Obituary of Po Kee Suen

August 11, 1928 – Lima, Peru

December 8, 2024 – Calgary, Alberta

Dad was born on August 11th, 1928 in Lima, Peru (which has never failed to surprise anyone who has ever asked where our parents are from), of Chinese parents from Jong Shan, Kwangtung Province of China. He was the eighth of ten children. While he spent a part of his childhood there, Yeh Yeh’s desire was to settle the family in Hong Kong. When the Japanese attacked Hong Kong at the start of World War II, however, Yeh Yeh had the foresight to take his family and flee for their safety to their estate in China where Dad spent his teen years. As his older siblings began to leave home and return to Hong Kong for marriage and careers, Auntie Number 6 (dear Goo Ma now in Toronto, soon to be celebrating her 100th birthday) in particular took Dad under her wing. During this period, he applied and was accepted into Hong Kong’s Grantham Teachers Training College and it was here that he met Mom. He graduated with a specialization in Children’s Art Education. He spent over a decade teaching children’s art with many of his students’ work being exhibited and winning awards and acclaim in Hong Kong, Japan and England. Later on he studied Chinese brushstroke painting at the Hong Kong Chinese University.

Dad came to know Christ when he and Mom began dating. The story goes, Poh Poh would not allow him to date her daughter unless he were to be baptized. How’s that for Chinese mother a) high standards for potential suitors b) strongarm local missions work!!! They dated and fell in love, of course, and married in August of 1961. My sister Karen was born a few years later in 1964 and this soon to be growing family immigrated to Canada in 1969, arriving in Vancouver where a few of Mom’s siblings had already settled. Shortly thereafter, there was work opportunity for the both of them from Uncle Ben, Mom’s cousin, in Montreal where I was born in 1970, and this is where they built their life for the next fifty plus years. Ultimately, they moved from Quebec - ironically on June 24th, St. Jean Baptiste Day of 2021 - to Calgary, Alberta, to be closer to Karen and her family.

Over the span of several decades, Dad contributed much of his art experience and talent to the Montreal community. He taught Chinese brushstroke painting at the Canadian Cultural Society, the YWCA, the Montreal Visual Arts Centre, the Adult Evening Program at the South Shore Protestant Regional School Board, Champlain Regional College and held group private instruction in our home as well. On numerous occasions, he was invited to hold exhibitions and demonstrations in Montreal and Deep River.

How does anyone put into words a lifetime of a husband’s, a father’s and grandfather’s devoted love, selfless service, steadfast faith and quiet gentleness? It feels an impossible task. And while perhaps it would be easier to simply share biographical details of his full and long life . . . it would never do my father justice. With the outpouring of such kind and loving words about him from so many of you over the last few days, it has become so very clear to my family that he was truly beloved. Not just for us but for all of you as well. When my family asked me to write the obituary for our father, I didn’t think I could do it. I still don’t think I can. So please forgive me if this is not the traditional, formal obituary one would expect to find. I think my tenderhearted father deserves so much more as we say our goodbyes to him. This, then, is our love letter. Our love letter to Bo Kay, to Baba, to Gung Gung.

Before I left Houston to be at his bedside, someone had asked me about Dad, what he was like and our relationship. My immediate reply was that he was a gentle spirit. And that, while like all Chinese fathers of his generation, neither demonstrative nor particularly affectionate, there is not a moment in my life I doubted his tremendous love for me, for Karen, for Mom. Honestly, I think he loved our cats too although he would certainly never admit to it. He never had to say it. He lived it. Dad lived out his love for his God and his family every day of his life. Everything he did was an act of service. Everything he did was an act of love. Perhaps the most remarkable thing of all . . . I don’t remember there ever being a word of complaint. I don’t recall a single occasion where he made anyone feel he had been inconvenienced by our requests and demands. I watched him tirelessly and faithfully serve his church and his family this way until it was no longer possible for him to do so. I believe he had the heart of a true servant. I still have so much to learn by his example.

It’s funny how the grieving heart works . . . so many random memories and images run through my mind like a photo book or mini movie. One in particular that I think many of us share is his love of hockey, which I know, is an understatement. Dad was the biggest Habs fan there ever was. So big, in fact, that whenever we had company over for dinner and there was a game - the audacity of Mom having guests over on these nights, so ill-timed! - he had no qualms about disappearing several times throughout her painstakingly prepared meal to check the score. And of course, watch as much of the game as possible until his absence became noticeable. He would even do this with carloads of family who had just driven the five plus hours up the 401 to spend the weekend. I remember this infuriated Mom for a time, understandably so, but over the years, it seemed she overlooked this frustrating habit (or perhaps behaviour is a better term) and I wonder if it eventually became even rather endearing as she then ordered the NHL cable channel for him to enjoy in Calgary!

