Every morning, she'd wake up early to cook breakfast. I'd sit lazily by the table, half-asleep, and she'd tease, “Your saliva is dripping!” Her laughter always filled the room. On weekends, she'd listen to her favorite radio dramas while I lay beside her, pretending not to care but secretly enjoying the warmth of her presence.
But time has its own way of changing things. One day, Lola started getting weaker. She couldn't move around as much, and the house grew quieter. I noticed how she'd cough more often, how her steps grew slower, how her voice trembled a little when she called my name.
One evening, my Tita told me softly, “Be a good apo, ha? Help your Lola.”
That's when the question sank into my heart, “What does it take to be a good apo?”
At first, I thought it just meant doing chores. So I started helping with simple things—fetching her water, cleaning her room, preparing her medicine. She would smile at me, her eyes soft, and say, “Aba, what did you eat? Huh!” I'd just laugh, but deep inside, I consider that as her compliment.
As days passed by, I realized it wasn’t only about helping; it was about making her feel loved. I'd sit beside her during her favorite shows, tell her funny stories from school, and sing with her when she hummed church songs in the morning. Sometimes, I'd even dance just to make her laugh. And every time she laughed, it felt like sunshine filling our home again.
When her condition worsened, I stayed by her side. I learned to listen when she shared memories of her youth—even if I heard them so many times before. I learned to stay patient when she couldn't remember things. I learned that being a good apo meant showing love not only when it’s easy, but especially when it's hard.
The night before she passed, I held her hand and whispered, “Lola, thank you for everything. I hope I've been a good apo to you.” She smiled faintly, as if saying, ‘I know, apo. You've been good to me.’
Now, every time I remember her laughter, I realize that the answer to my question wasn’t about material things or being the perfect apo.
To be a good apo means to be present, to listen, to care, and to love with all your heart—while you still can.
Because one day, you'll realize that all your Lola ever wanted was your company, your laughter, and most importantly your love.
And if you’ve given her that… then you've already been a good apo.
Written by John Benedict Banday, Insight PH
John Benedict Banday, Insight PH is a dedicated campus journalist and contributor. Their insightful writing sparks meaningful conversations and keeps the community informed.
