I posted a truncated version of this on Don's "Legacy Guestbook", a forum and medium I expect he'd hate, but I know he'd love to see how many lives he touched expressed in that guestbook.
Don meant a great deal to me. An only son of a single mother, I needed a male role model in my life. Don filled that role for me for almost my entire life up to his passing. As a child, I remember him taking me so many places, to things like Wolfpack football and basketball, jazz concerts, art exhibits, donut shops. Things I thought were cool, in other words. Even in recent years, I have deeply relied on his advice, have enjoyed watching Wolfpack sports with him, have listened to much jazz and relished in the absurd. We have taken more rides to Cup a Joe and other surrounding coffee shops than I can count, to the point that when I enter these establishments, they ask where my friend is.
That's going to be a hard question for me to take for a while. Don has been ever-present in my life. At every major milestone, he has been there, expressing his pride. When I have needed help -- and there has been more than one period in my life where I needed it sorely -- he was there, ready to help me. The first person to call. The first person to express excitement, joy or sorrow at events in my life.
There were whole segments of my life where no one was closer to me than Don was. Not my parents, not my other friends, no one. So without him, I have to be honest, I don't know what I'm going to do. I am blessed and lucky to have the support of many, but I have rarely felt unconditional love as purely as I did from this incredible person who was of no blood relation to me at all but let me know that we had adopted one another as father and son.
I am lucky that I did get to express the importance of that bond to him several times during our relationship. I remember sending him a letter when I was 17 or 18 years old, telling him that he'd saved my life and that I loved him like a father. He told me that the feelings were reciprocated, that he saw me as a son. It was an expression of the way he'd been living it out for years, but it meant so much to me that those words were said.
The last time I saw him -- and the pneumonia was so bad, I was pretty sure it would be the last time -- I let him know that I loved him and how important he'd been to me. He accepted that, but didn't really want to think about/discuss the fact that his time had come. So he asked me, even though he was barely able to talk, to tell him about my life recently. There have been a lot of great things that have happened to me in the last year/few months, so I just went over all of them. His face, which was gaunt and sweaty and pale, lit up when I told him these things. And his wife was gracious enough to tell me later that he had mentioned how pleased he was with where I am in my life.
I couldn't have gotten here without him. It's strange that I'm working a job as a youth minister now. He had no interest in Christianity, as far as I could tell, but he taught me how to be a minister in whatever way I am doing it now. He showed me how healing it is to be someone others can look to for help, for a listening ear, or even just to crack a really bad joke and cheer them up. I've identified that I am really interested in being a good role model for young people precisely because of the time and effort Don took to be that for me. And I see now why it was fulfilling for him just as it was for me.
I will miss Don more than I can express, but will do my best to carry his optimistic, curious spirit with me as I continue to walk through life. Thanks for the memories, my good friend. I have listened to so much jazz in your honor - right now "Stardust" is playing.
I also want to send my love, which will also be expressed in person, to Don's wonderful family, people I feel lucky to know.
edit: By the way, I'm told the photo at the top of this post was taken close to the end (before the pneumonia really took hold, but while he was sick.) His good humor and attitude are clearly visible on his face even given the bleak outlook. Man, I loved that guy.
