Malcolm Bruce, or as I know him, Gramps, is thoughtful, intelligent and most of all intentional. Growing up, he was a stable and steadfast inspiration in my life. Before he makes decisions, he considers his place in the world and how his choices impact the people he cares about. When I heard he was considering euthanasia, more commonly known as assisted suicide, I knew he wasn’t thinking about it lightly.
My grandparents have an interesting relationship with death. Where, in most households, death is somewhat of a taboo point of conversation. In mine, death was discussed openly — with brutal honesty. My grandparents had both seen their parents pass, and they know exactly what they do and, more importantly, don't want out of their final moments.
Mal wants to live and die in his home. He wants to be himself and not a shell of who he once was. When he passes he wants to be healthy, autonomous and full of life. His biggest fear is dying sick in a hospital bed. One of my earliest memories of my grandfather is between he and my mom. They were discussing regrets. He said that if his life ended, he would die without regrets.
In recent years, as his age has caught up with him, he has talked more openly with the family about the possibility of euthanasia. Nothing is set in stone, but the conversations are getting harder to hear as they inch closer and closer to reality. Our family will support whatever he decides, knowing if he ever does make that final choice, he will do so with peace of mind and a rested soul.
I don’t know anyone who loves life as much as my grandmother, Kay Bruce. She grew up in a small town in Montana, and by her mid-twenties, she was a single-mother of two daughters and a PhD candidate. At points throughout her life, she has had more than a tough go at it. These experiences might have jaded some but not my grandmother. By the time Dr. Kay Bruce retired, she had been a nurse, educator and dean of a small community college where started a scholarship program to help cover the cost of education for underprivileged students.
Since then, she has spent the last twenty years traveling the world with her husband Malcolm and her family. My grandmother likes traveling, but she loves meeting folks on her journeys. She can, and often does, have a conversation with anyone. Regardless of age or language, Kay doesn’t know the meaning of the word stranger.
Her contact list is miles long and crosses international borders. When I was 8 years old, I was on a road trip with my siblings and parents. We broke down in a small town in Southern Oregon. As soon as my Grandmother got the news, she made a few calls and found an old friend who lived nearby. No matter where I am, if I ever get into a pinch, Kay knows someone close who would help the grandson of the sweet traveler they met in another part of the world.
At a spry 80 years old, she is the caretaker she always was. Even though my family tries to give her a break, get her off her feet and offer a helping hand, she has no plans on slowing down. She is a steadfast freight train.
She plays cards with her husband every night before bed and walks two laps around the block every morning while happily chatting with every neighbor she finds. If you’re in the house when she goes, the walk is mandatory for you too. We walk at a moderate pace, enjoying the air while she sprinkles in stories of the families nearby who recently moved in.
If nothing else, Kay is grateful. Like my Grandfather, she wants to do life her way, right to the end. She wants to spend her final days with family, old friends and having just as much fun as she had the first in the first decades of her life.
My grandparents met at Cypress College in Southern California. Kay, the dean, was looking for someone to help her build the school’s first computer lab. She had heard of a new faculty member named Malcolm who knew about computers from his previous career. She decided to invite him for lunch to see if he could help her.
She paid ten dollars for both of their lunches. She’ll tell you for that ten dollars, she helped build one of the first community college-based computer labs in California that served thousands of students for decades. Malcolm will tell you for that ten dollars they also found 33 years of marriage and laughter.
After that first meeting, they quickly fell in love. They had both separated from previous marriages, so after they decided they wanted to get married, they spent six months planning out every possibility. How would they live if they split up? Where would they spend holidays? How would they spend their retirement? What do they want the final years of their lives to look like?
After a few years of dating and months of discussion, planning and excitement, they tied the knot. For the last 33 years, they have built a life together. All the while they fell deeper and deeper in love. For me and my siblings, their relationship showed us what love looks like. As they’ve gotten older and their physical and mental needs have changed, their love and support for one another stays the same.
In recent years, Kay’s eyesight has declined, and Mal’s hearing loss has increased. In turn, they’ve started calling each other “the Eyes” and “the Ears” because together they have enough working senses for both of them. Even as the effects of age start settling in, the pair have never lost their sense of adventure. They’ve now traveled to every continent and U.S. state. If they ever find themselves at a theme park, they’ll hop on a few roller coasters — even if waiting in the lines hurts their feet.
Their love continues to grow for each other even after three decades of marriage. You can see it in their daily interactions. The subtle arm rubs when one passes behind the other. The smiles when they see one another at the dinner table. The way they look at each other says what words cannot describe. I’m not sure how many years they have left, but I know that they will spend them happily together.
