall exactly how she answered, but as I grew older, I realized how painful that question must have been for her.

Years passed and my Papa remained largely absent from our lives. I often saw my Mama crying, especially when she heard that my Papa was getting married to a banker. When she found out later that the wedding didn’t push through, I knew she was relieved. Despite everything, for almost two decades, she never entertained another relationship —not even after learning that my Papa had fathered another child with a different woman. Her love for him never wavered.

When I went to college, I couldn’t afford a boarding house, so I stayed with my aunt, Mama Lita, my Papa’s sister. Despite my parents not being together, my Papa’s family treated us well. My stay there paved the way for my Mama and Papa to see each other more often, as he visited my aunt almost every weekend, and my Mama would come to see me. Eventually, since both were single, they rekindled their love.

On June 4, 1999, they finally married in a civil ceremony officiated by my ninong, the late Judge Gaudioso Villarin. I had never seen my Mama happier. The moment she had waited for all her life had finally come — she was now my Papa’s wife.

From then on, they were inseparable. Love was indeed sweeter the second time around. They did everything together. Even when my Papa came home drunk, my Mama never uttered a harsh word. She would simply help him to bed and massage him gently. They were the happiest couple I knew.

But their bliss was short-lived. In April 2004, just two months shy of their fifth wedding anniversary, my Papa was diagnosed with liver cancer. Given his lifestyle in his younger years, the diagnosis was not entirely unexpected, but my Mama was devastated, especially when we learned he was already in the terminal stage. During this time, they had their marriage blessed by a priest in a simple ceremony at home.

My Papa was in and out of the hospital, and by July 2004, he was admitted for the last time. During those final days, he remained lucid. My Mama never left his side. Knowing his time was near, he asked her to help him sit up in his hospital bed. He hugged her tightly, apologized for all his shortcomings, and bade her farewell: "Net, adto na jud ko." It was the most painful goodbye my Mama ever had to endure.

On July 27, at around 6 p.m., my Papa passed away. He was 60.

Mama was inconsolable. Just when she had finally started living the life she had longed for, it was taken away from her. She stayed in the province while I worked in the city, and my Papa’s relatives told me she barely slept. Every night, she would go through my Papa’s books and magazines, even reading old letters — letters I wasn’t even sure were meant for her.

Every Sunday, she visited my Papa’s tomb. She would knock on it and whisper, "Mor, ayaw baya kalimot sa atong sabot ha."

No one ever knew what that promise was.

In April 2005, less than a year after my Papa’s passing, my Mama suffered a heart attack. She spent days in the ICU, weeks in a hospital room in Cebu City, and more than a month at Oslob District Hospital, relying on a breathing tube. The heart attack left her in a vegetative state. She couldn’t speak, and I wasn’t even sure if she could hear or understand me. She was fed through a tube. For weeks, she lingered in that condition.

Then, on June 3, 2005, a day before their sixth wedding anniversary, she joined my Papa in heaven. She was only 53. She refused to spend even one anniversary without him.

Yes, in less than a year, I became an orphan. Looking back, I don’t know how I survived, but I consider myself lucky to have witnessed what true, great love looks like.

Papa and Mama, I know you are happy together now. It has been 20 years since you left me, and I still wish you had stayed a little longer to see me achieve my dreams.

But I take comfort in knowing that yours is a love that transcended time, trials, and even death. It is a love that proved that no distance, no heartbreak, and no circumstance could ever truly separate two souls meant to be together. And in the quiet moments of my life, when I long for your presence, I remind myself that love like yours never really fades — it lives on, in memories, in legacies, and in the hearts you left behind.