Cover photo for Bruce E Coulson's Obituary
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1957 Bruce 2023

Bruce E Coulson

October 29, 1957 — March 21, 2023

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

Columbus, Ohio.

 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

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