Lee Pelley, Phd.

For Lee, With All My Love I can’t remember a time when Lee wasn’t part of my life. As a child, I never questioned why she was there, or what made our family what it was. I only knew that I was grateful. That seeing her made me happy. That she filled my heart in a way I didn’t yet have the words to explain. When I was three or four, Lee bought me an enormous stuffed puma. It was nearly as big as I was, and I named it Samuri Kitty. I adored that ridiculous, wonderful animal. And I still have it. All these years later, it sits on my son’s bed, a little piece of my childhood and of Lee, now part of his. I think that’s what love does. It finds its way into the next generation, sometimes without anyone even realising. As I grew older, life changed. Lee and my grandfather separated, and she could so easily have become someone I remembered fondly from childhood. Someone who belonged to an earlier chapter of my life. But she didn’t. She stayed. And I don’t think I ever properly thanked her for that. Through all the years, she was a steady presence. She offered pearls of wisdom, believed in me, encouraged me, and supported me, sometimes quietly and sometimes very loudly. She made me feel that I mattered to her. Not because she had to, but because she wanted to. And every time I visited, she made me a pear tart. It was my favourite. It still is. I’ve tried making it myself, but mine never tastes quite the same. I suspect it never will. Perhaps the missing ingredient was always Lee. Life eventually took me to Australia, and while I feel incredibly fortunate for the life I’ve built there, it came with sacrifices. Financial realities made travelling home difficult, and years slipped by faster than I ever imagined they would. That’s the cruel thing about distance. You learn to live with it. You tell yourself there will be another visit, another holiday, another opportunity to sit together and talk. You believe there will always be more time. And then, one day, there isn’t. I am so grateful that I was able to introduce Lee to my daughter. One of my most treasured memories is of the two of them wandering through the Getty Museum together. Just the two of them, exploring, looking, sharing a moment that seemed so ordinary at the time. It was before mobile phones documented every second of our lives. I don’t have a hundred photographs to look back on. I have something better, perhaps. I have the memory of watching two people I loved, generations apart, finding joy in each other’s company. It’s a memory I have carried with me all these years. And I hope Lee carried it too. I wish I had seen her more. I wish I had made it back. I wish I could have sat at her table one more time, eaten another slice of pear tart, listened to her stories, and told her just how much she meant to me. I hate that I thought we had more time. But when I think about GrandLee, I don’t want the sadness of what we missed to overshadow the extraordinary gift of what we had. She was part of my life for as long as I can remember. She stayed when she didn’t have to. She loved me through every version of myself, from the little girl clutching an enormous stuffed puma to the woman who built a life on the other side of the world. And I loved her. With my whole heart. I don’t know what comes next, or whether we find the people we love again somewhere beyond this life. I hope we do. I hope there is another afternoon, another conversation, another chance to be together. But whatever comes, I know this. I was loved by Lee. And what a wonderful thing that was. I will carry that love with me for the rest of my life. Thank you for staying, GrandLee. Thank you for choosing to be part of my life. Thank you for loving me. I will always love you.