My mother passed away one late autumn morning, as gently as an oil lamp slowly flickering out. Throughout her life, she worked without rest and left no great fortune—only a small, dilapidated house and a few old belongings.
The funeral was simple. My two older brothers—Kuya Ricardo, the eldest; Kuya Nestor, the second; and I, Lito—sat down to talk about how to divide the few things that remained.
In the small room, aside from an old wooden cabinet, there was nothing of value. There were only three worn-out wool blankets that Nanay had folded carefully. I stared at them in silence, my heart tightening. To me, those blankets represented my entire childhood. But Kuya Ricardo scoffed:
“Why keep these tattered blankets? Better to just throw them away.”
Kuya Nestor added: “Exactly, they aren’t worth a single centavo. Whoever wants them can take them; I’m not going to carry around a pile of trash.”
Their words hurt me deeply. Had they forgotten those winter nights when the whole family slept together, and Nanay would cover each of us with those blankets while she herself trembled in her old, patched-up coat? I pressed my lips together and said: “If you don’t want them, I’ll take them.”
Kuya Ricardo waved his hand dismissively: “Suit yourself. It’s just trash, anyway.”
The Secret Within the Blankets
The next day, I brought the three blankets to my small apartment. I planned to wash them and keep them as a memento. While shaking one out forcefully, I heard a sharp “clack!”, as if something hard had hit the floor. I knelt down, my heart pounding. Inside the torn lining, a small brown cloth bag appeared, hand-sewn shut.
With trembling hands, I opened it: inside were several old savings passbooks and a few ounces of gold wrapped carefully. The total amount exceeded five million pesos. I was breathless.
Nanay, who had lived her whole life in austerity without any luxuries, had silently saved every centavo, hiding her fortune inside those old blankets.
I cried inconsolably. Images of the past flooded my mind: the days she spent selling vegetables at the market just to earn a few coins, the times she would rummage through her purse to give me money for school. I always believed she had nothing… but in reality, she had saved everything for us.
Upon checking the other two blankets, I found two more bags. In total, the inheritance was vast.
The Conflict
The news did not take long to spread. Kuya Ricardo and Kuya Nestor came to my house one night, their faces hardened.
“Do you plan on keeping it all for yourself, Lito?” Kuya Ricardo shouted. “That money is Nanay’s inheritance. Why are you hiding it?”
“I didn’t hide it,” I replied. “I planned to tell you on the babang luksa (the anniversary of her death). But remember: you despised these blankets and wanted to throw them away. If I hadn’t taken them, this money would be in the garbage by now.”
Kuya Nestor muttered angrily: “Whatever the case, it is Nanay’s estate. It should be split among the three of us. Don’t even dream of keeping it all.”
I remained silent. I knew the money had to be divided, but I also remembered how they treated Nanay. They never gave her anything, while I, though poor, sent her what I could every month. When she was sick, I cared for her alone; they always had excuses. And now…
The arguments lasted for several days. Kuya Ricardo even threatened to take me to court.
The Last Letter
While checking the bags again, I found a small piece of paper hidden at the bottom. It was Nanay’s trembling handwriting:
“These three blankets are for my three children. Whoever still loves me and remembers my sacrifice will know how to recognize it. The money is not much, but I want you to live with righteousness and harmony. Do not let my soul in the afterlife be saddened.”
I clutched the paper, crying uncontrollably. Nanay had planned everything. It was her way of putting our hearts to the test.
I called my brothers over, and when they arrived, I placed the note in front of them. They fell silent, their eyes cast downward. The room was filled with a heavy silence, broken only by our sobs.
My Decision
I told them calmly: “Nanay left this for the three of us. I will not keep everything. I propose we divide it into equal parts. But please, remember: money is important, yes, but what she desired most was for us to have pagkakaisa—to live in peace.”
Kuya Ricardo lowered his head, his voice hoarse: “I… I was wrong. I only thought of the money and forgot Nanay’s words.”
Kuya Nestor, with moist eyes, added: “She suffered so much… and we never even got to truly thank her.”
We stayed quiet for a long time. Finally, we agreed to divide the money into three equal parts. Each of us took our share as a remembrance of our mother.
The Fate of Each Brother
Kuya Ricardo: He used to be greedy, but after this realization, he changed completely. He used his portion for his children’s education and offers a Mass for Nanay every month, as if seeking redemption.
Kuya Nestor: Always impulsive, but Nanay’s letter transformed him. He donated part of the money to the parish and the poor, saying it was his way of earning “merit” for Nanay’s soul.
Lito (Myself): I kept my portion without spending it on luxuries. I created a small scholarship fund in our barangay in the name of our mother—that woman who sacrificed herself in silence her entire life.
Epilogue
The three old blankets, which seemed like worthless rags, hid not just a fortune, but an eternal lesson. Nanay taught us with her last act to resist greed and to value the bonds of family.
Today, when the nights get cold, I take out one of those blankets and cover my son with it. I want him to learn that the true value of life is not in the money we inherit, but in love, kindness, and the strength of our family.
Because only when we truly know how to love one another are we worthy of being called our mother’s children.