In memory of Don Macdonald

This speech was written and delivered by BJ Gregory at Don’s memorial service on July 10th, 2025, at 7pm:

We come together today to say good-bye to a once-in-a-lifetime shining star. Our sweet, loving, funny and kind brother, uncle, cousin and friend. Over the last 30 years I have had a front row seat and an all-access pass to the Goodness and Grace that was Don Macdonald. He was my best friend, my safe space, my home.

He was my person.

To say that his passing has left a void in my life would be a huge understatement. It is hard to imagine a world without him. Our loss is immense; I know I should be sad—and I am—but mostly what I am today is grateful. Grateful for the love; grateful for the experience and lessons learned; and, most importantly, grateful for the family and friends Don shared with me. Don was hands-down, no contest, the best human I have ever known. My life and indeed all of our lives are richer for having loved him.

He was an interesting mix of complex and endearing personality traits:
He was stubborn, yet easy-going; elegant but casual; bold, yet unassuming; reserved but accessible. He was fiercely loyal and quick to defend. He was insightful, intuitive, thoughtful, and kind. He was loving, accepting, outgoing, inclusive, supportive, encouraging—fun-loving and hard-working. He was exhausting and exhilarating. He was undeniable and unforgettable.

He was, quite simply, MAGIC.

And whether you knew him for 60 years or 60 minutes, he left an indelible impression.

It was no accident that Don was led to a life of dance. I believe it was his calling.
There is a song we often danced to, and the chorus sums it up perfectly:
“Life’s a dance, you learn as you go
Sometimes you lead, sometimes you follow
Don’t worry ‘bout what you don’t know
Life’s a dance, you learn as you go”

Dance was his way of connecting to people, to the world, and to God. He didn’t dance to the music—he embodied the music and let it flow through him. And if you were lucky enough to be connected to him while the music played it was a state of Grace. Timing and technique no longer mattered. They were just a means to an end. There would be plenty of time for lessons and practice later. All that mattered in that moment was letting go and taking the ride. And if you stumbled, or missed a queue, or God forbid went careening off in a new direction, he would just laugh, follow you, and gently guide you back to where you needed to be. While you were dancing with Don, you were safe; and you were fabulous; and all was right with the world.

Like I said, MAGIC.

And like any good magician he made the whole thing seem effortless. And I suppose, in a lot of respects, it was effortless for him. It was his nature to be helpful, and he truly wanted people to experience the joy that dancing can bring.

I spent many years watching him teach, watching him dance, watching him interact with all kinds of people. I studied how he adjusted to each new challenge; how he accepted people for who they were; and how he chose to see the best in everyone. It was fascinating to see how his mind worked, how he led with his heart. It quickly became apparent that his effect on people extended far beyond the dance floor. He noticed things in people that were often overlooked. With just a word or a simple gesture he could change your day—magic. His kindness, his patience, his generosity were his superpowers, his gifts to all of us.

But these gifts came at a significant cost.

For 40 years, Don dealt with complications from multiple, serious, life-threatening illnesses and conditions. Few people outside of his family and long-time friends knew the true extent of his complex health issues; the depth of his unrelenting pain; the weariness in his soul. He was a scrappy son of a gun, and his ability to adapt and endure were awe-inspiring. He did this day in and day out for decades.

And always with a smile.

Keeping him patched together became a full-time job for both of us. So many appointments; so many prescriptions filled; so much blood shed into small test tubes. There were ER visits, hospital admissions, heart monitors, EKGs, echocardiograms, ultrasounds, MRIs, X-rays, CT scans, PET scans, biopsies, implants, injections, inhalers, sprays and creams, antivirals, antibiotics, oxygen machines, breathing treatments—you name it, he did it.

And always with a smile.

