Alfredo Bengzon

To know Tito Alfredo was to know a man who carried the weight of a nation’s health with a gentle hand, yet found his truest joy in the quiet, everyday moments of family. I’ll always picture him in his favorite chair at dawn, a strong cup of coffee beside him, the newspaper rustling as he scanned the headlines with a physician’s critical eye and a grandfather’s heart. He had this way of making everyone feel seen—whether you were a Cabinet colleague, a nervous medical student, or his youngest grandchild tugging on his sleeve. His laughter was a warm, rolling sound that filled a room, and his counsel was never a lecture but a question, guiding you to find your own answer. His legacy as Secretary of Health and a towering figure in medical education is monumental, but to us, he was first and foremost a devoted husband to Tita Nini, a fiercely proud father to his children, and a “Lolo” whose eyes crinkled at the mere mention of his grandchildren. He’d trade a board meeting for a school play any day, and his pride wasn’t in titles but in their kindness, their curiosity, their grit. He taught us that service was love