I probably didn't know Matt Starring as well as many readers...
Issue date: 11/12/09 Section: Letters to the editor
I probably didn't know Matt Starring as well as many readers or certainly any of his closest friends did.
After I graduated in May 2009, I lost touch with Matt and many of our mutual friends, which I regret. Now, like our common friends, I also regret not having spent more time with him while I could have.
Matt passed away Nov. 8 after fighting leukemia for almost three years.
I met him when I became a tour guide in the Office of Undergraduate Admission, a soul-crushing job that forges tight bonds among the students who work there.
He helped make office life bearable by bringing a relentlessly positive and kind attitude to work everyday. At first I knew him as "Matt, The Guy in Noteworthy Who Sometimes Wears Skirts to Work." My first impression was essentially accurate, but I got to know him better later.
He was the rare person who effortlessly inspired smiles; I'd run into him on the sidewalk between the Walker and Little buildings, say "Hello," and find myself smiling as I walked on. Sometimes I'd catch myself with a big dumb grin on my face. I can't imagine not being happy to see Matt.
But when the sad news came about his death, it came as a total surprise. I had no idea his leukemia
had relapsed. I had lost touch with him.
So, like many of those who knew him better, I broke down. I teach math to fifth graders in rural Arkansas now, one reason I had fallen out of touch. It was after school, and I locked the door to my classroom and cried.
I realized I was crying partly because of the shock and partly because of the awful sense of loss.
The feeling reminded me of a passage from Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451. The words aren't uplifting, and they're not hopeful. The best I can say is that, regarding Matt, they're true.
Anyone who knew him knows how heartachingly true they are: "When he died, I suddenly realized I wasn't crying for him at all, but for the things he did," Bradbury wrote. "I cried because he would never do them again ... He was part of us and when he died, all the actions stopped dead and there was no one to do them the way he did. He was individual ... The world was bankrupted of ten million fine actions the night he passed on."
-Paddy Shea graduated in May 2009, and is a former Editor-in-Chief of The Berkeley Beacon. He teaches fifth grade in Mariana, Ark.
After I graduated in May 2009, I lost touch with Matt and many of our mutual friends, which I regret. Now, like our common friends, I also regret not having spent more time with him while I could have.
Matt passed away Nov. 8 after fighting leukemia for almost three years.
I met him when I became a tour guide in the Office of Undergraduate Admission, a soul-crushing job that forges tight bonds among the students who work there.
He helped make office life bearable by bringing a relentlessly positive and kind attitude to work everyday. At first I knew him as "Matt, The Guy in Noteworthy Who Sometimes Wears Skirts to Work." My first impression was essentially accurate, but I got to know him better later.
He was the rare person who effortlessly inspired smiles; I'd run into him on the sidewalk between the Walker and Little buildings, say "Hello," and find myself smiling as I walked on. Sometimes I'd catch myself with a big dumb grin on my face. I can't imagine not being happy to see Matt.
But when the sad news came about his death, it came as a total surprise. I had no idea his leukemia
had relapsed. I had lost touch with him.
So, like many of those who knew him better, I broke down. I teach math to fifth graders in rural Arkansas now, one reason I had fallen out of touch. It was after school, and I locked the door to my classroom and cried.
I realized I was crying partly because of the shock and partly because of the awful sense of loss.
The feeling reminded me of a passage from Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451. The words aren't uplifting, and they're not hopeful. The best I can say is that, regarding Matt, they're true.
Anyone who knew him knows how heartachingly true they are: "When he died, I suddenly realized I wasn't crying for him at all, but for the things he did," Bradbury wrote. "I cried because he would never do them again ... He was part of us and when he died, all the actions stopped dead and there was no one to do them the way he did. He was individual ... The world was bankrupted of ten million fine actions the night he passed on."
-Paddy Shea graduated in May 2009, and is a former Editor-in-Chief of The Berkeley Beacon. He teaches fifth grade in Mariana, Ark.
Viewing Comments 1 - 3 of 3
Emly
posted 11/14/09 @ 10:10 PM EST
Paddy - I googled Matt and came across your article. I went to grade, middle and part of high school with his Dad and have a daughter who also had ALL. (Continued…)
Rita
posted 11/20/09 @ 5:25 PM EST
Paddy,
This was a really lovely commentary, a tribute to the many lives Matt touched even in passing. As one of the aforementioned mutual, lapsed friends, it was somehow comforting to read your words and know how many of us have cried together in the past few weeks. (Continued…)
paper writing
posted 11/26/09 @ 4:45 AM EST
This article is amazing!
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