letters from Lolo

A story about memory, love, and saying goodbye.

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Miko was only eight years old when his Lolo Ben moved back to the province.

“It’s just for a while,” Lolo said gently, crouching to meet miko’s eyes. “The air’s better there, and I need to take care of our old house.”

Miko nodded, but his heart felt heavy. Lolo wasn’t just his grandfather—he was his best friend, his chess partner, his storyteller.

When Lolo left, the house felt quieter. Colder.

But a week later, something arrived in the mail.

A brown envelope with shaky handwriting that read:
To: miko Santos

Inside was a letter.

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Letter #1 – “Hello from the Province”

> “My dearest miko,

The mango tree is still here. It’s much bigger now, just like you. The wind smells like home. I hope you’re still brushing your teeth and being kind to your mama.

I miss you more than rice misses adobo. Write back soon, if you can.

With all my love,
Lolo”*

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From that day on, miko would receive a letter every Sunday. Each one was filled with stories, drawings, pressed leaves, and tiny jokes only the two of them would understand.

Lolo’s letters made the distance feel small.

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Letter #5 – “When You Feel Sad”

> “miko, if ever you feel like crying, don’t hide it. Strong boys know how to feel things. I cry too, sometimes. Especially when I think of your laugh. But it’s okay. Sadness is just love trying to find a way out.”

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The letters kept coming, even when Lolo’s handwriting grew shaky.
Even when his words got shorter.
Even when Mama said, “Lolo’s getting very tired, anak.”

And then, one Sunday… no letter came.

Not the next week either. Or the one after.

Miko stopped checking the mailbox. He sat by the window instead, watching the trees sway—hoping to hear his Lolo’s voice in the wind.

Until one day, a final envelope arrived.
It was older. Yellowed. Dated three weeks earlier.
Inside, it said:

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Final Letter – “When I’m Gone”

> “My dear miko,

If this letter has reached you, it means I’ve gone ahead. Please don’t be scared. I’m not really gone—I’ve just moved where the sky touches the sea.

You were the light of my old days, the joy in my quiet heart.

Visit the mango tree someday. Sit under it. Close your eyes.
When the wind brushes your cheek, that’s me giving you one last soft hug.

Keep writing, miko.
Keep growing.

You carry me now, always.

With all the love I have,
Lolo”*

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Miko cried harder than he ever had.

But that night, he wrote his first letter back.

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> “Dear Lolo,
I miss you every day.
I sat under the mango tree today. I felt the wind.
I hope you felt my hug, too.

Love,
Miko”*

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From then on, Miko would write a letter every Sunday, just like Lolo did.

He would place each one in a small box by the window, addressed simply:

“To Lolo, in Heaven.”

Because sometimes, love doesn’t need a stamp.
It just needs memory,
paper,
and a heart that never forgets.