a man for whom no one was a stranger

 Bruce Evan Mosher

countless people knew the engaging warmth of this man,

a person who never met a stranger,

who just needed you to be there in front of him,

whether in person or on the phone,

and then the quick booming re-connection:

"How the hell are you?!"

those who knew him and loved him seem to be everywhere:

from the upper Midwest where he started life in Michigan, to Ohio,

to the Big Island of Hawaii where he long lived,

to Raleigh, to rural southwest Virginia where he last lived,

Bruce was friendly and loyal to a fault,

a super-liberal politically,

an avoider of any religion except to live life fully,

to find place and tool that worked for him, or for you,

to find the good deal, the cheaper way,

the gift to give to another,

the sense that others are good people, doing their best,

the frustration when others could not act

in their own best interest,

a sureness in knowing who he was,

in knowing that he wanted 

(how many vehicles did he own at the end?)

in knowing the exact place in Lowe's or Home Depot

where what you needed was,

Bruce was near 60 before he realized he had ADHD

and then got the help he needed,

those close to him too often wrenched by dysfunction in their bodies,

and when he, too, had dysfunction start to visit him,

he decided that he would not persevere

when going out to a restaurant no longer worked,

he claimed control and left us,

all the while making good plans 

for easing the ways to deal with it all,

as he contemplated the end of life,

almost giddy with curiosity 

that soon he would pass beyond

and know the beyond,

I know his daughter a bit,

and I appreciate how well she is who she is,

how well she takes the best from her father

and works to use her calling

so that no one with whom she works is a stranger.

by Henry H. Walker

September 28, ‘23