Nancy Traves.Contributed photo
Activist. Adventurer. Coffee addict. Kick-ass aunt. Born Jan. 9, 1951, in Winnipeg; died Aug. 3, 2017, in Toronto, of cerebral hemorrhage; aged 66.
Rules were red flags for my aunt Nancy.
When an eviction notice was slipped under her apartment door in 1981, she didn't pack her bags – she went to court with a group of other tenants to block the developer, then lobbied the government to turn his plan for a luxury condo into non-profit housing.
Nancy had no legal education or political experience. Born in Winnipeg, she studied early childhood education before moving to Toronto. At 5-foot-2 1/2 and, at best, 100 pounds, she probably didn't look like much of an adversary either. But as one friend put it, when she found a cause, "she was feral."
Certainly stubborn. Even as neighbours moved out and mice moved in, Nancy stayed put until the developer finally decided to sell to the tenants themselves. By then, they'd become an official co-operative (no more landlords, thank you) and she continued to live in the building for almost 20 years.
Nancy also kept working on affordable housing across the city and the province. (She'd be outraged at Toronto's current near-one-percent vacancy rate.) But she knew when to take a time out, too – once again, rules be damned. In her late 40s, just as most people start hoarding cash for retirement, she and her husband, Bill, put their careers on hold and their savings into a three-year, 10,000-mile sailing trip.
Nancy was conservative about some things. She carefully tracked her investments. She insisted on a spotless house (I've seen her clean with a Q-tip). And she was the least adventurous eater I know (tuna, chicken, eggs, repeat).
But she knew time was precious. When she was 16, she developed a brain aneurysm so threatening that her doctor – a rare expert who happened to be working in Winnipeg – booked her for what was then cutting-edge surgery to clamp the offending artery. She lost sight in one eye as a result of the operation, but she lived. And she was determined to live on her own terms.
If Nancy fiercely resisted conventions of all sorts, though, there are some experiences that have no clear rules. You have to make them up as you go. Friendship, for instance. Being a good neighbour. And, so critical to me, as well as my brother and his family, the ill-defined and unsung role of an aunt.
Into that particular void, she brought boundless caring and generosity. Nothing exotic, but a pileup of everyday kindnesses that added up to extraordinary. I can hear her sing-songy voice on the phone: "Hel-lo Julie Traves, it's Nancy Traves. Just calling to say hi." Year in, year out. Being there. Always with joy, perhaps a bit of mischief. (She was the first person to get my baby laughing.)
But even for Nancy some rules remained unbreakable. Death comes, no matter how we resist. No matter how we love. Fifty years after the illness that shaped her attitude to life, Nancy died from bleeding in the the brain.
She did offer one last snub to the grim reaper though – she donated her organs to those facing down their own mortality. She lives on in them, and us.
Julie Traves is Nancy's niece.
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