Bruce

I said goodbye to my friend Bruce this morning at the Lima airport. He was wearing the same red jacket he wore most of his month long stay with my family.

Two nights ago we all went out to eat dinner with Bruce at a steakhouse. As we all enjoyed food (and it’s worth noting that Bruce has become quite proficient at enjoying food) we went around the table to share our favorite memory of Bruce’s visit. My dad started by speaking in some code language that Vietnam vets all recognize and they both busted out laughing. They both connected with their war stories and became good buds on the trip.

My mom remembered the time they went to buy flowers and plants to spruce up the backyard for a day long retreat we were hosting. Bruce picked out a spectacular selection and had a good time gardening. It was undeniable after he was done that his effort made everything more beautiful. My daughters had their memories of “Grandpa Bruce” and how he made them laugh and my wife, Stephanie, remembered the night we surprised him with a dinner in honor of his life.

And my favorite memory is frozen in this picture. Sitting at a restaurant by the ocean enjoying some excellent food with my friend Bruce. This was his fourth plate…and this coming from a person who says he doesn’t eat much! The moment was one of those insulated moments when nothing important was being said, but something near magical was happening.

I witnessed Bruce thoroughly enjoying his life.

All of this is significant to me because the reigning memory of Bruce for me prior to this one was him laying in a hospital bed. He had reach the end of a life-long struggle with alcoholism and was completely spent, disoriented, and pretty much gone. Doctors had him sign a non-resuscitate because his condition was that bad.

I remember a very thin man, deep sunken eyes, who seemed to be slipping away with each passing moment. I remember asking his family to leave the room. Then I crawled up into his bed, got three inches from his face, and told him this is not how it has to end.

His life was NOT spent.

His life was NOT worthless.

His life was valuable, and above all he was loved, by his family and by God. And though circumstance, and life, and his past, and his present, and religion, and his condition wanted to suggest that there was nothing left to salvage, the truth was that he was loved.

And a life that is loved, is a life that is worth living.

Bruce has been sober for over two years now. At one point, he had to walk around with a cane. In the last month I witnessed him carry heavy furniture down a steep flight of steps to help set up new children’s ministry classes. At one point, he was not able to do simple math, and on this trip I witnessed him outline and deliver two lessons to our children’s ministry. At one point, he was not able to do simple things, and now he is in transit flying home from an international destination.

Bruce is a hero, battle-tested on the fields of life, and almost left for dead by all but his loving and dedicated family.

I’ll always remember crawling up into his hospital bed to tell him there was more to life. But now, and far more vibrantly, I’ll always remember him crawling up into our life for a month to show us how true that really was.

Thank you, Bruce. Your life has enriched ours.

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“No man is useless who has a friend, and if we are loved we are indispensable.” ~ Robert L. Stevenson