My name is Bruce Beswick. I’m a retired military pilot and soldier. I served in the Canadian Air Force for 25 years, flying search and rescue missions in Buffalo aircraft before moving on to fly F-18 fighter jets out of Cold Lake. I also completed multiple tours in the Middle East, including a year in Afghanistan running an army camp with over 1,000 troops. I’ve seen a lot in my life; beautiful places, devastating moments, and experiences I carry with me to this day.

After returning home, I began noticing muscle twitches and a gradual loss in weight and strength. For nearly three years, I sought answers from doctors with no clear diagnosis. It wasn’t until April 2024, through the Operational Stress Injury Clinic in Calgary, that I was finally diagnosed with ALS.

At my physical peak, I was 245 pounds and could press 250! Today, I weigh 165 pounds and need help lifting a cup of coffee. I can no longer drive, and everyday tasks like brushing my teeth, doing up buttons, or walking to the kitchen are difficult or impossible without help.

But here's what hasn’t changed: my determination.

My life before ALS was full. I was raising a family, running a farm, and proudly serving my country. I’ve had the privilege of working overseas, including in Israel, Syria, Lebanon, Gaza, and Afghanistan. Through all of that, my wife was my rock. While I was deployed, she ran our farm with 50 head of cattle, 200 sheep, and two young kids, and she did this all flawlessly. She’s still my rock today.

ALS has forced me to slow down, but not to stop. My days begin and end with her help. While I can no longer hike or drive with my service dog, Shadow, I’ve found new ways to keep going: reading, faith, meaningful conversations, and finding joy in the quiet moments.

ALS has taken a lot from me physically. Here’s what I’m facing today:

I’ve lost nearly 80 pounds of muscle.
I need a chair to shower as I can’t stand for long.
I can’t pull up my pants or do up buttons.
Walking is limited to short distances.
Brushing my teeth is difficult.
I get tangled in blankets when rolling over.
I can’t drive.
I struggle to feed myself and I drink through a straw.
I can’t lift my arms above my mid-chest.
My hands shake. I can’t tie my shoes.
I’ve lost my appetite.

Every one of these challenges requires help, and my wife is the one who helps me. She dresses me, prepares my food, and manages our daily routines. She is totally amazing. Her love and care grounds me. While I once found freedom behind the wheel taking backroad trips with my service dog Shadow, I now find peace in simply sitting beside her, holding hands as we drive. I can't say enough about how much she means to me. Her strength steadies me in every way.

A friend recently took me on a convoy drive through the mountains. We visited a remote site where a cross had been placed in memory of someone whose ashes had been scattered there. It was deeply moving. I took a photo and I hold onto it as a reminder of the beauty that still surrounds us.

The ALS Society of Alberta has also played a role, helping us access essential equipment that makes daily life more manageable. A real constant in my care journey has been my wife, and our incredible local church and friends who show up in ways both big and small.

Being a caregiver takes patience, grit, and heart. I see it in my wife every day. Accepting help hasn’t always been easy for me, but I’ve learned something important along the way. Gratitude matters. Say thank you. Mean it. Every day.

To anyone newly diagnosed: Make a promise to yourself to stay mentally strong, and stick to it. Plan ahead. Accept help. Be grateful. And most importantly: Never quit.

ALS might be part of your life, but it doesn’t define who you are. Never be afraid to share your story. You never know who it might help, or who might reach out and help you.

I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but I do know how I want to meet it: with purpose, love, and perseverance. My goal is to ensure my wife is well cared for. And when I’m gone, I hope people remember me as a good man who tried to do right by others.

So here I am. Still pushing. Still grateful. Still refusing to give up.