Dave Ellwood Memorial Fund
https://www.fox9.com/news/1-dead-1-injured-in-house-fire-in-hudson-wisconsin
https://kstp.com/news/one-dead-one-seriously-injured-in-hudson-wisconsin-fire/5984825/
Please note: there are two gofundme campaigns for the Ellwood family in the wake of their house fire and Dave’s passing, organized by separate family members. Both are legitimate and welcome you to reach out if you have any questions.
I don't even know how to convey it. I can barely focus. I don't even know how to grieve a loss this big. Getting the call that your house is on fire, your Mom is in the hospital burn unit, and your Dad didn't make it out is the worst thing that's ever happened to me. I keep trying to blink and snap out of it. Blink like it's going away. Wake up from the nightmare that it is. One second I'm completely fine, then it's just an overwhelming rush of emotion that swells within you. There is no running from it. As I look around me now, the most trivial thing is a stark reminder of him. Little things. Oh, he gave me this, or oh, he got me into this, etc, I cannot move without coming across some sort of thing to do with him. What compounds it and makes it hit that much harder, is that I'm 5000 actual miles away from home and I can't do a damn thing about it. After almost 20 years of being in the Navy, traveling, being away from home, missing so much already, I've never felt more homesick and so alone. This is coming from an only child. I keep going over in my head that if I was there, if I was next to him at that precise moment, I'd be like "Dad, let's go, let's just get out" or "Leave it, it's just stuff, you can get more of it". I may have gone for the photo albums, I'm not sure. To me, that would have been the most important thing at the time, it sure feels like it now that they're gone. Fortunately, he has been syphoning hard copy photos to me for years. So, I do have some. I probably would have had to knock his ass out and drag him out of the house. I'm not sure if I could actually convince him to leave. I have an idea what he would have said or done though. Similar to what he told my Mom when she woke up from a nap from the smell of smoke around 630pm, Wednesday January 20th, 2021. He said "Get some water!" as to extinguish the fire. She replied "Let's go, let's get out of here, call the fire department!" or words to that effect to which my Dad replied "No, just go!" as he went to retrieve water and look for the fire extinguisher. Now let me tell you, there is nothing he couldn't fix. He was a true Master of his craft. The handyman of all handymen. He said that if he was one of the X-Men, he would be called the Noticer. His claim was that he had a keen eye for things that other people didn't notice or would overlook. Some of you know this to be true. He was always doing carpentry work for people no matter large or small. Most of the time preferring to work solo. Anything from helping a neighbor with a small electrical issue to finishing million-dollar condos and yoga studios in town, building tree houses, geodesic domes, birchbark canoes, you name it, he's done it. He would work for free or cheap. Selfless. He wouldn't charge unless the work was complete and you were happy with the product. His work was so highly sought after, that without ever advertising, without ever establishing an actual business, only working by word-of-mouth references, he was able to live on it. You would laugh at what he would charge for the quality of work he was doing. He never took an advance. He never had a lot of money. But he would provide. He would always say he's rich in friends and rich in experiences. Rather than taking care of his own stuff, often neglecting his own home, he was focused on helping others. I believe he thought he could put this fire out himself and he wasn't taking no for an answer. The house was literally going up in flames and he said to himself, I got this. He would never ask for help. That's how hard-headed and stubborn he was.
Now what was actually on fire and how it started is the mystery. Most likely kitchen. Possibly electrical. The house was old. Built the year Minnesota became a state, 1858. It's no secret that it was packed full of stuff. My Dad was a hoarder. He would find use in the most nominal of things. That use might be years from now, but to him it had a purpose. He was the polar opposite of Marie Kondo. Everything brought him joy. So many future plans. So many projects. Its public knowledge if you drove by the house you could tell it was full. Porch and yard full of trinkets and building materials. Inside, mostly books, antiques, collectibles, newspapers, magazines, but mostly books. Hence the exponential danger of a fire. He would always be reading. He would say "Only boring people get bored". The house was floor to ceiling books. Every spare moment of every day. Reading this, reading that. Appreciative of art and music and always supporting local musicians. A reader of Robert E. Howard and Edgar Rice Burroughs. A die-hard Frank Frazetta fan. So much so, he didn't start getting his first tattoo until he was 65, one of which was a beautiful Frazetta piece which he would say is my Mom. He even hid the tattoo until it's healed unveiling to surprise her for their anniversary and was even working his way to full sleeve tattoos. Perhaps all the reading he did gave him just the right amount of knowledge on just about any topic. Any topic that he would debate or argue on just to prove a point. Some of you have had the pleasure of a conversation with him. He kept busy, always active. In superb shape for his age, you'd swear the man would go til 100. Still had his strength. Evidenced by his working seven days a week even at age 70. Easily identifiable by his patented flannel or hawaiian which he never let go out of style. You may have found him at Abigale Paige Antiques working the register or grabbing a beer at Dick's Bar to watch the Vikings or Twins play; which he was proudly the top Trivia Champion not only at the bar, but he and a friend went on to finish first in regionals. Some of you may have known him from his Hippie days back in the 70's or as the Rolling Ridges Girl Scout Camp Caretaker, one of the Cub Scout troop Dads, Maintenance man at the Christian Community Nursing Home, Minnesota Rovers Outdoor Club, ultralight backpacking, canoeing, bush crafting, or perhaps one of the local spots in Hudson. If he has ever had any influence on you, in any way, please feel free to reach out and share or comment. Whether publicly or privately. Thank you in advance. If anyone has any photos of him, please send them my way. Double thanks and forever grateful.
