Guy C. Ho
February 4, 2012 - December 30, 1992
A few months ago, many of us were together for the celebration of Mom and Dad's fiftieth wedding anniversary. Today we're together again for a very different kind of event, but I want this day to be a celebration too: a celebration of a man's creativity and energy; a celebration of someone who made a difference in the many, many lives he touched.
You will be hearing from several very special people who have agreed to share their recollections about Dr. Guy Ho, Professor Guy Ho, Uncle Guy, and Guy Ho, dear friend. The words I am going to share with you will hopefully give you a glimpse of Guy Ho, beloved husband, father, and grandfather.
Many of you who did not even know that he was ill are undoubtedly still in shock that Dad is no longer with us. He was eighty years old and working full-time until the end of October when his lung cancer was diagnosed. His decline was rapid, but within those sixty days, which were both an instant and an eternity, we had the time to express our love and gratitude and say our goodbyes. He told us that he was ready; that he had lived a full life, and that he had no regrets. He thought that he hadn't done too poorly for a boy from China who arrived in this country with just two suitcases.
Dad contracted pneumonia and entered the hospital right after Thanksgiving. He was so weak we thought we were going to lose him in early December. We stayed with him around the clock, sleeping at his bedside in the hospital. This man who had always been there to protect us, provide for us, advise us and comfort us was rendered helpless by his illness. None of us had ever even imagined ourselves in the roles that we filled during those days, yet there was never any doubt that we were being presented with the rare opportunity to give back, to a man who found it difficult to receive, some of the nurturing that he had provided for us throughout our lives. For us, there is a sense of completion: we were able to come full-circle with Dad.
However ready we were, though, the void is painfully large and he is constantly in our thoughts. Our Aunt Mary Wong summed it up the other day when she tearfully told my sister that she thinks of Dad every time she brushes her teeth. Tina didn't know whether to laugh or to cry when she heard that...and I'll bet there are a lot of us here today who feel exactly the same way.
Two very special young people who also miss out on having Dad in their lives are my son Steven and my sister Tina's daughter, Elisa. Both Tina and I worried just a little bit about many of you who have sat down in Dad's dental chair during the last sixteen years. We had visions of Dad packing your mouths with gauze and proceeding to tell you more than you could ever care to hear about his grandchildren. Well, maybe it was better for some of you than hearing his views on religion or politics.
Steven did have a very special opportunity to know his grandfather, or "Goong Goong." Until he started school, Steven spent nearly every Wednesday with Mom and Dad in their home. Throughout all of the transitions in my life, Mom and Dad provided him with stability and traditional family values. Steven was the first recipient of the gold ducks that Dad made for each of us to wear around our necks. When Steven was tiny, he asked Dad to make a ring for him, and wouldn't you know it, Dad came home with one just a day or two later. We used to laughingly refer to "Goong Goong's Jewelry Factory." Steven had center spotlight as the only grandchild for 13 years, but Dad, being the perfectionist that he was, had to have a matching set, so he was delighted when Tina and Gus presented him with Elisa Rose just about three years ago this month.
Elisa has been the apple of Dad's eye since the day she was born. In fact, Dad battled Friday night traffic for over two hours after a full day of work so he could welcome her into this world. He and Mom have seen Elisa virtually every weekend since. Dad planted baby roses in his garden so that he could bring fresh flowers to his granddaughter whenever possible, and Elisa even had a special tiny vase to put them in. Many of you know that Elisa accompanied Tina to the hospital just about every day during Dad's last month there, and she was truly a ray of sunshine for him and all of the rest of us, too, during our lengthy vigil.
