Yesterday our friend Bruce “slipped the surly bonds”¹ of his ALS-ravaged body and departed this earth for whatever lies beyond.  This has been long anticipated, and it is in many ways a release and a relief for him and for those who love him.  But that doesn’t make it easy for those of us he left behind, especially his wife Lynette.  I myself am just at the front end of coming to terms with his death.

Bruce made several appearances and contributions to Elder Chaplain, so much so that many of you have told me you feel you know him, even though you have never met.  So I feel the need to share his passing with you, along with a few brief remembrances.

When I launched this blog in 2022, Bruce offered me the photo at top, which he took of Comet Neowise in 2020, to use as my home page photo.  We loved the notion of a bright light burning itself out gradually while heading toward an even greater light over the horizon.  I find comfort in imagining Bruce now basking in that even greater light.

As Bruce’s ALS progressed, he and I embarked on a series of conversations we called “Hard Earned Wisdom,” which culminated in the post Choosing Life, One Day at a Time.  This post only begins to capture the wisdom I feel I have received from this remarkable man.

Over the past year Bruce and Lynette inspired a group of us to undertake a challenging climb on behalf of ALS Northwest, which supported them in living the fullest life possible despite ALS.  The posts Practicing Hope—For ALS and The Abode of the Gods attempted to capture this uplifting experience.  We are all deeply appreciative of the contributions made to ALS Northwest by readers of Elder Chaplain.

A year ago Bruce asked me to serve as “emcee” for his celebration of life, and the conversations Bruce, Lynette, and I have shared over the past two months have been among the most intimate I’ve ever experienced.  As Lynette said at one point, it’s surreal, even weird, for loved ones to sit around a circle discussing the memorial for one of the participants, yet it is also lovely and wonderful—something we might all wish for.  We reviewed the final draft of the program—what felt to me like Bruce’s last piece of unfinished business—two days ago, and we agreed his work was complete.

Now comes the hard part—living without Bruce.  Hard for all of us who love him, but especially for Lynette, and their children and grandchildren.  As a community of family and friends, we will gather in a few weeks to celebrate Bruce just the way he wanted.  All too often we attend gatherings like this, share deeply heartfelt condolences, then return to our day-to-day lives, leaving family members to navigate the long road of grief on their own.  My sense—and commitment—is that this will be different, that those of us in Bruce and Lynette’s circle have been so transformed by their journey that we will stay on that long road with Lynette and family—just the way Bruce wanted.

1. From “High Flight” by John Gillespie Magee, Jr. Bruce’s father was career Air Force, and a passionate amateur aviator. Bruce loved telling stories of his father’s love of flight. ↩︎