You may find this odd but, like many others, I have emotionally invested in you. It began that sad day in August when the death of your husband propelled you into the national consciousness.

It was a Saturday evening when I learned of the plane crash. I followed the news with devotion, anxiously awaiting new details. The weekend plodded along without results of the search for Jesse Robredo. Then another long night turned into day, and on that Tuesday morning, his lifeless body was found.

I caught snippets of you on TV, somber and quiet. When you met the media for the first time after days of grief, you were the picture of serenity and grace. You shared a narrative of a life without frills, of Jesse coming home to Naga every weekend to gain his bearings, away from the trappings of power, of your connectedness to each other and your 3 daughters.

No recriminations. Just an acceptance of your husband’s tragic fate, buoyed by the overwhelming thought that he left you and your family blanketed in his love and good name.

I quietly cheered when the Judicial and Bar Council shortlisted you for RTC judge. Your experience with an alternative law group working with the grassroots must have given you a perspective that would enrich your courtroom, whether in Bicol or in Quezon City.

Then you were named chair of the Liberal Party in Camarines Sur, filling up the void left by your husband. It seemed to be a temporary thing, only up to the mid-term elections next year. Your sights were still set on the bench.

Surprise

And then the big surprise last week. On the last day of the filing of candidacies, you decided to run for Congress, succumbing to pressure from the LP members. They looked up to you as their unifying figure.

At first, like many others, I was uneasy. I saw you as a pristine figure. Why get soiled in the backslapping, deal-making world of politics?

But I’ve shed my initial reservations. That may be a defeatist idea. If upright people don’t join politics and leave the arena to the dark and dirty pols, then that would be doing the country a disservice.

You were relying on gut feel, you said, and you didn’t know if you made the right or wrong decision. You were doing this to honor your husband, “a small price to pay.”

Of course you’re not alone. In our country, the most famous widow to step into her husband’s shoes was Cory Aquino. Like Cory, you’re a reluctant candidate, swathed in the mantle of a husband’s legacy.  

This, too, happens in other countries. In the US, according to the U.S. House of Representatives website, 49 congressional widows have been elected to the House or Senate seats once held by their husbands.

Despite your popularity and the sparkle of your name, you’re not the kind who will be complacent. You will still work hard to win.

Empathy

Many have expectations of you, to champion honesty and integrity in public service, to make transparency and accountability work, to help improve the lives of the poor.  

As one who has lived simply and worked with underserved communities, you will bring one quality to public service: empathy. As someone once said, empathy means “the ability to walk a mile in somebody else’s shoes.” This is an important quality because once you win, “you may never walk anywhere in anyone else’s shoes.”

You know that it’s going to be a different world out there, as your husband has shared with you. Power comes with perks and, in Congress, with pork.

Some of those who stay long enough in politics forget why they’re there, in the first place. And once their terms are over, they perpetuate themselves through members of their families.

I will never forget what you said about your husband’s longing to be home every weekend because, in Naga, he felt “grounded.” He was not surrounded by sycophants and he got to be the handyman, the go-to guy for anything that’s wrong with the house.  

That’s a lesson for our politicians, to always be in touch with one’s roots and never let power get in the way of public service. Somehow, I know, you will live up to this. – Rappler.com