Grief part Two

Times like these, when death happens earlier than we are ready, when someone doesn’t get to finish living up to his potential, there’s a common phrase uttered. “What a waste,” people say, while sadly shaking their heads.

It’s been said many times over this past weekend- by people who loved Bruce dearly, and possibly by people who didn’t really care one way or the other. I’m not going to end my Uncle Bruce story that way though. To say “what a waste,” is to miss the big story, and Uncle Bruce was a guy who personified Big. He made a big impact on the people in his life. Why else would my guidance counselor insist on calling me Bruce throughout high school?

There are all kinds of memories I have of Uncle Bruce- the “cool” uncle that would listen to me blather on about whatever after high school in his office- the baby-love-struck Uncle that showed up at our house shortly after we moved here to show off his new baby daughter Zoe- the family member that could make any Thanksgiving dinner memorable, the guy who teared up while telling me about taking his Dalmatian out for dinner before his final visit to the vet.

In all of my memories of him though, he had Big Feelings- and a lot of those big feelings were in the shape of love for his family. He loved his children, his family, his friends in a big, undoubtable way, even if his aim was not always that good. He never hung up the phone with me without saying “love you,” and I believed him each time.

We can keep his death from being a waste by honoring the love that he had- extending it to each other.

I’d like to end with a quote from one of my favorite poems. It’s called Blackwater Woods, by Mary Oliver.

To live in this world
you must be able to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it

against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.