Roger's brother
For Bruce
August 18, 2005
Today would have been Bruce’s 42nd Birthday, if he were alive. I have often wondered in the intervening years since his death, whether or not he would approve of me or even be proud of me. I like to think so. He was barely a man when he died, but old enough to have hinted at the man he would have become. He liked to work with his hands; they were large and strong like our grandfathers hands. They appeared to be sculpted from a hard tan stone. His passion was a 67 Chevrolet Super Sport that he kept in the barn, he worked on it constantly it seemed. I always remember him working on it, shirtless, wavy brown hair, blue jeans. His dream was for this machine to one day be restored and prowl the roads in true muscle car fashion. It didn't happen...
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This is the post Roger wrote today. Sarah had warned me it would make me cry. I didn't cry the first time I read it, because I was confused about who Bruce was. I read it a second time and smiled. I read it a third time and cried.