You can never really leave us

Letty was late in submitting her piece. She begged for more time for the intro, as ‘I want to do justice to it’

IT was that love she showed throughout my wife’s ordeal that made me ask her to write the introduction for my book, “88 Days In India, A Pilgrimage of Faith, Hope & Love.”

Letty Jimenez-Magsanoc was late in submitting her piece. She begged for more time for the intro as “I want to do justice to it”; she needed to finish rereading my daily accounts of our 88day sojourn in India.

When she finally e-mailed me the piece, I was unable to edit it in one sitting, as her words sent me sobbing at every turn. She had captured every emotion behind our story. She presented a perspective that only a person who had closely followed our story—and actually shared in the suffering—could write. It was quite a long piece so Letty told me to cut it however I wanted to. I printed it in toto.

As soon as Margie could be brought to PDI even while recovering, we carried her aloft on her wheelchair up the winding stairs. Once Letty entered the editorial room, I heard her ask, “Where’s Chet?” She walked straight to me even before seeing Margie, didn’t say a word, buried her face on my shoulder and just cried.

Letty left a perfectly shaped red lipstick mark on the collar of my white long-sleeve shirt so people were kidding that I had a telltale souvenir from some woman.

I worked at PDI from 1986 to 1989, when Letty was not yet EIC. But in a dedication she wrote on a book she gave me, Letty said, “you never really left us…” Such warmth that typifies this amazing lady.

It’s now my turn to say Letty, you can never really leave us.