You know the old saying you can't take it with you when you die? Well somehow, he found a way. I could almost laugh at that if this wasn't so serious. I think he would find it humorous. He was always telling bad jokes and Dad jokes. Even some inappropriate ones, haha. Perhaps some of you have had the pleasure of hearing them. Man, if I could only hear one more (or the same one over and over again) I would give anything. He won't be able to see his 1970 VW Karmann Ghia which I'm getting restored for him right now. No more sitting down over a beer. No more chess games. No going to grab mochas together (probably at Starbucks - he said he enjoyed the finer things in life, lol). No listening to Bob Dylan albums on repeat or looking up that one old song he would request. No more being forced to watch Led Zeppelin videos as a kid; thank you, by the way. I can't enjoy a cigar with him, which I picked the hobby up from being around him with a cigar or pipe my entire life. No more sailing. No more checking out his new everyday carry knife which, bet, he alwayssss had on him. I don't know how many times I had to ask him to borrow a knife. If was he was somewhere where he couldn't bring one, i.e. plane, he would substitute it with a spoon in his front shirt pocket. I'm sure you have seen this. I always teased him about it. No more discussing plans of our future cabin/treehouse up in the Northwoods. He had the perfect spot picked out in a very remote area up by the Boundary Waters. He was a fan of Japanese architecture and Frank Lloyd Wright and planned to build a Japanese style tiny cabin on this perfect tree that hung over a river on our once former land. He always said his favorite sound was the wind in the trees. A sound I want to hear every day. No more of his stories, which he had plenty of. No more leveraging him for advice with all his wisdom. No more encouragement or support. I'm still in disbelief. 
Ugh, there is so much grief. It's like a wall you can't punch, a fence you can't kick, a stone you cannot throw, a scream with no sound. I do not wish this upon anyone. And if you've gone through this before, I get it. I never did until just now. If your folks are still around, please, take the time, reach out, ask the questions, get the stories, retain the memories. For at some point, it will be too late, and it will hit you like a tsunami. All the while you can only hope to tread water. Probably the biggest, worst grief I cannot shake, is the thought of him not being able to see his only grandson, Hayden, grow up to be the man he will soon become. He won't be able to flex the cool grandpa influence onto him. With what little time they have had up until now and as recent as a few months ago I am grateful. I can only hope that Hayden has memories of him. For now, I have to dive deep into the memory banks as we have lost everything our family had in the fire. Everything. Everything has been touched by fire, smoke, and/or water. The house is a complete loss and tear down. There is no insurance company coming to the rescue. 
Your first thought must be (mine was), oh insurance will cover personal property and the home. Oh, it WOULD, if my Dad hadn't cancelled it who knows how many months/years ago stating that he couldn't afford it. I cannot make this shit up. His only nest egg in life was the house and its contents, which to his credit was paid for minus a home equity loan. I cannot place a value on the amount of antiques in the house, but I know it was significant. Irreplaceable family heirlooms from his grandparents. He always told me with a smirk that all of it (especially the junk) would be mine one day. I would be like "Oh, Dad, I can't wait" as I rolled the eyes into the back of my head. I wish I had more time. I thought I had more time. The interesting part now begins as I make my trek back to Hudson from the other side of the world. How to set up my Mom for success. How will we not only clean up this mess, but start anew completely from scratch and in below freezing temperatures. I am anxiously awaiting travel back from Italy while I make my best attempt at processing this. You know, I could be upset with my Dad about all of this and just let the anger flow through me about how he did not plan for the future and have something stashed away for he and my Mom for a rainy day. Or how my only inheritance is a burnt pile of ash. But then it hit me. It hit me like a ton of bricks. He didn't have to leave me anything. I don't need stuff. I don't need things. It's what he instilled in me. Ingrained in me. He left me, me.
The money will be utilized for clean up efforts, total tear down, and begin building my Mom a modest home in the spirit of what my Dad would have wanted.
There is a long road ahead. Will update as needed. I have no timeline as of yet.
Thank you to those who have already been helping out and to those who donated to the fund my cousin started. I wanted to tell his story a little more and explain
what's going on. Thank you for taking the time to read all of this.
