Matt was my big brother. But he was so much more than that to me. He was my best friend, my idol, my hero. We talked and emailed every day, and even though we lived halfway across the country from one another, we saw each other five, six, seven times a year – sometimes more. And that was my brother’s doing – he’d fly out to Chicago on a moment’s notice – when there was a good show in town, for a party, or, more often than not, for no reason at all. And I looked forward to those trips like nothing else, and he never disappointed. We’d have more fun than most people ever allow themselves to have. He was the king of having a good time.
Now, Matt was five years older than me, and because of that our relationship had a bit of a rocky start. Apparently when I was born he was pretty upset that I didn’t pop out a fully-formed five-year-old ready to play with him. As we grew up together, Matt began to appreciate his role in our relationship, forcing me to do his bidding, usually with a good punch in the shoulder for kicks. But of course he was a good big brother. Pop music plays an embarrassingly important role in my life, and I have Matt to thank for that. I was listening to AC/DC when I was 6. And because of Matt I was a true fan. We’re talking Bon Scott-era AC/DC here. But the life-changing moment came in 1984, when I was 9. On a Saturday morning, I was sleeping in (I’ve never been a morning person), and a song, played loudly on my brother’s stereo, passing through our shared wall, seeped into my dreams, honestly providing a soundtrack to a Scooby-Doo cartoon in my mind. I woke up, ran into Matt’s room, where he proudly told me we were listening to “Pretty Persuasion”, a song off of his new R.E.M. record, Reckoning. From that moment on, I was a different person, thanks to my big brother.
Our relationship changed from a sibling bond to a true friendship after I went away to College. Matt drove out to upstate New York from Minneapolis to bring me home at the end of my freshman year. We partied for a couple of days, and then we made the trek to the Midwest, via Canada. As road trips tend to do, it gave us a chance to get to know each other as near-adults, and we discovered that we had a ton in common, and that we actually really, really liked one another.
After I graduated, we took another road trip – through the South with my dear cousins Emily and Jenny. That was an epic trip – one for the books. Little Rock, Graceland, Tupelo, Natches, Memphis. Matt and I laughed so hard at everything – Elvis, our cousins, ourselves. We all bonded quite a bit on that trip. And again Matt and I realized how much we liked each other, how well we got along. It was really then that we realized we were each other’s best friends.
When I married Deb, Matt was my best man. Many of you were there to see his toast – really quite possibly the best toast ever given. Ever. Matt was an incredible speaker – a skill he learned here at Cuesta – and when he took the microphone he dramatically ripped up the speech he had written and did it off-the-cuff. And he let it all out, saying the nicest things anyone could ever say about anybody. It was so touching, so moving, and it’s a memory that will last with me forever.
Like all of you here, I’ve been thinking about Matt constantly these last two weeks. I feel fortunate that I got to have a great weekend with him in Chicago just a few weeks back, another in Maine just before that, and an unforgettable one in Vegas just before that. Over those three weekends, Matt was such a joy to be around, as he always was. He was so smart, so compassionate, and so, so funny. He was easy to talk to, to laugh with – to laugh at – and everywhere we went together, he made things so easy for me. He could engage anyone in a meaningful conversation, and he’d always keep an eye on me, drawing me into his good times. He was so great, yet so modest; he enriched my life beyond words every moment we spent together.
Matt, my best friend, I’m going to miss you so, so much. To quote the Boss, and I truly mean this, “When they made you brother, they broke the mold.”
In Memory of Matt Aydelott 