My father-in-law had no pension. I cared for him wholeheartedly for twelve years. With his last breath, he handed me a torn pillow and said softly, “For Maria…” When I opened the pillow, I couldn’t hold back my tears…
My name is Maria. I came to my in-laws’ home at the age of 26. At that time, my husband’s family had already endured many difficulties. My mother-in-law passed away very early, so my father-in-law, Mang Ramon, had to raise four children alone. He spent his entire life growing rice and vegetables. He never had a stable job or any pension.
When I married his son, most of Mang Ramon’s children had already settled into their own homes and rarely visited him. Most of his old age depended on my husband and me.
The neighbors often said:
“Hey, she’s just a daughter-in-law, and look at how she takes care of her father-in-law! Who would do that for so many years?”
But I saw things differently. This was a man who sacrificed his whole life for his children. If I left him, who would take care of him?
Those twelve years were not easy. I was young, often tired and lonely. When my husband went to Manila to work, I took care of our young son and Tatang Ramon, whose body was already weak. I cooked, did the laundry, and stayed awake at night listening to the sound of his breathing.
One day I said to him,
“Tatang, I’m just your daughter-in-law… Sometimes I feel that this responsibility is very heavy.”
He simply smiled, held my trembling hand, and said,
“I know, anak. That’s exactly why I’m even more grateful to you. Without you, I probably wouldn’t be here by now.”
I have never forgotten those words. From that day on, I decided that I would make his life as easy and comfortable as possible. Every winter, I brought him warm shawls and blankets. When his stomach hurt, I made light porridge. When his legs ached, I gently massaged them.
I never thought I would receive anything in return. I did all this because I had already accepted him as my own father.
Over time, Tatang Ramon became even weaker. At the age of 85, the doctor at the public hospital said that his heart was very fragile. In his last days, he kept telling me stories of his childhood over and over again, saying that he wished his children and grandchildren would always be respected.
Then came his last day. Struggling to breathe, he called me close. He handed me an old pillow, torn on one side, and said in a weak voice,
“For Maria…”
I hugged the pillow to my chest without fully understanding. A few minutes later, he took his final breath.
That night, sitting in the yard, I opened the torn pillow. I was completely stunned by what I found inside:
carefully folded bills, a few small gold coins, and three old savings account passbooks.
I stood there in shock, then burst into tears. He had hidden inside the pillow the small savings given by his children and the money from a small piece of land he had sold in the village. And he left it all to me.
There was also a letter, written in faint, shaky handwriting:
“Daughter, you are the most hardworking and kind daughter-in-law I have ever known. I am not leaving you great wealth, but I hope this will make your life a little easier. Do not blame your husband’s brothers, because this was my own decision—to give it to you, because you served me for twelve years.”
I cried without restraint. Not because of the money or gold, but because of his love and gratitude. I used to think my hard work was only the duty of a daughter-in-law. But Tatang Ramon showed me that good deeds, even without expectation of return, never go to waste.
Even on the day of the funeral, people whispered,
“What could Mang Ramon possibly leave? He didn’t even have a pension.”
I simply smiled. Because no one knew what he truly left me—not just savings, but real gratitude and unshakable faith.
Every time I look at that old pillow, I think of Tatang Ramon. In my heart, he was not just a father-in-law, but a second father who taught me the true meaning of sacrifice, gratitude, and selfless love.
And every day I say to myself: I will live better and love more—so that his most precious legacy is never lost.