A Letter from Bruce Wagman
4/19/06

Dear Laurie, Dana and Jilian –

I’ve been putting off writing this for obvious reasons – maybe if I don’t write it, it won’t be true, maybe Rob will call me and tell me miracles happen, it was all a bad dream.   But I have been through too many deaths of close friends and family to fool myself with that game for too long; more than anything I needed the time, and the quiet space, to be able to try to organize my thoughts in some reasonable fashion so that I could get it on paper and make it worth the writing and the reading.   You three deserve that, Brian deserves that, and so here it is.

I still have never met the girls, although I felt like I knew them in the time Brian and I were especially close, and it was a bittersweet homecoming to finally see them in the flesh at the service on Friday.   What a monument to Brian’s heart that day was, emphasizing the large irony that the guy with the biggest heart died because his heart was too big.   You can’t win for trying in this world….   But this is for all three of you since it’s really my tribute/eulogy/memory of Brian, offered to all of you as the only gift worth giving at this moment, as a demonstration of one more way he was viewed by one more person who he came into contact with, who he called friend, and who he left an indelible mark on.   While of nowhere near the same degree or substance as the man who walks inside you, he is with me every day. I can easily and gladly say that Brian will walk with me for as long as I walk, and the impression he left on me will remain a positive one, and undoubtedly grow, as time goes by.

One of the speakers at the service said she was one of the “new friends.”   I guess I was one of the “different friends.”   We hooked up because of Dave and Tracy and Rob, and really just because of my ultimate good fortune that Bri took that job at Jamba Juice in my building.   For however long it was he was there, he was my solace and comfort in the early mornings; we would arrive at the building just about the same time and trade stories and aches and pains (emotional or physical), CDs and the best juice combinations.   I can’t remember now, maybe it was Thursdays he had off, and that day (or any day he wasn’t there) always started off weaker and slower because he wasn’t there.   And when he left, to this day, I have not stepped back in Jamba Juice and I stare at it every morning and bring back all the smiles and camaraderie we had there.   Now it’s got a different look to it, but I can still put him behind that counter and trigger a touch to my heart.

So I wasn’t from the Butcher Boys’ group, and I wasn’t from the school group, and I wasn’t a neighbor; I was tangentially related to the music scene group, but minus the long history, the long nights, and the long guitar jams.   I hate sports and I can’t play music for the life of me, although I love it like my breath.   But despite all that we did not have in common, Brian and I bonded, and I fell in love with his soul and spirit just like all those other people that filled that chapel the other day, that have been forever touched by his smile and his eyes, that will never forget his laugh and his easygoing sincerity, that were impressed again and again, as I was, with his stolid integrity and personal truths, and with his abiding love for the three of you.   

Early morning talks are special; there is something about being awake in the dark at the beginning of a day, but before most of the world is awake, before anyone is watching or waiting or calling; there is something about that time that leads two guys to have these wonderful rambling conversations that range from music to family to the struggles of being a human in this big old goofy world.   I cherished every morning that we had together, and when he left the job it was like my whole routine, my whole morning, changed complexion.

I told a bunch of people about him leaving us – my partners who had gotten friendly with him because he worked there and was my friend, but also because they loved to talk sports; my friends who are also friends of Rob’s, so they would know to keep in touch with him; and my friends who I wanted to tell I had lost a good friend.   I told everyone the same thing – this was a guy who was almost unique among the people I know, because in my experience with him, it was always his good nature, his heart, that was right there in front of me, and I never walked away from a time with him thinking anything but “that was a great way to spend some time” or “I wish I could have spent more time with him.”   

I guess that’s what I will think for the rest of my life.

From Deborah and me, we give you our sadness, our joy, and our wishes that you cry lots of tears to try to wash the soul, and that you get to a point where you walk the earth thinking, “how lucky I am, how gifted my life, that I got to spend that time with him.”   Wherever you three go, you will always be spreading his love around.

B & D