In a small, quiet barangay in the Philippines, nestled between rusting rooftops and overgrown gardens, lives a woman whose story speaks volumes—about sacrifice, love, and the cruel passage of time.

Her name is Lola Belen, a 72-year-old widow who spent the better part of her life not for herself, but for her grandson, Joshua.

When Joshua was barely a year old, his parents—struggling with poverty and the weight of their own failures—left him in Lola’s care. They disappeared from his life, but Lola stayed. Weak in body but strong in heart, she took on the role of mother, father, protector, and provider.

Despite her age, Lola did everything: washing neighbors’ clothes, selling vegetables in the wet market, and even collecting recyclable bottles under the sweltering sun—just so Joshua would never sleep hungry and could go to school like other children.

“Balang araw, Joshua,” she would whisper as she fed him warm milk, “kapag naging mabuti kang tao, masaya na si Lola.”

And for a time, it seemed her efforts were not in vain. Joshua grew up, graduated, and got a job. Life appeared to be changing for the better.

But what came next, Lola never expected.

With success came distance. Joshua made new friends, entered a new world—and slowly, his lola faded from his memory. The woman who once carried him through fevered nights was now someone he could barely tolerate speaking to.

“Wala akong oras diyan, ang kulit mo na, Lola!” he once snapped when she called to check on him. That single line shattered her heart more than any hardship she had ever endured.

Now, Lola Belen sits in her tiny home alone. The walls echo with silence where laughter once lived. She stares out the window every afternoon, hoping to see Joshua return—even just for a visit. But days turn to months, and still, he does not come.

She doesn’t ask for money. She doesn’t ask for gifts. All she wants is to be remembered. To be hugged again. To hear a simple, “Salamat po, Lola.”

Because in the end, it’s not the sacrifices that hurt the most—it’s being forgotten after everything you gave.

Lola’s story is not unique. In many Filipino homes, grandparents raise grandchildren with deep love and total devotion. But too often, those same grandparents grow old and lonely, their sacrifices erased by time and convenience.

Let Joshua’s story serve as a reminder: The people who raised you, especially those who had no obligation to do so, deserve more than silence. They deserve gratitude, respect, and most of all—presence.

Before it’s too late, remember to look back. Hug your lola. Say thank you. And never forget the hands that fed you when the world had nothing else to give.