Evan Barratt

“Don’t you, forget about Don”

There are some people whose presence feels so steady, so foundational, that you start to believe they might just outlast the rest of us. Don was one of those people.

He wasn’t just a father, or a grandfather, or a great-grandfather — he was a whole institution. The kind of man who could hook a fish before you even cast your line, sink a 20-foot putt with a smirk, and hand out life advice in the same breath as a sarcastic one-liner. Don was the real deal — equal parts wisdom, wit, and warmth.

Don lived a full life. Not in the way people sometimes say that as a polite phrase, I mean really full. He squeezed the juice out of it. From early mornings by the water with a fishing rod in hand to afternoons on the green chasing birdies (and occasionally just his golf ball into the woods), Don found peace and joy in the little things. He never needed flash or fanfare. His life was about connection, to nature, to his family, and to the people lucky enough to orbit his world.

My wife knew that version of Don, the guide, the protector, the soft-spoken teacher. He was a compass for her, always pointing her back to what mattered most. Whether it was how to stand strong in the face of hardship or how to laugh at yourself when you mess up, Don was there, offering both wisdom and a side-eye that said, “You’ll figure it out… but maybe do it faster next time.”

Watching my wife say goodbye to him… it broke something inside her. A piece of her heart went with Don, and maybe that’s the truest sign of a life well lived: when your absence leaves not just a hole, but an ache in the hearts of those you loved. 

I’m walking because everyone needs a Don, and if I can raise a little bit of money then maybe they can help somebody else’s Don. 

Evan

“Don’t you, forget about Don”