Strangers send 'gold' to man who is dying

Jan. 2, 2008 12:00 AM

The letters began arriving a few days after Thanksgiving. From little children and old soldiers and from people who were reminded once again about those bedrock truths we know but so often set aside.

"I'd like to wish you a happy Thanksgiving, filled with the joy of another day surrounded by friends with smiles and sunshine coming in your window," Corky Heywood of Scottsdale wrote. "My heart goes out to you, not because you are dying but because you have such courage and are more full of life than many people. . . . I for one will remember your story for a long time to come."

Stuart closes his eyes as the letter is read to him, and when he opens them, tears spill across his cheeks and onto his pillow. "All these letters," he says. "They're like gold. It's just beautiful. They're better than morphine."

Just before Thanksgiving, I was looking for somebody to write about, somebody who manages to find something good in every day. Naturally, I thought of Stuart Bridges.

He lives in a green room in his sister's house on a street called Granite Reef. Day after day, he lies in that room. Hour after hour. He knows there is no chance that he will ever again walk out of that room, no possibility of parole from the disease that is killing him. Yet every day he finds something to appreciate - the sun on his face, the smile of a friend, a letter from a stranger.

"You remind me of my little brother Alan who died at age 43 from complications of diabetes," Lee McKimmons wrote. "Alan often joked about his disabilities to put others at ease. After he lost both legs to amputation, Alan often joked of having been whittled down to size. He always found ways to work around impediments as they arose, almost as if it were routine. When I would tell him how much I admired his courage or marvel at how he handled the loss of most of his hand and his eyesight, Alan would stop me with a shake of his head. He steadfastly disavowed heroism in the face of struggles, even telling me of his all-too-human fears and negative spells with despair. Alan was a hero to me not in spite of his occasional defeats but perhaps because of them."

Stuart once told me that a meaningful life is all about having compassion. So I suggested in that Thanksgiving column that people take a minute to drop Stuart a note, that it would have an impact on what's left of his life and might even affect their own.

The letters came in by the hundreds. From a survivor of the 9/11 attacks, from a man who is facing life in prison, from people who forget just how good they have it.

"I want to thank you today, Stuart, for teaching me to count my blessings," Brad Jensen of Phoenix wrote. "I hope that you continue to find happiness in the small things. I promise to you that I will take life a little less for granted for having shared this brief moment of time with you."

The letters are neatly stacked in plastic storage bins in Stuart's room. Every day, someone takes a few out and reads them aloud. The words carry him beyond his bed on Granite Reef Road, beyond the reach of Lou Gehrig's disease, and he wants to thank you for that.

"Each one," he says, "touches my heart."

This is what 41 cents and a willingness to reach out can do. And so on this, the second day of a new year, it seems a good time to resolve to write to Stuart this year (P.O. Box 3772, Scottsdale, AZ 85271) or to someone you know who is sick or alone. Or to someone you don't know who could use a lift.

"These words," Stuart says, "inject spirit and that can sustain you."

He's talking about the person who reads them, of course. Or is he talking about the person who writes them?

Reach Roberts at laurie.roberts@arizonarepublic.com or 602-444-8635. Read her blog at robertsblog.azcentral.com.