LUI, Shui, age 79, passed away peacefully and surrounding by his two lovely daughters at home on Tuesday, April 15, 2014. Beloved husband of the late Polly Miu-Sim Lau Lui. Devoted father of Jenny Lui and Judy Lui. Relatives and friends are cordially invited to join the family to celebrating his life. Cremation private.
Here is what his daughters have posted on facebook and relayed through email to friends:
Our charity of choice in lieu of flowers is "Stand Up 2 Cancer". We have a donation team name: "The Lui Project " (See the URL/link in the text below)
Please join us as we celebrate the life of our father. We welcome all visitors to our special gathering.
Celebrating the Life of Shui Lui
Date: Saturday, April 19, 2014
Time: 9AM to 12:30PM
Place: Boston Harborside Home of J S Waterman & Son-Waring-Langone
580 Commercial St, Boston, MA 02109
In lieu of flowers, please donate to our cause at: http://www.standup2cancer.org/custom/?c=team&a=index&id=8469
Thank you,
Judy & Jenny
On behalf of the Lui Family we thank you all for coming today. We appreciate all your love and support.
We are thankful that all of you were able to meet Shui Lui. Today we celebrate and share the story of his life. I will be sharing this narrative, written by his youngest daughter, Judy.
To understand who my father was, we have to start at the very beginning. Born in Toisan, China, growing up wasn’t easy for my father. At age 6 he lost his father. Not long after that, World War II began, and his mother was forced to abandon him. He was left with a blind grandmother who could barely care for him, but his will to live was innate and strong from the very start. Each morning he would head to the local store to buy a loaf of bread and resell it by the slice to passersby. At a young age he witnessed many of the unfortunate repercussions of war, and yet he found ways to survive such an environment on his own.
My father had a huge thirst for knowledge. Education wasn’t something he could afford, and so he resulted to sneaking up to a local school’s window ledge countless days to quietly listen to lessons. One day, the teacher caught him and quickly took him by the hand with the firm intention of scolding him and driving him away. Once she saw the hunger to learn in his eyes, she decided to give him free private lessons. This continued only for a few years, at which point my father had the impressive capability to self-teach. His friends today would vouch that his Chinese literary skills are par to none. His art of calligraphy is one of a kind. Those familiar with the Chinese language will understand how his way with words and poetic talent is so difficult to achieve.
My father was a jack of all trades. His occupations have included opera manager, tailor, welder, chef, etc. Not only was my father a renaissance man, but also a dashing young man. I used to roll my eyes and sigh whenever he boasted about the many women who chased after him in his younger years. Take a look at these photos and judge for yourself. In a too cool and collected fashion, he turned all of them down lightly. He explained that he strove for a more stable and steady life before he could take care of a future wife.
As my father found a steady profession in Hong Kong, one unfathomable day, a distant aunt came to him and told him that she had received word from his mother (my grandmother) who had been searching for him for a long time. She had remarried to a gentleman in the US. They eventually reunited, and with no knowledge of the English language, my father took the leap; he immigrated to the States and moved to Chicago. In Chicago my father began his new career as a chef of good ol’ authentic American Chinese cuisine.
This brings us to another pivotal moment in time. Becoming great friends, the owner of the restaurant happened to share an old family album. My father saw a picture of a particular woman and recognized that they used to play together as young children. It so happened that this woman was the owner’s cousin and alas my mother. The introduction began in writing. Soon both became intimate pen pals. My parents wrote to each other incessantly for 3 years, until finally my father came back to visit Hong Kong, dated my mom for 3 months, married her, and brought the love of his life to the states. They eventually settled in Boston, where my grandmother relocated to as well. Not long after, Jenny became a reality. 16 months later, I became her sister.
