Thank you for visiting Jeannie's memorial page. She passed on Sep 22, 2025 and was buried at Rosehill Cemetery on Sep 26, 2025. It was her wish not to have a public funeral service.

She was an avid storyteller and always had a funny story to share. We would LOVE for you to honour her memory by sharing your favourite memories of her on the "memories" tab of this page.

Personal notes from her children:

Tim (son):

I tried writing normally, and realized I couldn't. For much of my life, when I spoke to my mom (and especially when speaking out of love), I used my Singaporean accent. So as you're reading my note below, please note it is meant to be read in a Singaporean accent.

When I was in primary school, I got a “model student” pin because I was such a good boy. Mommy was so proud of her good boy. You see ah, only good boys get model student pins, and she raised me to be a very good boy.

When I was in elementary school (that is Canadian primary school ah), I got into a “small fight” with my friend. We were lining up for something and he cut in front of me, so I tickle him. Then, he tickle me. Then, I tickle him. Then, we tickle so hard and so angry we both cry and get sent to principal’s office. I remember feeling regret because good boys don’t go to the principal’s office, and my mommy raised me to be a very good boy.

When I was in junior high school (that is Canadian secondary school ah), I got a one-day suspension for fighting. There was a boy who was being racist to my brother, and when he put my brother in head lock, I hit him to make him let go. My mom was very angry with the school – she wrote a letter to the principal because she believe I was just defending my brother, and wanted the school to know I was a very good boy.

Anyway… you probably asking: ah ya Titi, why you talking about being good boy and fighting? I tell you. I share because I believe this is the legacy she leave with me. Anyone who knew her knew she was extremely kind and loving. She poured her love into us kids, always teaching us to be polite, to be kind, to be generous, to give way. And she always showed us how to do it by how she lives her life. As I grow up, I try to live by what she taught me. I know life is more complicated then just trying to “be a good boy”, and nobody can be that model person 100% of the time. But I also know that when somebody tries to embody those values as much as they can (like she did), it makes a meaningful difference in other people’s lives. I am who I am today because of the values she taught me. I want to bring the same values to my daughters and my son, so that they can bring joy to the world like she did. I hope that her spirit will live on through me as I try to live each day with these values – the values of a very good boy.

I miss you a lot, mom. I love you.

Jeremy (son):
My mom had a gift for making friends, and I know she touched hearts and built connections all around the world. Whether you knew her closely or only in passing, I hope you carry a memory of who she truly was.

I hope you remember her generosity - how she gave extravagant gifts, her insistence on paying the cheque, and the countless ways she poured her time and energy into others before herself.

I hope you remember her creativity - in the personal gifts she created, in the ideas she dreamed up for inventions and business ideas, and in the unwritten book she always planned to write.

I hope you remember her faith - how deeply she studied the bible, how passionately she shared her beliefs with her children, and how she listened for and received God’s messages.

I hope you remember her joy - her love of joking and laughter, the way she could make anything fun, and the excitement she brought planning special moments.

Most of all, I hope that you see these parts of her reflected in me and my siblings. I hope we live up to her kindness, generosity, and love in the legacy she has left with us.

There is a gift in being loved the way she loved us. It fills you up and makes you want to share that love with others. Thank you mom, if everyone loved like you, we’d live in a better world.

Tiffany (daughter):

I count myself lucky to have known my mom very well. She knew me very well too, which is why I never told her what I’m about to tell you here.

My mom was full of wonderful contradictions. To people meeting her for the first time, she was gentle and soft-spoken. This was really only half of the picture. She was more mischievous than she cared to admit, and she had a strong will that could move mountains for the people she loved. She was silly and serious, stubborn and kind, superstitious and wise, and, above all, she was the best mother anyone could hope for.

She dedicated her life to us, her family, but still made room for everyone else. She loved people without a second thought, and it is impossible to count the ways in which she showed it. She would stay up almost entire nights perfecting personalized gifts to her friends. When she wrote messages to people, she wrote them with care, making sure every word was sincere, kind, full of love, and most importantly, grammatically flawless.

People loved to confide in her, and she loved to listen. Complete strangers found themselves pouring their hearts out to her on their evening commute. There was just something about her that made people feel she could be trusted, that their secrets were safe with her.

She was incapable of being anything but selfless. Even when she was sick, she would refuse help from us. She knew that this was not how things worked. She was someone who helped people, not someone who needed help.

I never told her how great I really thought she was, because when you know someone that well, you don’t need to tell them the obvious. I thought there would always be another chance to tell her. Now I wish I’d told her every day.

My mother had a lot of untold stories and unfinished projects. She believed she still had greater things to achieve. I don’t think she realized she was making the world a better place just by being who she was.

To any other lucky recipients of her love (who are bothering to read this part of the website), I hope you had the chance to tell her what she meant to you. Even if you didn’t, I hope you take the time to remember. And maybe, somehow, she’ll know we’re thinking of her, and she’ll finally know what I never got to tell her.