Jenny

This is a eulogy I shared at my friend Jenny Tee's funeral at Mandai Crematorium on the morning of November 22, 2004. Jenny went home to be with the Lord at the age of 45 after an prolonged fight against cancer. She fought a good fight, she finished the race and now I know she is in a better place.

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Sometimes we wonder why we don’t say enough of the things we write in eulogies when the person is still around. This words I am about to share, some I shared with her personally, for some, like everyone else, I wish I said more to her.

Jenny to me is a lady that embodied the word LOVE even though in her lifetime, she didn’t have someone special to share intimately. But she makes up for that in her love for God and people. Jen just loves the people around her.

She spent time with people. When I think about the time I could have spent with her in the last few weeks, I remember how Jenny was there for me, for my wife Daphne, for people who mean a lot to her. She made time for people her priority.

That made Jenny the special someone we know her to be.

Not only does Jen likes spending time with people she loves, she makes sure the people knows she’s there for she is always so loud.

We have a little joke in the church office that before we can see Jenny coming, we can hear her coming. Most of us will agree that when Jenny’s on leave or out, the decibel level in the office drops. Significantly.

Perhaps this is why I miss her more. I’m not sure if I know anyone else who is as loud as her and yet as lovable and affable as her.

Jen was like a big sister. We shared a lot openly. When I was still on staff, Jen, Linda and I would spend a fair bit of time together talking (during office hours), catching up and finishing up her bottle of cranberries.

What I would miss most about Jen is that she listens. Even though sometimes she would give the weirdest response but you know she was listening and you feel and know she listened to you.

In her final relapse of cancer, I learned to return the favour. On the occasions I visited her at the hospital and her home, I brought food in return for the bottles of cranberries I ate in her office. I would message her about me coming and she would tell me her craving. Rojak from Tiong Bahru, Pineapple and the very last thing I bought her was Rotiboy.

When I’m there, I’ve learned to listen. All she could share about, besides her pain, was her concerns for people she loved and cared about. She would share about what others were going through. She would talk about how hard people were working. How she would like to spend more time with people when she gets well and able to get back to work.

She talked and she talked. Not just about her pain and suffering but about the people she loves. As Daphne and I prepare to leave (so that she can continue watching her latest hobby: the Alias DVDs) and pray with her, only then will she start sharing in detail about her pain and suffering. We would then pray, every step trusting that God will be sovereign.

This is the Jenny that I know and I miss. Like many here, I wish I could spend more time with her but perhaps, through her life, she has showed what matters most in life is not how successful we are but how much lives we have touched and spent time with.

Jenny, I’ll miss the times we spent together in yours and Linda’s room laughing and chatting. I’ll miss your loudness, your comments, your irritating smile but most of all, I’ll miss having you around. I know that you are in a better place and from now till then, I know that heaven is a much louder place now that you are there.