Growing up, my father worked hard to provide for us, which meant we weren’t able to see him often. As with most people of his generation, my father never complained of hard work. He worked at restaurants in the far suburbs or even different states. But when he was home, he made all of us laugh. I remember coming into the kitchen as he was preparing dinner. He would see me and gesture me to wait. Then he would reach for an empty jar, open the lid to show me that it was empty. Then he’d make a quick sudden movement, place the jar behind him, let one rip, quickly close the jar cover, and say. “I save this for you!” For a 6-year old it was priceless and painstakingly hilarious. He’d pull off similar tricks like sitting at the dinner table, lean to one side and with a cautious face, as if he had a great secret, and say, “Quiet! Do you hear that??!!” As soon as we perked our ears and asked “What?” he’d let out loud gas and laugh his head off. We fell for this way too many times.
Our lives took a sudden turn. when we lost our mother to cancer. While this transition wasn’t easy, we never noticed his anxiety about raising 2 teenage daughters on his own. For 19 years he was our father and mother. I think we turned out pretty darn well, don’t you think?
My father was a provider. As with most families this translates to: Food is love. He’d never make just a plate of chicken wings. He would put the size of a Kentucky Fried Chicken bucket to shame. Half gallon block of ice cream would mean 15 servings to most people. Not in the Lui household. In addition to abundant provisions, there was a rhythm in everything my father prepared. Like a conductor at the music hall, he’d carefully cut and peel the cardboard sides one at a time to extract the complete block of ice cream, all the while humming to a favorite tune. Then he’d cut this block with a butcher knife into just 3 equal servings. One can imagine this made distributing Neapolitan ice cream a very meticulous task. Each perfect cube of ice cream was a remarkable work of art. What is more remarkable is that for years, we never balked at how enormously excessive these cubed portions were. We simply inhaled the delightful dairy dessert until we slipped into an inevitable food coma.
My father was a nurturing soul. As my grandmother became older, my father would often make soup and visit her at the nursing home to take care of her. I would revisit the fact that this was someone who abandoned him as a child during a war and asked him about it once. He simply replied, “It wasn’t easy to take care of a child during war.” He’d help feed her, paint her nails, do her makeup, put on lotion. all without resentment, all with the sincere intention to just love and care for her, and my grandmother showed her appreciation by fighting for front row seats every time my father performed at the nursing home with his opera group. I have witnessed what an unbelievably nurturing and forgiving man my father really was.
Retirement was not in his vocabulary. He bloomed into a social butterfly. He was an active member in numerous clubs and associations in Chinatown. He was a man of few words, but with a noticeably strong presence. Always respectful and giving towards others, he wanted people around him to be comfortable and accommodated.
My father had natural talent. He took on playing music as soon as he retired without special training, and joined as many opera groups as he could. He could pick up any instrument and start playing. Baba had a great love for music. As popular as he was at his music venues, he’d keep track of time and always tell his friends. “Ok. Gotta go now. Time to go home and make dinner for my daughters.” Spoiled by such an upbeat dad, sometimes we would come home from work and tell him “I’m tired!” to which he’ll eagerly respond, “Ok. Take a nap. I’ll wake you up when dinner is ready.” Heaven! Right after dinner, he’d pop right back out to play again into the late hours, party animal that he was. He loved to jam. When friends asked where my father was, we’d often tell them, “He’s in the mafia.” Occasionally, when he wasn’t out partying, he’d stay home to play the Nintendo Wii with us. He loved playing that tennis game especially. Every single time he’d treat the living room like a real tennis court, moving about, destroying and crashing into furniture and the TV, complaining, “This game is not recording my moves accurately!” It was too much fun.
Many people say I look like my father. I used to hate it, because I thought it meant I looked masculine. As I grew older I realized. oh gosh, I AM my father! The similarities are uncanny. Besides the physical attributes, the way I walk, talk, stand, yawn, laugh loudly at my own jokes. It’s all genetic. I can only hope to resemble the integrity and girth of my father’s character.
Jenny and I could not be more proud of our Baba, our Pops. He led by example. He never gave us any limitations, giving us the opportunity to live our lives freely, free to make our own decisions, trusting our ability to determine what was best for us. We can only strive to live our lives as virtuously as he had, all with the utmost honesty, humbleness, generosity, passion, appreciation, and love. We love him and will always keep his memories close to us. He has given all of us the recipe for a loving and fulfilling life.
Thank you all for coming today. We thank you for all your support.
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