The Bruce Edwards
Through the love of my family and friends, like you, I have raised nearly $60,000 to help individuals, like me, who battle this ridiculous disease. YOU have become part of a community that together has provided a lifeline of support to others with ALS--so that they can live!
As my disease has progressed I have realized the inevitable outcome for those with ALS, including me, and the fight and funding to end ALS must continue long after I am gone.
I have made a promise for now and in the future that the fight against ALS will continue on every front. My promise is fueled by a new quest--to raise an additional $100,000 over the next five years. That’s 100 big ones, friends, and I can’t do it without you. While I may not be here at the end of five years, my courage to fight this and your commitment to help me will give me comfort knowing others will be helped.
Please join me in my commitment and make your pledge today to the Bruce Edwards Promise Fund—Bruce’s Battalion, Fighting ALS. Click Donate Now — you won’t regret it.
A Message from a Friend...
MY HERO NAMED BRUCE
I learned recently, as I have many times, that I have a terminal condition.
So I paid a brief visit over the weekend to my friend Bruce, stopping in at his home for a few minutes as I passed by while I was out for a bike ride. Bruce has ALS, or Lou Gehrig’s disease, so it’s no secret he has a terminal condition too. Bruce was sitting out back in the soft autumn sun, in his mechanical chair, resting after having spent the morning raising some $30,000 for ALS research. He was tired and his speech was slow and deliberate and took effort. It was mostly small talk.
I didn’t ask Bruce to give me any insights about the life-after. I’m not sure, but he probably doesn’t know much more or less about that subject than I do—he hasn’t been there either and I’m just guessing he would like to put that off a while. We agreed on that, without discussing it.
I also didn’t ask Bruce to give me any special words of wisdom for the life-now. I didn’t need to ask. All I needed to do was take a look at Bruce, say a few things, and listen to a few things, and in that small talk conversation he gave me all the wisdom I needed. Just about today.
Bruce was cheerful. He had a big smile and a bright face. He talked proudly of his son in college who was home for a short visit. (He mentioned that his son calls often!) He talked caringly about his wife who has such a large responsibility in caring for him. (Just then she showed up with his lunch!) He talked about all the volunteers who had helped to raise money for ALS that morning. He asked about my sons and my bike-riding, and he mentioned how nice the weather was that day. Just about today.
It was all about today, the life-now. No historical reflections. No future predictions. No profound statements. No philosophy or spiritualism. Just about today.
Bruce is my hero. He knows his condition. I’m sure he has lots to worry and think about, and perhaps some fears and regrets. He spends his time taking care of today. I think he takes very good care of today, the life-now, and that makes him my hero.
My condition is terminal too, and it’s called “this life.” I just know less about it than Bruce does his, so mine is deceptively less urgent. It does me good to visit my hero named Bruce from time to time, as he reminds me it’s just about today.
Stories about Bruce
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