Eulogy

A man asked the Messenger of God, “Who is most deserving of my good company?” The Prophet said, “Your mother.” The man asked, “Then who?” The Prophet said “Your mother.” The man asked again, “Then who?” The Prophet said, “Your mother.” The man asked again, “Then who?” The Prophet said, “Your father.”

Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī 5971

Something that you might not know about my mom is that she originally enrolled in university as a teacher. Taking care of children and setting them up for their future was my mom's lifelong dream. Although she ended up being switched into chemistry, this passion shone in how she raised the kids.

Mom wanted the best for us. She wanted us to love each other and give us everything we needed to follow our passions. I was a dull child and began my academic career as a straight-C student. I remember sincerely worrying about her health when she was teaching me arithmetic - either she'd blow up or faint in the next moment! But she didn't give up. She took me to learn lots of stuff. Chinese, skating, swimming, piano, ping pong, Tae Kwon Do, tutoring in all kinds of subjects. And she did different activities for all the kids at once.

But what I remember the most is the time we spent together. In the summer before high school, she finally had enough of my mediocre academic performance. We went to Costco, where she bought a math workbook and said “you're not playing video games before doing four pages of this every day". And every day she'd sit with me and make sure I did my work. That was the last time I had issues with school.

So my mom loved nuturing others. She was also unimaginably considerate. I know how scary it must have been each time she found out a drug didn't work, or that the cancer metastasized to a new place. Yet she hid her worries from me, Ben and Connie. Even when it spread throughout the brain and she needed to do a course of 10 radiation treatments with serious sideeffects. She wouldn't let me drive her to the hospital and wanted me to focus on my remote job. She wanted nothing but for us to live our lives.

In December 2023, my mom called the kids together and told us how bad her cancer had gotten. Until then, she kept it a secret and wanted us to continue with our lives. All of us wove our lives around home since then. Ben completed an internship from home. Connie rejected a prestigious job offer, and I finished my Masters as fast as I could and came back home.

I was lucky enough to spend almost every day together with my mom from May 2024 until April 2025. In the summer, we gardened. We watched the leaves grow in anticipation, despaired when we'd wake up to a missing tomato and celebrate when we could throw a few kale leaves into a tumeric smoothie. In the early Winter sunsets, I'd nap beside her and keep company. We'd make light-hearted conversation.

A bit about me: in 2020 and 2021, I read a few books by Fyodor Doestevsky. My take-away, though I didn’t know it at the time, was that a life of virtue and meaning is one that's centered around God, and since then, I've been on the search for God in books, nature, the coincidences of life and in peoples' everyday conduct.

In summer 2024, parked outside the tennis club, a massive tree slammed into the ground inches from my mom's car. Close enough to leave scratches all over bumper. What happened in the next 9 months?

As Mom's body got weaker day by day, I saw her soul grow increasingly in kindness and sentimentality. She'd smile with a brightness that I hadn't seen before. She'd talk about how much she wanted to see her big sister. And often I'd see her in tears and ask why. And the response would be an elusive "I'm moved". The afternoon before she began a course of 16 radiation treatments that she wouldn't be able to finish, she said to me: pray that I go up. She had been a secular woman her entire life.

On the morning of Thursday April 17th, we took Mom to the emergency department at Credit Valley hospital. I'll never forget the last time I saw her smile. I walked over to open her door and escort her out. Through the tinted window, I saw her big eyes smiling with immeasurable love. Before long, she was moved to a sunny, private room. From then until Friday April 25th, the entire family would take shifts to keep her company 24 hours a day.

And within that sunny hospital room, life moved on. I started my first full time job and had my first week of work. Ben finished his undergraduate degree. Connie studied for and took her final exams. On the afternoon of the 8th day, I stepped out to pray. When I came back, Mom had moved on. And the torch goes on to us. Perhaps I'll marry rich and manage to get a house in the Toronto area, the bubble as it is. Or maybe I'll have to relocate to Malaysia and take a shot there. No matter where fate takes me, I'll strive to uphold what she's left in my heart. Her compassion to all types of people, her action-oriented approach to life, and her endless consideration of others.

As my mom would probably want, I’m wrapping up this eulogy with a call to action. My family was able to spend so much time with Mom because we had a private room. But there were extremely sick cancer patients who slept in the hallways. I want everyone who's reading this eulogy to follow this link and make a donation to the Credit Valley Hospital. They have an excellent staff serving an oversized population in genuine need. These are donation dollars well spent.

Thursday May 1st, 2025

This talk was delivered on a Thursday afternoon at the Glen Oaks Funeral Home in Oakville, Ontario. My mom had been an active member in several communities and often helped bridge between them. Thousands of flowers wrapped into wreaths surrounded the casket. People whose lives she had touched filled the chapel.