eulogy for my dad

Hello, my name is Hwan Hong, and I’m Song-ho’s son. I want to thank everyone who came to say goodbye to my father. I know that he would have been very happy to see your faces and pleased to know that there are so many who care about him. I also want to thank my aunt, my sister, my mom, and my wife for helping me write this eulogy.

We came to Canada all the way from South Korea 50 years ago, in 1974, just months after my parents were married. Since then, I have come to think of my dad as someone who made time for others, someone who was comfortable working with his hands, and someone who tackled obstacles straight on.

My dad valued his friendships a lot and took being a good friend seriously. He would go the extra mile to help a friend; whether it was a golf lesson, a gardening tip, or just cracking a tough Sudoku puzzle, he would find the time. I remember seeing his face light up with that big smile of his whenever he took a call from someone he knew. He loved his friends, and being there for others was important to him.

Song was also someone who, when faced with a problem, would roll up his sleeves and get his hands dirty. I grew up knowing him as a carpenter and all-around handyman, taking on any project, whether it was to lay out a walkway, refurbish a basement, replace carpet with hardwood, or build an elaborate garden. My dad did all these things and did them as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do it by himself. And this was well before we had YouTube to show us how.

He was also someone who was extremely fit, famously ready to do a handstand for anyone who’d watch, much to my sister’s and my embarrassment. His fitness was an undeniable part of his identity, something he kept in his back pocket, content to know it was there when needed. But then, as many of you already know, he was diagnosed with liver cancer in 1997.

Like any other challenge they were faced with, he and my mom (or, as he sometimes referred to her, “The Boss”) tackled it head-on, changing his lifestyle, diet, and daily routine to give himself the best chance of extending his life and time with us. After multiple surgeries, chemotherapies, radiation therapies, radiofrequency ablations, and many, many hours of appointments and waiting in hospitals, my father was able to live another 3 decades, far exceeding the average expectancy. No doubt my mom’s incredible dedication to his health regimen played a bit part.

In his later years, he cherished being a grandfather to my daughter Sora, and whenever we visited, she was the centre of his attention. He couldn’t do handstands anymore, but he took the time to let her know how much she meant to him, and always had something to give or show her, like a collection of origami he’d made or some JibJab video he’d saved. Even in his final days her presence brought him joy like no-one else.

I know his death seems to have come so suddenly and too soon. But I want to paraphrase something he said last January after he learned that he only had a few months left: “Please don’t cry. I was supposed to die when I got cancer 30 years ago. Since then, my time with you has been a bonus.” 

And in this bonus time, this final bonus time, my sister, Pam, was able to give our dad the honour of walking her down the aisle when she married Jon in April. In his remaining months, we knew he was proud of his kids. He was at peace, knowing we had found our life partners and that he had succeeded in building a new life in a new country.

Those who knew my dad knew he was also an optimist. And I think we can all honour his memory by remembering that, for every one of us, each day with our family, our friends, and those around us, is a bonus. And we should cherish every moment.

Thank you.