RIP to our brother Bruce Griffin

Loss of a loved one puts passion for sports in perspective

…And sometimes life gets in the way.

On Tuesday afternoon, I received a phone call from my cousin Susan, who lives in Scarborough. My younger brother, Bruce had died, collapsing unexpectedly in the office in which they both worked. He was 65-years-old.

Despite a quick 911 call from co-workers, despite the timely arrival of the paramedics, they were unable to revive him. Clearly, God blew this save.

Later yesterday, the Blue Jays 7-5 loss at Rogers Centre vs. the Twins seemed far less of a priority, as life never loses in managing to put everything else that really doesn’t matter, into perspective. In the end, truth is nothing matters more than family.

Baseball has been a huge part of my life, working 22 years with the Expos in Montreal, then writing about the game at The Star, but in the grand scheme of things, sports, long considered the sandbox of real news is no more than a distraction, a common bonding moment for fans, an infomercial for the city in which teams play and, in the case of the Jays, the summertime focus of a common passion for an entire country.

But then came this tragic phone call and the news of our brother Bruce’s passing. This reality that a second of my siblings had been struck down far too early and the immediate sense of grief, brought me back to the long ago loss of my older brother, Patrick, my best friend, my go-to for advice on growing up, who was taken from us in 1987. Pat was ravaged twice by melanoma, an insidious disease that struck for a second time, just four years and 11 months after he had been sent home with an encouraging diagnosis from his doctors in Montreal. Physicians told him, the first time, they had removed most of the cancer. There was no guarantee, but they felt if it did not come back in five years, the belief was he was in the clear. The timing was cruel and his loss still hurts. But the memories of his time with us, some 38 years later, have become forever sweet and I always smile. This is already happening with memories of Bruce. But for now, the tears still dominate.

With my younger brother, the timeline of his loss was a different story. No time to prepare for the grief. Sure, he had been dealing with medical issues for his entire adult life, but no more than many others that we know and are still with us. There had been no outward signs that Aug. 25 would be the day his life came to an end. Then, suddenly it was.

Upon hearing the news, I cried, then I didn’t cry, then I smiled at a certain memory, then I cried again. That cycle will continue for all of us, I imagine, as we prepare to say goodbye to Bruce, as a family and extended family. Among the five Griffin children, my elder sister and three bothers, Bruce was arguably the most generous, sensitive, emotional and considerate. He was also the funniest and smartest. Damn!

In Montreal, some 28 years ago, Bruce lived with Debbie and me in Pointe Claire for the better part of a summer. He grew closer to our, then-three, children. According to my son, Matt, who was, at the time, an impressionable seven-year-old, his uncle once sat with him at home and answered, correctly, about 60 straight Jeopardy questions. When an awestruck Matt asked why he didn’t apply to be on the show, Bruce said “I wouldn’t have any good story to tell Alex (Trebek) when it came time to talk to contestants after the commercial.” That made Matt laugh. With his dry, observational sense of humour, he could make us all laugh. And he would have made Trebek laugh.

I will live with regrets. I know I didn’t see Bruce often enough. I didn’t call Bruce often enough. But the fact that all his nieces and nephews, including my four smart, healthy, mostly see-through-the-bullshit children, understood and always loved him allows me to smile through the tears.

RIP my brother. We all miss you.