Remembering Deb
On January 25, 2014 the Toronto comics community lost their most beloved member, Debra Jane Shelly at the age of 38. A true renaissance nerd, Deb was a huge fan of comic books, cartoons, horror, and sci-fi. She touched the lives of many people, many of which never had the pleasure of meeting her in public, but received support and encouragement from her through forums and social media. Deb was dear to many members of the GEEKPR0N staff, and was always an open ear for advice, complaints, and general geeking out.
Deb volunteered yearly at the Toronto Fan Expo, helping to herd crowds into order, and manning the Comic Book Lounge booth with her partner Kevin. As a lawyer by trade, Deb also notarized the CGC grading of comic books, and was frequently seen sprinting around the conventions to help out her friends stuck in their booths by getting supplies, running errands, and standing in line for signatures.
She was instrumental in organizing the Ladies Nights at the Comic Lounge, semi-regular get-togethers of female fans who would gather together to buy comic books, do crafts, and socialize in a safe and supportive environment.
Deb was never seen without a bright sunny smile, but woe betide to anyone who crossed her people. She was fiercely loyal to her friends and loved ones.
GEEKPR0N extends their heartfelt condolences to Debra’s family and friends, and share their memories of Deb here.
Hope:
I considered Deb to be a leader to the women in our community. A magnificent nerd, who told me that Pinkie Pie was her spirit animal and who bonded with me over 1980s Marvel comic books – with a generous cup of wine of course.
Deb was the kindest, sweetest, best person I have ever met. She made me feel comfortable when I was new to this city and always had an open ear for troubles and triumphs. I never spent time with her outside of conventions, events, and comic book shops, but never for a second did I feel like she was absent from my life. Her presence on social media was comforting, and I could always depend on her to comment on whatever silly post I made. She encouraged my projects and passions and told me that I was doing important work, which might have been the first time I actually believed it. She was giving, welcoming, affectionate, and caring to strangers and friends alike.
She was the only one I let call me Hopey (we both were fans of Love & Rockets).
I love her dearly. It would be impossible not to, she inspires love.
I’ve never had a friend quite like Debra. Someone who always smiled, who brought joy and laughter wherever she went. Deb always complimented, and even her (few) complaints ended on a sweet note.
It is tragic how such a lively person could be taken from us so suddenly, but even so I can’t think of her without smiling. I will keep her positivity alive in my heart, as all who knew her will.
Debra Jane Shelly helped me through a difficult time in my life and gave me hope that life could be better, that I deserved better. She did the same for my wife, at a separate time in her life.
She treated everyone she met as incredibly unique, celebrating what was hilarious, just, kind and exceptional in every moment, as few people do. She was a rare individual, one you remember in a sea of faces that are operating for their own best interests.
If we know anything about existence it’s that people are there to be loved and celebrated. She even exercised this in her career, as someone who used her lawyer smarts to win funding for ill babies. And in her romantic life, she was strong, independent and yet incredibly loving. She was always there to help Kevin with projects and events.
It hurts that I can’t say this to her face and am instead relegated to communicating it in a paltry post. She taught me something about being alive, about existing beyond a screen and a book and a pen.
As Carl Sagan once so eloquently put it, “We are made of star stuff.”
Every atom in our bodies were created inside the heart of a star, and there is a chance that they will, one day, create a new one. When we die, the electrical impulses that make up our consciousness fade and dissipate. However, as there is a finite amount of matter and energy in the universe, and it can not be created or destroyed, what makes up who we are is therefore spread out within that universe. When we go, we are never truly gone.
We exist after life as atoms and energy, as well as in the memories of those who’s lives we’ve affected. We honor our dead by remembering their lives.
Atoms to atoms, stardust to stardust.
