Becca’s Cyber Home

When asked about my childhood, my first response is always, “I was lucky.” I had a good childhood in a loving family. I realized this week, visiting Albuquerque and our old church for Bruce’s memorial service, just how lucky I was. Yes, I had loving parents who were always present in my life. But I also had an extended family who shaped who I’ve become. As I sat in the sanctuary for the first time in probably 10 years, I felt steeped in memories, in history. My history.

Looking up at the west wall of the sanctuary, I gazed at the 12 stained glass windows the men of CUMC lovingly cut and soldered together. I think it was every Wednesday night, that crew (which included my dad) would meet to continue their work. More often than not, their herd of rugrats (including me) would carouse around the church grounds. It’s not the childhood games that are running through my mind, though. It’s the recollection of the role these men played in my life. A role I didn’t appreciate, or even specifically recognize, until this week.

The girls (I should say women since we’re all grown adults now, but it’s hard to get used to that!) who spoke about Bruce mentioned that he was a second Dad to them. I myself told a story of Bruce as a second dad. When I sat down, I realized that I had third, fourth, and fifth dads, too. There was a whole crew of men who patiently herded us children without hesitation–they looked after us as much as they looked after their own flesh and blood. The type of men who would drive 20 miles out of town near midnight to fix my flat tire, even though I’d moved away and gone to college. But my dad was hundreds of miles away, so it was natural to step in during a time of fatherly need.

Through a child’s eyes, these men were larger than life–big, strong, and fierce. Yesterday I saw them as human. Men who are grieving a terrible loss, who even had to endure the loss first-hand–my heart breaks to think of their last moments with Bruce. I wanted to fold them into my arms (a role reversal that didn’t go unnoticed), and reassure them that CPR isn’t effective–that only 5-10% of patients actually benefit from it–so there was nothing more they could do. Sure, that’s an easy argument for me to make, but I wanted to infuse them with my love nonetheless.

That’s when it occurred to me why I feel so lucky. These big, strong, fierce men were not afraid to show their children their vulnerable and compassionate sides. I wonder how many men do that in such a genuine manner? And yesterday I had to wonder how different I would be if I didn’t receive those early lessons in living a compassionate life. Today I am so thankful to have been blessed by Bruce and his fellows who let me, and all those other children, into their hearts and set such a shining example by doing so.