My Uncle Lee

This week we lost my uncle Lee Smallman. OK, he wasn't my uncle - he was my dad's cousin. But for all intents and purposes, he was an uncle to me and to my siblings, and his kids (the closest in age to us in our extended family) were (and are) our cousins.

Lee was a connector, deeply devoted to his family but also with a very broad definition of that concept. Maybe that comes from having an unusual last name, one that inevitably prompts teasing in childhood (and let's face it, adulthood too). Maybe it's because his dad was close to his brothers and as new generations were born he wanted to keep that sense of intimacy, even in the face of adversity and separation - something his father and brothers had experienced during their childhood as my great-grandfather navigated the shifting circumstances of the Great Depression, a series of marriages, moves between provinces and probably a lot more stuff I don't know about...

But Lee knew, or at least he strived to find out. He became the family genealogist, collecting reams of photos and information, tracking down relations in Canada and abroad. I am not sure whether he planned to publish anything or just try and maintain an archive for his own sense of connection and for the rest of us. Digging into that was something I was saving when I had the (perhaps mythical) time and energy, and I guess I counted on Lee being around forever to walk me through it all. I grieve the loss of an opportunity for that conversation.

Lee's efforts to find family and make connections were not just a personal research exercise. For a long period of time he collaborated with his brothers, his dad, my grandfather and father to bring the extended family together for summer family reunions. They would alternate between his large rural property outside of Ancaster, Ontario, and my grandfather's cottage outside of Parry Sound (which became more of a family compound when my parents bought 12 wooded acres and an abandoned logging cabin next door). The reunions featured a wacky golf tournament for the adults, days of swimming, outdoor play and card games for the kids, huge feasts which would culminate in a sing-along around a roaring campfire. There was always a bit of drama and conflict but there was so much more love.

Eventually, Lee brought in other branches of the family to meet our crew, until the loss of my grandfather Don in 1988. His death took the wind out of everyone's sails - he had an abundant, generous spirit just like Lee and gathering without him just didn't feel right. And although the family remained relatively close, various peoples' moves, divorces, illnesses and just plain life circumstances prevented us from rebuilding the tradition.

Despite this, Lee maintained close connections and could always be counted on to provide advice, perspective, a glass of scotch and a listening ear, an airport pickup - pretty much anything you might need.

Now, the force that was Lee was not just individual. He married young, and his wife and soulmate Phyllis was just as generous and devoted to family as he was - but with maybe a bit more energy, creativity and flair. A talented potter and artist, Phyl eventually achieved her lifelong goal of becoming a writer, and her mysteries are fun, irreverant and engaging (kind of like Phyllis). They moved to Salt Spring Island to "retire" and be closer to kids who had settled on the west coast. And then, f'ing cancer.

I can only imagine what it must have been like to lose a partner of 56 years.

Lee and Phyl were a real rock to me when I moved to Hamilton to start my PhD at McMaster. They took me in, helped me find a place and get set up, generously supplied me with some pottery and basically were there for me through what became a pretty wild number of years (emotionally that is - not wild in the fun sense of the word). Because of them, I also feel close to my cousins Shawn and Elle, as we were able to reconnect and spend time together as young adults.

I don't see them much but the last time I saw Shawn he and his daughter spent a day with our family in Boston and it was like no time had passed at all. More recently he's been in Portland, and Elle is in the process of moving from Bowen Island to the UK, so social media is what keeps us connected and I am grateful for that!

I would like to think that I try to emulate Lee's example of unconditional love and support, his desire to connect and to see the best of people even through adversity and change, and his devotion to family in the broadest sense of the word. The complexity of life and perhaps my own inertia do get in the way of my ability to follow through, though. His death is a good reminder of the need to set priorities and make an effort, even when life throws obstacles in your way.

I imagine the expansive Smallman crew that he cultivated is feeling the loss right now, and I hope that you're all doing OK. The best thing we can do to honour Lee is to stay connected, rooted in our history, and to be reliable, adventurous, and to be a force for joy and abundance.