Eulogy for Dad
It’s been over 20 months waiting for this day. The longest my family has ever waited for a memorial service was about two months after death, and that included international travel. I think even “Junior” would laugh and marvel at that.
It’s been 20 months because of Covid, for our loved one who died of Covid, in the initial pandemic onslaught in Queens, New York in the spring of 2020. In some ways he died alone, meaning none of us relatives could be with him or even travel to NY. In some ways he didn’t die alone because of the loving care given by brave and compassionate hospital staff, the ones for whom New Yorkers clanged at 7 pm outside every day. My brother and I had a few last phone calls with him on the hospital land line, and I even had a video call with him through the kindness of that hospital staff, even though I didn’t know that would be the last time.
It would be so easy for the pandemic to overshadow his death. But it cannot overshadow his life and our memory of the man we knew and loved.
Many friends supported me by saying, “how tough” that I couldn’t be with him. Then I share that we (brother Michael and I) were blessed by the bonus time since 2014 when Dad almost died of diabetic coma/stroke. I spent over 30 days in NY that year, many of them working half days from my brother’s house, then commuting to the hospital and rehab centers during his convalescence. Michael shouldered the burden with Dad the rest of that time over those six months.
Dad had to relearn how to walk and talk, and I had the blessing to be there for the many steps along the way. He was still quintessentially “Al” or “Big Al” but his brain, mind and body were being rewired during healing. We had the gift of experiencing each other in a new way that transcended any previous parent-child baggage. We got to be just adults caring for each other, showing love for each other. Those were six beautiful, memorable overtime years (yes, he loved sports), and I savored every minute.
And I think he did too.
One thing that remained the same before and after the stroke: he was in touch with everybody. On our weekly Tuesday calls he would recount who else he had been in touch with, whether to wish them happy birthday or just to “talk story”.
After I included him on my family’s cell phone plan, he was happy as a clam (and we all know how much he loved those) to have unlimited phone minutes to Hawaii.
He seemed to remember everybody and everything. It could have been a life event about a the relative of a classmate I barely recalled from grade school, to updates about families who knew we from the Chinese communities in New York, to tracking down relatives in Hawaii he hadn’t spoken to in years, to the success of a local boys like the Hawaii team in the Little League World Series or athletic phenoms in college or pro sports, his mind was so focused on these connections.
I hadn’t thought much about all his doggedness about the past and all things local because I thought it a natural part of his aging. But it was more than that. It was how his mind – his spirit and essence – were wired.
I still have his phone line active just in case people call him and the last one was only 5 months ago — each of those were tough calls. These are people I’d never met. It’s clear he made a positive, lasting impression in those last few years, just like he’d done his whole life.
His laughter and smile were contagious, as he engaged with others over his favorite things, like ballroom dancing, fishing, and horses. He always tried his best to raise my both Michael and me to be the best we could be. He served his community as Little League coach, President of the High School Dad’s Club, and supporting the VFW. He was especially proud of serving his country. If there was one consistency about planning after his death, it was to be lain at rest here, at a military cemetery, especially Punchbowl, the one close to his birthplace and hometown.
Some of us gathered here in the summer of 1970 to remember Alfred’s middle brother, Glenn, killed in action during the Vietnam War. Although I was young and didn’t fully understand everything, I knew it was a somber event, and this is hallowed ground. I remember a similar feeling when taking my son Noah to visit Gettysburg.
What makes the ground hallowed, or holy, or whole - is our relationships with each other and with God.
In preparing for this day, I contacted Church of the Crossroads, where Alfred’s family went to church as he was growing up. I didn’t know much about this church or Alfred’s church upbringing until the death of his father, Alfred Sr. in April 1997. That funeral was at that church. The current pastor is on leave this week, so they contacted the retired former pastor, Neal MacPherson, who is with us here today.
Serendipitously, that retired pastor, Neal MacPherson, officiated that funeral service for Alfred Sr. I shared with Pastor Neal that in 1997 I learned more about the family history - how Alfred Sr. had met his second wife, who I called Popo, at that church.
All these connections. So many deep relationships. So much of God’s love interwoven throughout these people – ohana – over decades and spanning many miles.
As my brother Michael and I thought about the burial inscription and how to meaningfully summarize Alfred in just 27 characters, one of the suggestions began to ring truer and truer: “You will be remembered.”
One more thing: something that Dad was really good at was talking with others when they had just lost a loved one. That was easy to understand if he knew the survivor. It was just astounding how good he was with meeting someone for the first time. Perhaps from the pain of losing his birth mother at such a young age, he knew the intensity of the personal loss and the deepness of the relationships. He was incredibly sympathetic and empathetic in helping others remember their loved one.
And just as remembering was one of his “love languages”, it’s most appropriate that we mark his niche in that way.
So, to “Alfred Nicholas Hung Chew Lee”; or to many, “Al” or “Big Al”; or “Junior” or “Boy Boy” to relatives from long ago; or to his descendants “Dad”or “Yie yie” or “Gung Gung”: your inscription marker reflects our love for you.
“You will be remembered.”
1 comment:
Beautiful. Thank you for sharing. -Nathan
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