As a father, Dad was bigger than life. All three of us agree that we have the undeniable stamp of both Mom and Dad on everything that we do and are. My brother Steve has inherited my Dad's ability to excel in his profession while maintaining a beautiful home and garden, and preparing delicious gourmet meals. According to Leigh Parker, my brother's "significant other," Steve also inherited Dad's moody silences and his arrogance. As you might imagine, being "number one son" to Guy Ho was often a challenge. Dad was a relentless taskmaster and a perfectionist. His expectations were very high. My brother was able to confess to Dad recently that he grew to appreciate Dad over the years, and that it was sometimes difficult for my brother to accept him when he was a child. A lot of the communication that never happened between them during those earlier years "broke loose" during the final weeks. Dad was especially proud of my brother's achievements relative to the production of television commercials in China. I see so much of Dad in my brother that I am confident that "Big Steve" will be able to pass many of the lessons that he learned from Dad on to "Little Steve," my son. All of us have acknowledged that my brother has stepped into Dad's shoes as family patraiarch, and it was touchingly appropriate that it was he who made the final attempt to breathe life back into Dad on the night he died.
As for myself, I was quite unaware of the magnitude of my Dad's professional achievements until I was about ten years old. He was just Daddy. He was handsome and funny and knew how to fix my broken toys and skinned knees. I spent countless weekend days digging in the dirt while he tended his garden. He taught me how to sew, he taught me how to draw, and exhorted me to "read with expression!" when the two of us would sit together after dinner and peruse my fairy tale books. He made the best scrambled eggs in the world. And when I was sick, I would strain to hear his car pull into the driveway at lunchtime, knowing that he would come directly to my room to give me a kiss before doing anything else.
My first inkling that there was more to Dad than met my eye came one day when I ran into the house after school and heard this big, booming voice coming from our family room. I peeked around the corner and was shocked to discover that the voice belonged to my Daddy, who was standing, chalk in hand, in front of a portable blackboard instructing a post-graduate workshop in our family room. But then, this is the man that many of you know already, so I want to share another side of Guy Ho. Because I am constantly engaged in the struggle to balance my work and the rest of my life, I am especially in awe the many different kinds of activities that Dad managed to participate in: almost always with inimitable style and grace.
I mentioned Dad's gardening, and those of you who visited our home know that he took great pride in his array of exotic plants. One of the toughest parts of his illness was not being able to tend his yard. Our neighbors will attest to the fact that rain or shine, Dad was constantly manicuring the front landscape. He took great delight in telling passers-by who would inquire, that his best-kept gardening secret was the "Chinese sprinkler," referring of course, to himself.
Anyone who ever had a meal in our home, knows that Dad and Mom were an unbeatable team when it came to entertaining. It has been my humiliating destiny to be the only one of the kids who did not inherit the "gourmet chef" genes. Dad was the "King of the Standing Rib Roast" and Mom can put Betty Crocker to shame any day of the week. It gave them great joy in welcoming friends and family into their home, and they spent many, many hours planning dinner parties, and recalling all of the details late into the night after the event was over. Their Thanksgiving dinners were legendary, and Tina and Gus will be carrying on that tradition, incorporating the many things that they learned from Mom and Dad.
Some of you know that my son Steven and I lived with Mom and Dad for six months two years ago. During that time I had a chance to observe, from an adult perspective, the relationship that I had taken for granted as I was growing up. I am happy to report that love can endure. It tickled me to evesdrop on their animated conversation and laughter each evening when Dad would come home from the office and they would share the days events. Mom always had dinner on the table at 6:30 sharp, and Dad always had fresh flowers for her throughout the house.
Perhaps Dad's "achilles heel" was his discomfort with articulating his emotions. For him, actions spoke louder than words. When pushed to express his affection to Mom, he would usually put a humorous spin on it, saying, as he did at their anniversary party, that she was the best wife he'd ever had. Toward the end, I think he was assigning us as messengers, explaining many times to Tina and me that Mom was his first and only true love. When he told me that she was his first date I was rather surprised because rumor had it that back in China, he was quite an eligible bachelor. I asked him how he had managed to escape from China a single man, and in his characteristic style, he told me with a very straight face, "I never learned how to dance."
Dad was not what you'd call an "ideal patient" at any point in his illness, and in fact Mom had some pretty tough moments trying to meet his demands. She shared with us that each day Dad would ask her to just sit with him for "hand-holding time." He spent his last two weeks at home, and even joined us at the Christmas Eve dinner table for a short time. His last day was peaceful. He watched his favorite family of squirrels play in his garden. When the time came, he called out to Mom, and she was by his side when he died. She was able to hold him in her arms, and she kissed him good-bye. For Dad, I think that must have been the happiest ending imaginable.
