Hey! It’s Bruce. If you’re reading this, it means I’m already
dead. What a bummer! I didn’t want the funeral home to be in charge
of it, so my wife is writing the obituary.
First things first -- the facts. I was born in the small town of
Wabash, Indiana, to the best parents a kid could ask for -- Robert
“Buck” Coulson and Juanita (neé Wellons) Coulson. I attended
schools in Hartford City, IN until I graduated from high school.
I decided to take on the world by attending DeVry University in
It wasn’t what I thought it would be and I wound up
dropping out, but staying in Columbus. I worked a number of jobs; I got a
chauffeur’s license, became a truck delivery driver and later, a call center worker.
But my real life was in fandom: Science Fiction, Fantasy, Horror, Comic
books, but especially TTRPG. I’d pretty much grown up in it, as my parents were
not only fans, but also writers and I’d gone to many, many SF conventions and
met many writers; even the cast of the original Star Trek!
I was later introduced to D&D and became an intense fan of role playing
games (RPG’s). I continued to be a voracious reader and used what I learned to
enhance many of the games I ran and played.
I became a collector of RPG’s, and attended conventions of all sorts, even
Filk ones. I will miss all of the friends I gamed with as well as my family.
As you know, my family means everything to me and I hope they are able
to move past my death with strength in their hearts. To my family: my
wife ,Emily; my partner, Lee, and my daughter Miranda: please know how much
I love you, how proud I am, and how I can’t wait to see you once you get to
wherever it is I’m going.
Please attend the Celebration of Life with remembrances of the good
times. Also, no flowers please! I never liked Summer with all the hay fever. Make
sure to enjoy some good donuts, pizza or nachos instead.
No one is finally dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away, until the clock
wound up winds down, until the wine she made has finished its ferment, until the crop
they planted is harvested. The span of someone’s life is only the core of their actual
existence. --Terry Prattchett