Fung Ching, January 30, 1937 - July 26, 2025

Eulogy from her son Ivan:

My mother was born in January 1937 in Hubei, China—just six months before the outbreak of
the Second Sino-Japanese War. Her childhood was shaped by conflict and displacement. To
escape the fighting, her family relocated to Chongqing, where my grandfather, a respected
academic, founded and led an educational institution.
Despite the turmoil, the family was well-off, and my mother, the eldest of five siblings, dreamed
of studying medicine in the United States. Her dream reflected her desire to help others through
healing.
But history had other plans. With the rise of the Communist Party in 1949, my grandfather, as an
intellectual, was targeted. The family was forced to flee once again. Their home and
possessions were seized, and they became refugees, eventually arriving in Hong Kong, a
British Colony, around 1951 with nothing.
Soon after, my grandfather passed away from tuberculosis—a man I never had the chance to
meet. In the years that followed, my mother and her sisters worked tirelessly in factories to
support the younger siblings. It was their sacrifices that allowed the youngest in the family to
finish school.
Through all this hardship, my mother never gave up. She didn't complain. Instead, she
persevered. Her quiet strength was a lesson she taught me, not in words, but through example.
She earned teaching certificates and began working at Kowloon City Lutheran School in the late
1950s, and later served as a social worker with Lutheran World Service. She believed in serving
others—and lived it.
In the 1960s, my parents worked together in the so-called rooftop schools—temporary
classrooms built atop housing blocks to accommodate the influx of children in post-war Hong
Kong. My father ran two such schools; my mother was his assistant. They built a life together
out of faith, hard work, and deep dedication to family.
When the rooftop schools were phased out, our family pivoted to a small printing business. My
mother quickly learned to operate the printing machines while raising us children. We all helped
out—it was a family effort.
Through God's grace, my father made timely investments during the political unrest of the
Cultural Revolution. He bought three apartments in Hong Kong when prices dropped. Today,
these investments continue to support our family, and especially my sister who has remained in
Hong Kong to manage the properties.
My mother's life was never easy, but it was full of quiet courage. She gave everything to her
family. She taught us by doing—working long hours, carrying heavy burdens, and never losing
her sense of duty, her strength, or her dignity.
As I look back on her life, I'm filled with gratitude. I thank her for her sacrifices, her love, and her
unwavering commitment to us. Her legacy is not just in what she endured—but in how she
endured it. With grace. With faith. And with love.
Rest well, Mom. We will carry your spirit with us always.