My uncle, my mother’s youngest brother, passed away on the night of September 21st.

He had been ill since 2022, suffering from complications of diabetes. His quality of life gradually deteriorated over the years following his stroke.

Growing up, he was abroad for work. He retired about ten years ago and divided his time between Balanga and Camarines Sur, his wife’s province. One thing I realized after he passed was that I could probably count on my fingers the number of times I had actually seen him.

He was practically absent during my childhood and teenage years. By the time I reached adulthood, our connection had become more about receiving updates about his health condition than sharing moments together.

That is why the time we spent together at a resort in 2022 remains memorable to me. It was probably the first time my brothers and I genuinely bonded with him and his family. It was a simple gathering, but looking back now, it meant more than I realized at the time.

Because despite the distance, despite the years we spent apart, I had always carried him quietly in my heart.

Perhaps that was how my mother loved him, too. Even when they had misunderstandings, even when life kept them apart, he remained her brother. The love was still there, even when it wasn’t always expressed.

And maybe that is something I understand more clearly now: it is possible to love family from a distance.

The distance between us was not because we did not love each other. It was simply the kind of family arrangement we had grown accustomed to—the way life happened, the way work and circumstances took people to different places, and the way years could pass without seeing someone you still considered family.

Sometimes, love does not look like constant presence.

Sometimes, it is simply remembering someone, carrying them quietly in your heart, and knowing that even from a distance, they were always part of your life.