You will be hearing from several very special people who have agreed to share their recollections about Dr. Guy Ho, Professor Guy Ho, Uncle Guy, and Guy Ho, dear friend. The words I am going to share with you will hopefully give you a glimpse of Guy Ho, beloved husband, father, and grandfather.
Many of you who did not even know that he was ill are undoubtedly still in shock that Dad is no longer with us. He was eighty years old and working full-time until the end of October when his lung cancer was diagnosed. His decline was rapid, but within those sixty days, which were both an instant and an eternity, we had the time to express our love and gratitude and say our goodbyes. He told us that he was ready; that he had lived a full life, and that he had no regrets. He thought that he hadn't done too poorly for a boy from China who arrived in this country with just two suitcases.
Dad contracted pneumonia and entered the hospital right after Thanksgiving. He was so weak we thought we were going to lose him in early December. We stayed with him around the clock, sleeping at his bedside in the hospital. This man who had always been there to protect us, provide for us, advise us and comfort us was rendered helpless by his illness. None of us had ever even imagined ourselves in the roles that we filled during those days, yet there was never any doubt that we were being presented with the rare opportunity to give back, to a man who found it difficult to receive, some of the nurturing that he had provided for us throughout our lives. For us, there is a sense of completion: we were able to come full-circle with Dad.
However ready we were, though, the void is painfully large and he is constantly in our thoughts. Our Aunt Mary Wong summed it up the other day when she tearfully told my sister that she thinks of Dad every time she brushes her teeth. Tina didn't know whether to laugh or to cry when she heard that...and I'll bet there are a lot of us here today who feel exactly the same way.
Two very special young people who also miss out on having Dad in their lives are my son Steven and my sister Tina's daughter, Elisa. Both Tina and I worried just a little bit about many of you who have sat down in Dad's dental chair during the last sixteen years. We had visions of Dad packing your mouths with gauze and proceeding to tell you more than you could ever care to hear about his grandchildren. Well, maybe it was better for some of you than hearing his views on religion or politics.
Steven did have a very special opportunity to know his grandfather, or "Goong Goong." Until he started school, Steven spent nearly every Wednesday with Mom and Dad in their home. Throughout all of the transitions in my life, Mom and Dad provided him with stability and traditional family values. Steven was the first recipient of the gold ducks that Dad made for each of us to wear around our necks. When Steven was tiny, he asked Dad to make a ring for him, and wouldn't you know it, Dad came home with one just a day or two later. We used to laughingly refer to "Goong Goong's Jewelry Factory." Steven had center spotlight as the only grandchild for 13 years, but Dad, being the perfectionist that he was, had to have a matching set, so he was delighted when Tina and Gus presented him with Elisa Rose just about three years ago this month.
Elisa has been the apple of Dad's eye since the day she was born. In fact, Dad battled Friday night traffic for over two hours after a full day of work so he could welcome her into this world. He and Mom have seen Elisa virtually every weekend since. Dad planted baby roses in his garden so that he could bring fresh flowers to his granddaughter whenever possible, and Elisa even had a special tiny vase to put them in. Many of you know that Elisa accompanied Tina to the hospital just about every day during Dad's last month there, and she was truly a ray of sunshine for him and all of the rest of us, too, during our lengthy vigil.
As a father, Dad was bigger than life. All three of us agree that we have the undeniable stamp of both Mom and Dad on everything that we do and are. My brother Steve has inherited my Dad's ability to excel in his profession while maintaining a beautiful home and garden, and preparing delicious gourmet meals. According to Leigh Parker, my brother's "significant other," Steve also inherited Dad's moody silences and his arrogance. As you might imagine, being "number one son" to Guy Ho was often a challenge. Dad was a relentless taskmaster and a perfectionist. His expectations were very high. My brother was able to confess to Dad recently that he grew to appreciate Dad over the years, and that it was sometimes difficult for my brother to accept him when he was a child. A lot of the communication that never happened between them during those earlier years "broke loose" during the final weeks. Dad was especially proud of my brother's achievements relative to the production of television commercials in China. I see so much of Dad in my brother that I am confident that "Big Steve" will be able to pass many of the lessons that he learned from Dad on to "Little Steve," my son. All of us have acknowledged that my brother has stepped into Dad's shoes as family patraiarch, and it was touchingly appropriate that it was he who made the final attempt to breathe life back into Dad on the night he died.
