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September 15, 2011

Goodbye Mummy. I love you.

Patricia Chan
September 7, 1939 - September 11, 2011
Patricia Chan, 72, of Mason, died in the early morning of September 11, 2011 of cancer. Patricia was very active with senior citizens and prayer groups of St. Susanna Church in Mason and an enthusiastic volunteer at the community center. Her warm smile and caring concern for the seniors in Mason will be missed. She was preceded in death by her husband Peter C.F. Liew and survived by her children Mary Jacqué (Dave), Susan Giovengo, Leonard (Siew Peng), Peter (Siew Chin) and Paul (June) Liew, grandchildren Steven Jacqué, Denise, Amanda, Alicia, Kristie and Jason Liew.

Dear Steven,

My mother died. We watched her cancer devour her spirit and gradually suck all life out. There are no words to describe the pain of someone watching her mother die. How hard we prayed: "Dear God, if you are not going to cure her, please take her now. For mercy's sake, please take her now." How does one wish death upon one's mother?

The last few days have been a surreal blur. What flowers would you like? What color casket? Should there be 50 prayer cards printed or 75? Where will the reception be? Will she be buried or will she be cremated? So many meaningless questions ...

What difference would all this make?

My mother was beautiful. She was a dancing queen, the belle of many a party in her day. She married my father at a young age. She had 5 children by the time she was 26. She raised your Auntie Sue, Uncle Leonard, Uncle Peter, Uncle Paul and me with tough love. She instilled in us, with disciplined certainty, compassion, assiduousness and spiritual strength. She made sure that we knew God.

All 5 of us had to attend 5:30 a.m. mass every day before school. We (at least I did) swallowed our soft-boiled eggs (yuck) whole to minimize the taste, and washed it down with warm milk (yuck again.) This was our breakfast. Then we would cram into my mother's small Mazda with school bags and all. It must be more sanctifying to worship God half-asleep making tortured efforts to pay attention to the priest's holy dronings. But we got to know God. We learned God's grace and goodness through sleep deprivation and my mother's relentless persistence.

Even as a young girl, I marveled at my mother's beauty. I would watch her put on her make-up, pick out the right outfit to wear and make sure that her hair was just right. We did not have much money. My mother sewed most of her own clothes and those for Auntie Sue and me. We always looked good. My mother was a vain woman. And proud of it! She always looked like she stepped out of a fashion magazine. She even took 2nd place in some beauty pageant when she was younger. People who didn't know us always thought that we were sisters instead of mother and daughter.

My mother was an excellent cook. I regret that I did not inherit this talent from her, but Uncle Peter and Uncle Paul did. She used to whip up the most amazing meals: rendangs, chow-fun, flying steaks and mouth-watering curries so spicy that my father would be drenched in sweat and nasal drippings eating it; all the while smacking his lips and nodding sated approval. Being very frugal, she was adverse to waste of any kind. She would recycle unpalatable leftovers that we wouldn't eat, to brand-new feasts that we unknowingly inhaled with voracious appetites.

Her culinary skills were shared by many more than immediate family. My mother always encouraged our friends to play at our house when we were younger. I think that this was her very sneaky way to keep close tabs on the 5 of us and who our friends were. Friends loved to be at our house because my mother would feed them well. She continued to cook for our friends even when we were grown. My mother lived with Auntie Sue, so all of Auntie Sue's friends got to know her. My mother "adopted" most of them, and lovingly cooked for them too.

My mother also taught us to respect our elders. My great-grandmother and grandmother lived with us. We learned to take care of them by my mother's example and instruction. For most of her life, my mother volunteered at different organizations to help the elderly. She chauffeured them to church and doctor visits, she held their hands in hospice, she prayed with them. She was their angel and their friend.

My mother taught us that life is not always fair. That we make our own fates and our own futures. She taught us independence and self-reliance. She taught us compassion for others. She taught us how to love unconditionally.

I will always be grateful for all these gifts. And I will miss her.

Love,
Mom

February 01, 2011

Happy Belated Birthday Eesok

Dutch-oom
French-oncle
German-Onkel
Greek-θείος
Italian-zio
Portuguese/spanish-tío
Russian-дядюшка
Cantonese-Sok
Dear Steven;

   I would like to think that Dad and I have been good influences in your life. It is so very important that you have people that you look up to, people you know who love and support you, people who have made an impact on the shape of the mold that formed you.

   Let me tell you about your Eesok-kung, my Eesok... a major diecasting element in my life.

   Eesok means "2nd Uncle" in Cantonese. He is my father's brother, not to be confused with Eefu which means "2nd Uncle (mother's brother)" Eesok-kung is therefore, your great-uncle on your maternal paternal side. And yes, he is a GREAT uncle.

   My earliest memories of Eesok are with his old black bicycle. Eesok used to ride to our house from his house on his rickety one-speed black bicycle. He was a college student living with his parents. He perched me atop the support bar and together, we rode back to my grand-parents' house. And there, he created a wonderland playground for an enthralled young child. We drew faces on our thumbs and had "finger and thumb" conversations. He taught me how to rub my head with one hand in one direction and my tummy with my other hand in the other direction at the same time. And when you listened carefully to his tummy, you would discover a whole new alien world where they spoke in growls and clicks and musical rumblings and hysterical burps. We laughed at each other's stories and jokes. We played word games. My favourite were homophones: words that sound alike but differ in meaning, e.g. son vs. sun, hair vs. hare, pray vs. prey... you get the idea.

   In later years, your Auntie Sue and Uncle Leonard were also included in these special Eesok outings. He graduated with an engineering degree and started a successful career working for George Kent (Malaysia ) Berhad. He shared his newfound affluence with us. Our special outings together now included trips to A&W for foot-long hot dogs and root beer floats. And every outing almost always ended with a trip to the convenience store to buy Beano and Dandy comic books and Smarties chocolate candy before he took us home.

   Eesok loves to read and subsequently nurtured my love for reading. He must have bought us hundreds of books: Enid Blyton's Famous Five and The Magic Faraway Tree series were my favourites, followed closely by the Nancy Drew series. I must have read every one of them, thanks to Eesok. In my teenage years, I started to read his hand-me-downs. I think I read Jacqueline Susann's Valley of the Dolls when I was 14 or 15; the story of three young women who embark on careers that bring them to the dizzying heights of fame and eventual self-destruction with sex, drugs and alcohol. Not entirely appropriate teenage reading material. But I also read works of the "Great Ones"... Alex Haley, Pearl S. Buck and John Steinbeck. All because Eesok had read them.

  I so wish that you had the opportunity to get to know your Eesok-kung. I wish that he and I were not so geographically inaccessible to each other. I miss him. I miss his dry humor. And his ready laugh. And his ability to make me laugh.

  But I can raise my glass of Cabernet and wish him well... Happy Birthday Eesok. May you have many many happy years ahead of you. Thank you for the many many happy years that I had because of you.

   So dear Steven, I hope you find your own "Eesok." We all need one to love and to look up to.

Love,
Mom