But every class he taught, every party he hosted, every competition he traveled to was, by definition, a death-defying act. What always amazed me was he was almost never grumpy, and he was incapable of being mean. On his worst days he was merely frustrated and exhausted from the constant struggle. He was a master at living with pain, to the point that even I sometimes forgot how bad it was. Through it all, his will to join in and participate would get him up and keep him going. He did it with humor and a hopeful heart. That was just who he was. It was as deeply embedded in his DNA as his easy smile and sunny disposition.

We would often joke that he must be an alien from some far-off planet, because when it came to Don’s health, normal rules did not apply. Surely no mere mortal, when faced with that volume and frequency of life-threatening conditions, could ever survive and live to tell the tale.

But he always did.
Again and again.
Until he absolutely no longer could.

It sounds strange to say this, but we were very fortunate. We were given a three-month warning, a one-month reminder, and a two-week dress rehearsal. It became abundantly clear that Cancer was no longer interested in sparring with Don. It was during this time that he came to terms with the situation. He resolved to keep fighting, but if it was to be his time to go, he was at peace with it. Me? Not so much. But Cancer was getting impatient—tapping its foot and checking its watch.

Many of you have credited me with being the reason Don was able to endure the never-ending insults to his health and well-being and stay alive as long as he did. While I deeply appreciate the validation, I was only the most visible part of a vast network of family, friends, and fans conspiring to leverage every possible advantage to keep Don strong and supported. There were so many people who stepped in at just the right moment, took just the right action—be it big and flashy or barely perceivable—and changed the trajectory of his life. And in doing so, they changed our lives. Every time I sounded the alarm and asked for prayers, you all responded in a powerful demonstration of faith and determination. I know without question that it was the prayers of so many people worldwide that helped Don fight as long as he did.

Perception is a tricky thing when dealing with magic. When I am told that I saved Don’s life, I know that is just an illusion. The big Ta-Da moment. But behind the curtain, the real truth is that Don saved me first. A very long time ago, after only knowing Don a year, I lost the love of my life, my husband Sam. I was very young, very alone, and very scared. My world had imploded, and I had no idea how I would recover. Without missing a beat, Don reached out and offered his hand to help me get back on my feet. He very quietly started walking beside me, including me, and introducing me to his wonderful family. Eventually I regained my balance and strength and was able to stand on my own, to walk unassisted. But I never again walked alone. I learned a lot in those early years of our friendship—about myself, about the world, and about how life-changing it can be to have someone truly believe in you. He became, and remains to this day, the light of my life. He was one of those rare people who led by quiet example. His influence continues to make me want to be better, to more closely follow the example he set.

Think of all the times he made you happy—numerous, uncountable. Think of those times Don was there for you, even when he was sick or in pain.
Picture his endearing smile. Remember his explosive laugh.
If you close your eyes, I bet you can see him.
I bet he’s here among us, watching and listening. Because he has always been there for us. Being there for people is who he was.
Don was a gift on loan from God.

My grief and sadness are far outweighed by the love and support I have received, as well as the healing power of being together with people who loved Don. So many of us are struggling with our loss—needing to fill the void and keep Don’s spirit alive.

So maybe the way we do this is by channeling Don’s light, his gift to all of us, and reflecting it. Not inward, where he still lives, but forward, where he wants us to go. Then add in our own light and prepare to be amazed! A lot of us don’t realize the power of our light. We are not accustomed to taking it out and shining it about. Sometimes our light gets buried under an avalanche of “stuff,” and even though it is “on,” it is difficult to see. Don’t worry. This is just housekeeping. Let Don’s light illuminate the path to finding your light. It might take some practice, but start slowly and stick with it. Consistency is key. If we all try this the results will be blinding.

We need to support each other, as we all grieve the same immeasurable loss. We all know what Don would do, what Don would want. We must emulate his goodness and start reflecting his light.

Never underestimate the power of good intention. Strike up a conversation with someone who is often overlooked. Reconnect with an old friend. Do something nice for no reason at all. Resolve an old misunderstanding. Pay it forward. Express your gratitude. Accept someone different. Love unconditionally. Be kind.

And remember,
when you get the choice to sit it out or dance….
I HOPE YOU DANCE.