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Two things had moved her to trek to the Church of Santo Domingo in Intramuros that afternoon. She was poor and she had had that child - now dead in her arms - out of lawful wedlock.

Because she had no means, she did not dare take her child to the parish priest for burial, for she thought, mistakenly at that, that the curate will not attend to it if she did not pay some fees.

And so she was resorting to the prevalent custom among indigent and simple Filipinos of leaving their dead children by the doors of a convent, trusting in the charity of the religious to give them Christian burial.

And because the child was illegitimate, she was ashamed to have the Parish Priest know about it if she did take the child to him for burial. For, she know that parish convents had something called "records" or "registries."


As the poor woman, filled with anguish, approached the temple of Santo Domingo, all ablaze at that time, for the October afternoon services had just begun, she somehow felt an unbearable pang in the heart,

Why had she been so chastized in life!

Thrown into the mire of disgrace - a fallen woman, she had now to suffer the death of her only hope: a cute baby boy of six months, in whom she had pinned her dreams and illusions.

Certainly, when grown, he would take care of her, even as his father had rejected her in the most unforgiving manner. No, she would see to it that he didn't take after his father - despoiler of women's honor.

She was now by the convent door. Fortunately she had caught the sight of the Lay-Brother, who customarily stayed at the portería, as he entered the church, possibly to say a prayer or attend the Benediction.

There was no time to lose.

The services were about to be over and she did not want anyone see her leave the dead body by the door.


As she stooped down to lay the dead child with great care, and yes, sorrow, at the convent side, she heard the first warbling notes of acute lovelines of the Despedida a la Virgen, for the city was about to celebrate the feast of La Gran Señora de Filipinas.

The Despedida is a plaintive song, that was to Mary, Queen of the Rosary, Mother of God. The Virgin was, like her, a mother. She too had lost, a Son.

Before she knew it, she had stood erect, the child still in her arms. And then, she walked... into the temple "with more than sixteen hundred candles shining in the gloom of the sanctuary, and a thousand worshippers kneeling on the tiled floor, among the high arches gathered the smoke of the incense...

She had only eyes for one figure in the beautiful church: the revered image of the Nuestra Señora del Santísimo Rosario. From on high, upon that altar of gold, silver and flowers, She seemed to smile on her.

The stir that her presence had caused among the devotees in the pews had not disturbed her at all. Without a hesitant step, she marched along the main nave up to the foot of the altar. The prelates and government officials present at the services, filled with awe and unexplicable wonderment, did not move from their places.

All eyes were upon that poor woman with a dead child in her arms.

"Oh Mary, beloved Queen of Heaven, Mother of God! You, who are the comforter of the afflicted; you, who have tasted the bitterness of the death of your divine Son, look upon me, a wretched woman, disgraced and abandoned. This that you see in my arms is my dead child. This little boy was my only hope and dream in life, he is gone, dear Mother.

Please, help me!

Bring him back to me. I ask for no more..."

As she sobbed, falling upon her knees, the congregation, deeply touched, sobbed with her.




Before anyone could do anything about it, the woman had suddenly stood up. There was happiness, indescribable happiness in her tear-stained countenance. The child had moved. The child had cried.

Her son was alive!

All ran to her to verify the miracle. Yes, there was no doubt. The pallor had gone from the face of the boy; his limbs were no longer stiff; the child was truly alive once more.

"Blessed be the Great Mother of God! Long live the Queen of the Rosary!"

And, with these cries, the people hurriedly left the temple to tell the city of the miraculous event.


Only the religious were left with the woman. She was still before the throne of the Santo Rosario. They approached her and, congratulated her on the great favor, asked her more details of the happening to verify the celestial gift.

She had but one word to say:

"The Blessed Virgin Mary is truly a mother. She understood me. She knew how i felt. She gave me back my child. In all my days, I shall be grateful to her."


The incident was duly recorded and perpetuated. The details were carefully checked and, in years, the miracle, fully established, was kept in the grateful memory of all Manileños.

But her name was forgotten. It does not matter. She was just a mother praying for her son.

And the Mother of God graciously obliged.