Many of you would reverently address Dad as Elder Suen and I always loved this, I don’t really know why. Dad served as an elder for the Montreal Chinese Presbyterian Church for over forty years. I remember watching how Dad loved our church, loved God and loved to serve. It was he who taught me by example to offer one’s time and talent to God, showing me that this was not only an act of service but a powerful act of worship as well, dedicating the gifts and skills God had given him to serve others and glorify God. I remember watching him spend hours painting backdrops for the annual Christmas show and painting promos for upcoming church events long before graphic design was born; and I remember the inexhaustible amount of time he would spend meticulously putting together our Annual Report, literally handcrafting each page. At one point, computers came onto the scene making his task so much easier but this did nothing to prevent him from poring over the document cover to cover to ensure what would ultimately be sent out to the printer was no less than perfect. Only the best for God! When I was older and Dad asked me to help serve on the Literature Committee which he led, it was one of my greatest honours to serve alongside him.

I firmly believe Dad’s greatest joy was in his family. Nothing made him happier than when the family was together and it made no difference whether it was a small simple home cooked meal at the table with just a few of us or a large and noisy reunion of visiting family members seated at several round tables at a Chinese banquet hall. Dad delighted in our small family. And he delighted in all of you. He leaves behind nieces and nephews, grand nieces and nephews and now great grand nieces and nephews across Canada, in Hong Kong and Australia. All I can see in my mind now as I write this is how his face would light up invariably everytime we saw him, everytime we were together, even when he could not hear or understand the rapidfire conversation in English around him, his heart was full just to have us all together. It was obvious. And I think of all the times we were reunited for special occasions, of how he would bless his family, his daughters, his sons-in-law, his granddaughters. He made us feel like we were God’s gifts to him and Mom and made sure we knew God was using us in big and small ways for His glory. Dad could see this in each one of us . . . even when I couldn’t see it in myself. Dad always saw our worth.

Over the last few years, I have found myself often thinking about legacy. About what it means and how it holds different meanings for different people. We tend to think of achievements and accolades, power, wealth and influence and perhaps there is nothing inherently wrong with any of these. But as we sat together one evening reading all of your loving messages that came flooding in through email, text and Facebook, one in particular had a profound impact on me. She writes, “He was not a man of many words but his life reflected the beauty of Jesus.” In that moment I knew. This is Dad’s legacy. His is one of gentleness, quiet and joyful servitude, sheer delight in his family and giving all praise, honour and glory to God in perhaps even the most menial task. His life exemplified humility, love, selflessness and devotion. I believe it was a life well lived.

Many of you know the story of my incredible journey to get to Dad’s bedside in time to hold his hand and say my goodbyes. It was nothing - absolutely nothing - short of miraculous. I will not bore anyone with the terrible details of the journey itself. What I can say is I was and will remain forever deeply moved by how many were lifting me, Dad and our family up in prayer from the very beginning all the way through to this day, I know. As I immediately began to put the house and my work in order, even before I had the chance to pull out my bag to pack, you called and prayed over me. You emailed, texted and Messengered and prayed over me. You came over and held me close and prayed over me. Well into the night and the following morning, through all of it until the moment I made it to see Dad’s sleeping face, you prayed over me. They told me that on that afternoon as I was traveling, they shared with him that I, Mui, was on her way and that Mui would be there very soon. I was told he was more reactive that day and responded to Mom’s voice as she spoke to him. I remember when I finally arrived, we did not stay very long . . . maybe 45 minutes; it was late at night and we were planning to be back at his bedside early the following morning. I would give anything to go back in time and stay and hold his hand just a little longer. That Dad passed probably not even an hour after I left his room . . . I know he waited. I know this is God’s faithfulness. This is God’s provision. This is God’s love. The day before I left Calgary, they told me that on several occasions in the weeks before Dad was hospitalized, he would speak of me and it would be completely random, completely out of context. He was confused although it was not dementia, and the doctor would have an explanation for this behaviour later. To know I was on my father’s heart even as his health declined, even as confusion came and went, this is how my father loved me, how my father loved each one of us. And I have come to realize the entire tapestry of my father’s life and his love for us . . . paints a masterpiece depicting how God loves us.

Baba, thank you for loving us so well. I am still learning from you as you watch over us from above. You are beloved and you are so deeply missed.

Dad is survived by several family members. He was the beloved husband to Brenda Suen; Baba to Karen Suen (Victor Wong) and Linda Suen; Gung Gung to Tamara, Julia and Victoria; brother to an older sister in Toronto and younger brother in Hong Kong; uncle to many nieces and nephews, grand nieces and nephews and great grand nieces and nephews on both the Suen and Lee sides of the family.

There will be a private prayer gathering for the immediate family on Friday, December 27th in Calgary, AB.

If friends so desire, memorial tributes may be made directly to a charity of your choice.

Condolences, memories, and photos may be shared and viewed with Po Kee’s family here.

In living memory of Po Kee Suen, a tree will be planted in the Ann & Sandy Cross Conservation Area by McInnis & Holloway Funeral Homes, Deerfoot South, 12281 – 40th Street SE, Calgary, AB T2Z 4E6, Telephone: 403-203-0525.