You Were a Good Man

RIP Joshua "Bubba" Wallace

Don’t judge me. Some people drink. Some people smoke. Some people do drugs. I write. It’s cheaper and you can’t get arrested for it.

I woke up this morning thinking it was just another Monday. I shut my alarm off and, as I always do, I checked my phone for messages. I leave my ringer off, so there’s always the possibility that I might have missed something. It happens.

I had seventeen missed calls and two text messages, one from my mom and one from my cousin Ron. Both texts said “Call me ASAP.” I knew immediately that something was massively wrong. I heaved a quick sigh. I needed to make a decision about who to call first. There’s something about hearing terrible news delivered with a woman’s voice that makes it easier to deal with. And she IS my mother. I called my mom.

She let me know that my cousin Josh was gone. That made no sense at all. Bubba (as we’ve called him since he was in diapers) was younger than me, and I’m still south of fifty. I knew he had been in the hospital with pneumonia but he was getting better as of last night. I figured he’d get better and I’d rib him a bit for scaring all us and we’d both move on with our lives.

And if you knew my relationship with Bubba you KNOW beyond a shadow of a doubt that I was going to give him some crap. That’s just the way it was. Trash talk was our love language.

Dude, it’s been three hours and I already miss him.

Things didn’t start off that well with me and Bubs. I didn’t have patience with kids who were younger than me and he was a kid who was younger than me. He didn’t do anything WRONG, but I’ve never been the most patient of people and if he did something annoying (like acting like a five year old when he was five years old) I got irritated. I’m also not the best at subtlety or hiding my emotions and I gave him a hard time often even though he didn’t deserve it. Don’t get me wrong. I always loved the guy, but ask my mom and my sister what it’s like putting up with me all the time.

At some point though, things changed. He grew up. I’d like to think I became less of a bunghole. I don’t know how it happened exactly, but somehow the kid who used to walk across my Legos when I was trying to build a village became one of my closest friends.

Whether it was watching football on the weekends (Michigan Wolverines and the Detroit Lions) or paying, hanging out in the living room singing (with apologies to Hank Williams Jr.) Farmbrook Tradition or throwing darts and eating nachos, I spent more time with Bubba as an adult than nine year old Jimbo would have ever believed. I’m glad I did. Bubs was a good man and a good friend.

You should’ve seen the look on my man’s face when I asked him to stand up in my wedding. He was shocked. I guess I did too good a job convincing him that I didn’t like him when he was a kid. He did stand up though and I’ll never forget that either. I’m not sure the world was ready to see those five guys in tuxes, but it seems to have survived the experience. Don’t ask me how.

I’ll never forget taking Bubs out for his twenty-first birthday. Me and Zogie rolled up to his house and took him to a place out in the Yak. Bubba knocking back drinks like they were water. Then he told us he was gonna go to the bathroom, he’d be right back, etc. You know the routine. Next think you know, Zogie starts slapping me on the shoulder and yelling in my ear, “Look at Bubba! LOOK AT BUBBA!!!” He was dancing with Random Girl A. At the risk of being that guy, it was obvious that the beer goggles were in full effect that night. It was bad. Dude woke up the next morning and couldn’t figure out where the hickeys on his neck came from. I found a napkin in my back seat with that girls phone number scrawled on it in nail polish. I was impressed. I had met more than one girl in a bar by that point and none of them had ever been that creative. I called him and asked if he wanted the number. Apparently not, but to me that makes the whole thing funnier.

I could go on for days, but my eyes keep leaking and I’m afraid I’m gonna dehydrate myself. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if I did so. And I know it’s not what Bubba would want. He was the guy who always tried to cheer everyone else up. He could find the bright side of everything. Don’t get me wrong. He would have understood. He’d have just tried to make me smile. That was Bubs.

They say only the good die young, so maybe that explains why we lost Bubba so soon. I’m not saying he did anything to deserve this, but I need something to make this make sense. Bubba shouldn’t be gone. He was younger than me. He was supposed to go to my funeral. I was never supposed to go to his. And his parents, my Aunt Jan and Uncle Ron, definitely don’t deserve to have to bury their own son.

Listen: I’ve read a ton of military history. I know the old saying; “In peacetime, sons bury their fathers. In wartime, fathers bury their sons.” but we’re not at war and Bubba, God rest his soul, was never a soldier anyway. The old saw wouldn’t apply to him anyway. So why is my Uncle Ron burying his kid? This is supposed to a happy time for the Wallaces. My cousin Ron just had a liver transplant and is healing. They should be celebrating that, not mourning the loss of Bubba. This doesn’t work for me.

I am very clearly going to need to spend some time in prayer over this one. If you’re reading this and you don’t mind taking a couple seconds to say a prayer for me, or for his immediate family, or whatever it would be appreciated.

And, if you’re reading this and you knew Bubba, please do share a happy memory with Bubba below. Make yourself smile for a second. It’s what he’d want.