Terry Foster: Remembering Don Muirwood

By Terry Foster
The Family Deal

The last time I saw my neighbor Don Muirwood, he was weak and frail and weighed less than 100 pounds.

He struggled to move and get into that sweet spot that made him comfortable.

I sat by his bedside and talked about the weather and a message from my children who simply wanted to tell him they were thinking of him. He was dying of ALS, the debilitating disease that robs you of your motor skills and eventually life.

It robbed us of a guy who did not care how you thought but loved to debate just for fun.

Don finally died Sunday four years after discovering he had the disease and two days after our visit. One of the Hospice nurses told me: "He is amazing."

In other words he was just being Don, a free spirit that you don't often see in life. Don does not want a funeral nor have people make a fuss over him. His wife Shelby is going to abide by those rules. But sorry Don we are having two parties in your honor – one in Michigan and the other in North Carolina where he used to live.

And you cannot stop us.

He died with earrings in his ear, a tattoo on his left arm laying in a hospital bed in the family room. That is not where he belonged. He should have been out in the yard gardening or cleaning his golf clubs for another round at White Oaks.

He did not look like the Don I knew until a special moment. I saw his boney leg sticking out of the sheets and stared for a moment at his frail arms.

And for one moment I saw the old Don. It was the guy that drove golf balls 300 yards and scored a double eagle. It was the guy that played golf right up until last fall when he enjoyed one last round with his son.

This was the guy that rebuilt his house with new floors, new lighting fixtures so his wife could live in comfort and style. And I saw the same guy that rebuilt our rotting mailboxes after a man asked $600 to rebuild them.

"Just give me $60 and let's call it a day," Don told me.

Last week I had a conversation with a caring neighbor who wanted to remember that Don. He debated whether to visit him but did not want to see him in this state.
"I just can't see him this way," he told me.

He wanted to remember the Don that bounced around the neighborhood and talked golf, food, sports and anything else you cared to talk about. It was the Don that talked slow but thought quickly.

He will be missed, especially by his wife Shelby. A few weeks ago I heard a crying voice in the backyard. It was Shelby struggling with a water hose that she could not untangle. I was in the yard cleaning up sticks.

But I knew her cries were not about a water hose. It was about trying to master a task during a trying part of her life. And to be honest I stood in my backyard and debated whether I should go and try to be a shoulder to lean on or to leave her alone to stay in private.

I eventually walked over and I am glad I did.

She was able to channel some of the pain and cry. Sometimes you simply need to let go of that pain. You need to cry.

Shelby can smile now even though the pain is still there.

Don is gone but life goes on, just the way he'd like it to be.

But Don does not want us to celebrate his life? Come on dude. You know better than that.

(Foster can be reached at Terry.Foster@cbsradio.com: Twitter: TerryFoster971.)