I rode the elevator down to the bottom floor of the building with a friend and a man I had worked with for seven years. I was telling him how the Great Spirit was calling me to go to Glen Helen this weekend.
He was telling me it was going to be a lovely weekend and how he was looking forward to spending some time with his family.
Bruce was a peach of guy always a smile on his face and a laugh that would light up the room. He always had time for you and if he could, you know, he would help you any way possible.
As we walked out the door together as we had done many times before he told me to have a nice one.
I didn't realize until Monday when I received an invitation to his funeral that there was a horrible car accident and I was to be the last person that ever spoke to him.
When I went to pay my respect I spoke with his mother, brother, sisters, wife, son and daughter. To give him the highest honor I could give him I played a sweet goodbye on my Native American flute.
I didn't know how much it meant to all of them until later when they all personally thanked me, his sister gave the biggest, deepest, hardest, longest hug and his brother told me that he could see birds carrying his brothers soul to the heavens as I played .
Strangely enough he was not the first person to say that.
I have played for many a fallen warrior.