As for myself, I was quite unaware of the magnitude of my Dad's professional achievements until I was about ten years old. He was just Daddy. He was handsome and funny and knew how to fix my broken toys and skinned knees. I spent countless weekend days digging in the dirt while he tended his garden. He taught me how to sew, he taught me how to draw, and exhorted me to "read with expression!" when the two of us would sit together after dinner and peruse my fairy tale books. He made the best scrambled eggs in the world. And when I was sick, I would strain to hear his car pull into the driveway at lunchtime, knowing that he would come directly to my room to give me a kiss before doing anything else.
My first inkling that there was more to Dad than met my eye came one day when I ran into the house after school and heard this big, booming voice coming from our family room. I peeked around the corner and was shocked to discover that the voice belonged to my Daddy, who was standing, chalk in hand, in front of a portable blackboard instructing a post-graduate workshop in our family room. But then, this is the man that many of you know already, so I want to share another side of Guy Ho. Because I am constantly engaged in the struggle to balance my work and the rest of my life, I am especially in awe the many different kinds of activities that Dad managed to participate in: almost always with inimitable style and grace.
I mentioned Dad's gardening, and those of you who visited our home know that he took great pride in his array of exotic plants. One of the toughest parts of his illness was not being able to tend his yard. Our neighbors will attest to the fact that rain or shine, Dad was constantly manicuring the front landscape. He took great delight in telling passers-by who would inquire, that his best-kept gardening secret was the "Chinese sprinkler," referring of course, to himself.
Anyone who ever had a meal in our home, knows that Dad and Mom were an unbeatable team when it came to entertaining. It has been my humiliating destiny to be the only one of the kids who did not inherit the "gourmet chef" genes. Dad was the "King of the Standing Rib Roast" and Mom can put Betty Crocker to shame any day of the week. It gave them great joy in welcoming friends and family into their home, and they spent many, many hours planning dinner parties, and recalling all of the details late into the night after the event was over. Their Thanksgiving dinners were legendary, and Tina and Gus will be carrying on that tradition, incorporating the many things that they learned from Mom and Dad.
Some of you know that my son Steven and I lived with Mom and Dad for six months two years ago. During that time I had a chance to observe, from an adult perspective, the relationship that I had taken for granted as I was growing up. I am happy to report that love can endure. It tickled me to evesdrop on their animated conversation and laughter each evening when Dad would come home from the office and they would share the days events. Mom always had dinner on the table at 6:30 sharp, and Dad always had fresh flowers for her throughout the house.
Perhaps Dad's "achilles heel" was his discomfort with articulating his emotions. For him, actions spoke louder than words. When pushed to express his affection to Mom, he would usually put a humorous spin on it, saying, as he did at their anniversary party, that she was the best wife he'd ever had. Toward the end, I think he was assigning us as messengers, explaining many times to Tina and me that Mom was his first and only true love. When he told me that she was his first date I was rather surprised because rumor had it that back in China, he was quite an eligible bachelor. I asked him how he had managed to escape from China a single man, and in his characteristic style, he told me with a very straight face, "I never learned how to dance."
Dad was not what you'd call an "ideal patient" at any point in his illness, and in fact Mom had some pretty tough moments trying to meet his demands. She shared with us that each day Dad would ask her to just sit with him for "hand-holding time." He spent his last two weeks at home, and even joined us at the Christmas Eve dinner table for a short time. His last day was peaceful. He watched his favorite family of squirrels play in his garden. When the time came, he called out to Mom, and she was by his side when he died. She was able to hold him in her arms, and she kissed him good-bye. For Dad, I think that must have been the happiest ending imaginable.