A Sliver of my Soul

Lee Zaslofsky died. I don’t know why and I’m not even sure of the day. All I know is that no one was there for him. His family are all dead. I thought he was an only child and he had no children of his own, let alone a life partner. Alone, despite the huge number of people who called him friend, including myself. I felt a physical tightening of my stomach thinking that Lee had passed to the other side, and no one cared.

Facebook is where I found out he had died. Someone posted an obituary dealing only with Lee’s war resister activities. And Facebook is where I turned to share my grief. It sent me into a flurry of social media activity. Well, I posted this on his Facebook page, which got a total of three likes: Hi everyone. Like many, I'm mourning the loss of Lee. I don't see any mention of a gathering for a Celebration of Life or a Memorial service. We can't let the passing of our good friend go unrecognized.

Lee Zaslosky is no longer among the living. I wouldn’t have even known him if it wasn’t for the war in Vietnam. Like many Americans of Lee’s age, the Vietnam War was unjust and unnecessary. He made the decision to come to Canada illegally in 1970. Not an easy decision for a 26-year-old who came from a family dedicated to service.

As a gay man, he found himself in the thick of the AIDS crisis that saw so many perish. I’m not sure how AIDS affected him, I don’t even know if he got it. I did find out that he became an activist to educate other gay men and to lobby for better medical coverage and support.

I met him when I worked at Toronto City Hall. Lee and I had been actively involved in electing Jack Layton to his first term as a Toronto City Councillor. I was Jack’s office manager and Election-Day coordinator. Lee volunteered in the office. Later he filled in for me at City Hall when I took a leave of absence as Jack’s Executive Assistant to travel to Israel to try and retain a relationship (that didn’t work). Always he had work that involved advocating for one group or another. For a time, he was an assistant, along with Toronto’s current mayor, Olivia Chow for MP Dan Heap and he ended his working life as a health advocate in a downtown Toronto public health clinic.

Lee Zaslofsky had a family. Facebook told me. It turns out he has a sister, a brother-in-law, and a nephew. A family that cared for him and stayed connected with him. A mutual friend who thought of him as a brother posted more about him.

Facebook also told me he was also proudly Catholic, though I thought he was Jewish. His humour, his hometown of Brooklyn, all spoke to me of Jewishness. I looked up Zaslofsky. No reference to Catholicism and the most famous Zaslofsky, Max, was a Jewish basketball player in the NBA.

The humour was never mean or offensive. However, it was based on his keen insight and observation. At a meeting of downtown activists, a unanimous vote had Lee declaring that “The Beards Have it!” The progressive meeting was all men, all with beards. Humorous and ironic. Lee saw both.

He wasn’t a friend that I talked to regularly. The last time I saw him was when my daughter interviewed him for her university radio show a few years ago. Already 75, Lee hadn’t changed much in the almost 40 years I knew him. Same stiff short strides, same ironic humour, same close-cut beard, and a body shaped by rich foods and limited exercise.

Lee would never impose himself on a conversation but wouldn’t be left out either. He wasn’t shy. He gladly talked to my daughter about being gay when it was illegal to be. He would arrive at a gathering in his worn brown leather bomber jacket and khaki cargo pants tucked up under his enhanced belly. He would scan the crowd; I think he wore contact lenses as his eyes seemed to be in a state of permanent amazement. Nodding, a smile and a small wave to acknowledge people he knew, Lee would decide who he would talk to and make his way over in his stiff-legged short strides.

He always wanted to talk business or to know how you were doing. The thing is, Lee never talked about himself unless asked, and I didn’t ask. Ours was a work / political relationship. We could trust each other and support each other, but like most of my relationships, it wasn’t deep and meaningful. He would say he was going to Vietnam for a holiday. It turns out the holiday was for 2-3 months and involved him giving free ESL lessons to anyone who showed up at a park in Ho Chi Minh City. I always thought he did that to help make amends for what the USA did to the Vietnamese people.

Lee Zaslofsky is still with me. Losing Lee was like losing a little sliver of my soul. But can remembering him keep that sliver intact? I began to realize how little I really know most of the people that I call family or friends. Sadly, I have had this gradually clearer realization that I need to go to funerals, celebrations of life, and wakes to have one last chance to make a deeper connection that I usually didn’t have.

Writing and delivering the eulogy for an aunt was the only way I learned of her work with rural women’s organizations. All I remembered was that she listened to me and berated her own children. I drove across the province for Karen Petalik’s funeral in Wakefield, Quebec, to learn that she was good friends with Lois Wilson, the first female leader of the United Church. At his celebration of life, I learned that Dave Layton had negotiated a $1 price tag on a new multi-million-dollar facility for the YMCA. And at a funeral home in Toronto that my dad's cousin, Bill Hutchins, survived an amazing 36 missions flying bombers over Nazi Europe.

I think of myself as personable, connecting with people. Learning about them. Knowing them. But I’m realizing that I just skim over a person’s life, collecting bits of them and giving back even less. I’m thinking that I can’t fully correct this flaw of mine to be isolated when I crave connection as I pick up my phone to call a cousin in Alberta to find out if the snow has started to accumulate this late October day and hear about his upcoming hip surgery.