Sunday, October 12, 2025
Alan Chiang
Eulogy for My Father
Good morning, everyone.
First, thank you all for being here today. It means so much to our family to see so many
people who loved and respected my dad come together.
I want to start by saying that my dad had an incredible way of making people feel at
home. Whether you were family, a friend, or someone he met just once, he had this
quiet warmth and steady kindness that made you know you mattered. He wasn’t flashy
or loud—he just showed up. Always.
He loved a good laugh, a simple meal with the people he cared about, and above all
else, he valued family. That wasn’t just words to him; it was the foundation of how he
lived.
My dad was a man of quiet strength, steady character, and deep, unwavering love.
Every decision he made, every long workday, every quiet act of kindness was
always about us. He showed up. Not just for the big moments, but for the little ones.
And in the end, those little moments are the ones that stay with you.
He was also one of the most selfless people I’ve ever known. I’ll never forget the time in
my life when I couldn’t drive. Without hesitation, he stepped in and drove me to and
from work every single day. Early mornings. Late nights. Not once did he complain. And
in that routine, we found something special. We’d grab breakfast on the way
in—sometimes talk, sometimes just sit quietly. And after work, we’d stop for dinner
before heading home. They weren’t dramatic moments. But they were our moments.
That time, that bond—it meant everything.
I’ll also miss his weekly calls. He’d always ask how I was doing, what I was up to—and
without fail, he’d bring up Wally, my dog. “Does Wally need anyone to look after him?”
he’d ask, hoping I’d say yes, just so he could spend time with him. And he didn’t just
love Wally. He adored Zoe too—my brother’s dog. To him, they were family. And he
treated them that way—kind, gentle, patient. Always ready to help without even being
asked.
Speaking of my brother—some of you might’ve seen us argue a few times. Maybe more
than a few. We’re twins, and we’re close, and like all siblings, we butt heads now and
then. But one thing my dad taught me, and that I hold onto, is that family always comes
first. No matter the disagreement, no matter the moment—we’re brothers. And I will
always be there for him. Just like I will always be there for all ofmy family. Because
that’s what my dad lived and believed with his whole heart: family over everything.
That love extended beyond those he raised. When Aelee—my partner—came into my
life, and when Jane, my sister-in-law, joined the family, my dad welcomed them both as
if they were his own daughters. There was no hesitation, no halfway. He made them feel
seen, included, loved—like they’d always been part of the family. That’s who he was. If
you were family to us, you were family to him.
And there was no role he cherished more in these past few years than being a
grandfather. He absolutely lit up around my son, Aidan. Every time he saw him, he’d
smile like a kid again. And in a funny twist, he had this running joke based entirely on
Aidan’s mood. He’d say, “Yeye is OK today,” or “Yeye is not OK today,”
depending on whether Aidan was smiling or giving him a hard time. It became part of
their bond, and something I’ll always remember.
They also had this beautiful little ritual at our favorite dim sum restaurant. There’s a koi
pond there. Every time we went, Aidan would look straight at Yeye—and he
knew exactly who to go to. Yeye was his guy for koi trips. They’d go over, stand
by the water, watching the fish swim. Just the two of them. No distractions. Just peace,
love, and connection. It was one of those moments where you could feel everything
good about life in one simple scene.
My dad didn’t teach with long lectures. He taught by being there. He taught by how he
loved, how he served, how he stayed steady. Through the consistency of his actions,
the depth of his character, and the simplicity of his heart.
Now, as a father myself, I think about the kind of dad I want to be. And the answer is
clear: I want to be the kind of father to my son that my dad was to me. If I can live with
even half the strength, humility, and heart that he did, I know I’ll be on the right path.
Dad, I miss you more than I can say. I miss your calm presence. Your quiet
encouragement. Your little check-in calls. I miss watching you with Aidan and seeing the
joy you brought into his life—and ours.
Thank you for everything. For your love. Your time. Your example. For showing us what unconditional love really looks like. I promise to carry your legacy forward—to be the kind of man, and the kind of father, that you were.
Rest easy, Dad. You gave us everything—and more.