Unexpected lessons from my mom

The following is the eulogy I gave at my mom’s memorial, in a chapel surrounded by her quilts.

I would not be standing here, speaking to all of you wonderful people today, if it wasn’t for my mom. Not because of the obvious reason, but because during my childhood, I had a severe stutter. Speaking in front of anyone at all was out of the question.

In high school, I did a course called the McGuire Program. It involved four 8-hour days of intensive speech practice at a hotel in Reno. I was by far the youngest person there. And Mom was with me the entire time. She was there on my first day, where it took me almost an entire minute to introduce myself.

And she was there on my last day, when we each gave an impromptu speech in front of a crowd at the mall. I will never forget her face after I finished.

Through joyful tears, she gathered me into her arms right after I stepped off the podium. In her eyes, I had finally proved to myself that I could reach my potential. The potential that she saw but I hadn’t realized yet.

That was one of the first big lessons I learned from Mom: Be your own best.

She used to tell us when we were in school: “No matter how smart you think you are, there’s always someone in the world smarter than you.” I think she meant to keep us humble, but I took that to mean it was okay to be a little lazy.

Getting an 89.5—still an A! Lynbrook High School grads know what I’m talking about.

I think it frustrated her that I was like this, but it wasn’t until much later that I realized the real value of that lesson.

Grades or test scores, or any other arbitrary standard, don’t define your worth. And they don’t define your potential.

Mom taught us to always do our best. Not because we could be #1, but because otherwise, it’s not worth doing at all. She was a great role model herself, taking on new activities and continually developing her skills, as you can see for yourself, all around this room. She didn't get into quilting until she retired.

She put us both in piano, not because we could win competitions or pass a bunch of tests. But because in her words, “we would have something to do when we were retired.” I was 10 years old when she told me this.

It was about learning a skill that would allow us to enjoy life.

That was a motto she had, especially as we got older. Don’t forget to enjoy life!

Learning was such a huge part of her joy. There were always so many new things to learn, all the time.

Which goes into the second big lesson I learned from Mom: You can always learn something from everyone you meet.

A new skill, a new perspective. How exciting!

That openness and generosity was the key to Mom’s kindness. You can see proof of that love reflected back all around this room. She has friends from school, friends from work, friends from her retirement years volunteering. People from vastly different backgrounds throughout the decades, gathered here to celebrate her.

I’ve taken that lesson with me, especially during my career change. From cancer research to design, if it’s been a while since you’ve gotten an update on our antics.

Showing openness and generosity to my new professional community has opened doors and has found me doing work I never could have imagined.

Mom’s openness about life also leads me to the third big lesson I learned from her: You can always learn something from every experience. Yes, even awful ones.

The past few weeks with Mom’s illness were so hard, but in the struggle, I’ve realized the true bond of sisterhood. Three pairs of sisters: mom’s sister Yi-Wen, me and my sister Diane, and mom’s cousins Vera and Joanna. Together, we formed a team around Mom and made sure every one of her last wishes were fulfilled.

Sisters take care of each other. And we get stuff done. We’ve got the text messages, emails, spreadsheets, and 30 pages in Google Docs to prove it! Thank you so much to my sisterhood. I have no idea how we could have done it all without each other.

These lessons, among others, were all small when first given to me, like tiny seeds. But they have grown to make me the person I am today.

That was always Mom’s way. Planting tiny seeds, instead of coming right out with big gestures. She was always very unassuming and humble. But seeds can always grow.

These tiny seeds, of love, of generosity, of support, have all grown. We are all here today to give some of that love back.

I sign off with what Mom always used to tell me before we would say good night to each other on Google Hangouts. Be good, and enjoy your life.

Thank you.

Love, Ni Ni