I first met Debra Jane Shelly when I came to the Comics Lounge & Gallery for the very first time. It was the 2012 12 Hour Comics Marathon and I came in late. I wanted to get a feel for the place and the environment because I wanted to be in the Marathon again next year and, to be honest, hang out more at the Lounge because I always meant to. The very first time we met, we talked (or rather *she* mostly talked: I immediately understood that once Debra got started on a geeky topic, it could be hard to get a word in edge-wise) for awhile about Miracleman being the “great white whale” of comics and how it what it must have felt for readers to read Watchmen for the very first time and have their view of comics changed forever. She provoked some major thoughts in me.
That same night she was taking pictures. And as I left to go home, saying my goodbyes she insisted that she take a picture of me. The first picture she ever took of me was me holding Alan Moore’s Nemo: Heart of Ice. She said she liked to take pictures of people right after discovering their favourite comics for the first time, or finding something they had been long looking for.
I saw her again at the 2013 12 Hour Comics Marathon and we talked a bit there too. She managed to get some pictures of me hard at work drawing crude comics in my Doctor Who T-shirt on the couch, sometimes with a thoughtful expression on my face and other times when I was unconsciously making some weird faces. When I got self-conscious about the latter on Facebook, she wrote, “Dude, it was an atmosphere of creative ferment. S’all good!” We weren’t Facebook friends and offline we were, at best, acquaintances. One time, I made a comment about how I wished they would focus less on a “Superman vs. Batman” movie and more on a standalone Wonder Woman film. Debra “Liked” my comments. And that was the last interaction I ever had with her. It is so strange to think about the Lounge without her there with her camera, her geeky conversation, her insane knowledge of comics and the industry and her smile. It just doesn’t seem real. I was just an acquaintance and the fact that I will never be able to talk comics with her or get to know her more makes me really sad. But for whatever it’s worth, I’m glad she got to see the “great white whale” was finally taken, and that her presence and our brief conversations really hit home what I saw around me: community.
Many have spoken of Debra’s wide and warm smile, her ability to make people feel like friends within minutes of meeting, of her sheer joy in the things she loved- and her joy in watching other people be passionate about what sang to them. She had an ability to listen, and then to apply what she heard later, be it a gluten allergy or inquiring after an emotionally dark time. I met Debra at a Ladies Night at the Comic Book Lounge. She was gracious and made sure everyone, many of whom were strangers to each other, was welcomed. She embodied the platonic archetype of a great host; something that we as a society know should exist, but so rarely see. She traveled through one of this winter’s bitter cold and snowy days, just to spend a few minutes with me on a very hard day, and followed it up with offers of hanging at the lounge to either talk or be distracted. I’m just so sorry that I didn’t have time to take her up on that offer. She was someone I objectively didn’t know that well, but subjectively she felt like a close friend. I’m sorry we didn’t get to spend more time, more years, hanging out, talking comics, and building communities.
To me, Debra Jane Shelley always represented the best of Geek Fandom – she had a genuine love for her favourite stories, characters, and art, as well as a desire to create a judgment-free and safe atmosphere for everyone else to enjoy theirs. Over the past 4 years or so, I’d see her at dozens of events and conventions around the city. Most of the time she had a camera; all of the time she had a smile. And what a smile. A bright, full-toothed, genuine smile that anyone who even knew her a little would recognize. A smile that you can see in just about every photo of her. Deb and I only had a few one-on-one conversations, but they were always about the shows and movies we loved. We didn’t always love the same things, but it didn’t matter. She didn’t care what you geeked out about (a skill I could work on, personally), she was just happy to see people share even some of the passion she felt towards the Toronto Geek community.
Deb, you will be sorely missed.
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In June 2013, the band The Doubleclicks, asked for submissions of geek girls telling their stories. As a result, a group of women gathered together at the Comic Lounge to record their own messages. Deb’s message did not make it into the final video, but is well worth seeing. Her ability to stay positive and inspire others is evident, and her message of self-respect and pride is something she has shared with all of us.
Donations can be made in Debra’s name to Epilepsy Toronto.
