Barking Space

I have lost a brother. My dear friend Jean-Pierre Matte passed away last week. Fuck cancer.

As is my way, I need to process my grief by writing something to etch my memories of this incredible man onto the public consciousness – because the world is now missing one of its greatest people – and it needs to know what he meant to me.

Let’s start at the beginning.

Jean-Pierre (“JP” as most called him) and I met at Allstream (a telecommunications company). We had each worked in different departments for years, orbiting but never really connecting outside of overlapping projects. Most of these projects were weird and interesting, and we always managed to create unique solutions together. At the end of each of these opportunities, we would go back to work on our normal fare. I would speak to my local Sales Engineering friends about some of the cool solutions that we came up with and how this guy from Montreal carried some Star-Trek-level engineering intelligence in his noggin.

Fast forward to 2014, my friend Kirk told me about the latest addition to our sales engineering team – a guy from Montreal; I don’t recall anything outside of this candidate being an internal hire who was very smart and very interesting. It wasn’t until a sales kickoff in 2016, where we met in person, that we put two and two together. Over the next few days, we bonded over all kinds of topics and quickly became great friends. That very summer, when I was going through some personal challenges, he was supportive and kind, and he invited us to stay with him and his family for a weekend on the way back from a trip to Quebec City.

Our friendship and brotherhood grew exponentially over the years – in many ways it felt like I knew JP for so much longer than I actually did. In all aspects of our lives, we shared insights and supported each other through all kinds of challenges. He was always generous with his time when I needed to vent or bounce ideas off him – and I was likewise there when he needed me. We would chat frequently when commuting or driving long distances (he called it “windshield time”).

JP and his family always got on well with my daughter Olivia – they were more like family than friends. When I met my lady Tracey and introduced her (and her kids) to JP, he (and his family) welcomed them with open arms (and a ton of barbecued goodness) – and the clan grew bigger.

While I would always make time to see him and the fam whenever I could, one of my favourite things was our annual camping trip to Presqu’ile (“Presque-wheelie”, as he would call it). We would each grab a site (5 months advance booking – early-morning Zoom calls to coordinate with Kirk and Trevor) and when we got there we would do it up right. Being foodies (and drinkies), we ate and drank well – with meals and cocktails that were off the chain.

A few years ago, he was diagnosed with Merkel cell carcinoma (a rare and aggressive skin cancer). He went through treatment, and I thought that he had beaten it. While this was all going on, he took more trips with his family and spent a lot of time investing even more into his friendships. We enjoyed camping last year immensely, as it was something of a celebratory event. Sadly, at the end of last year, the cancer came back with a vengeance. He qualified for an experimental treatment, which involved him and his wife Marianne travelling to Toronto every few weeks for him to receive treatment. On his first visit (the prelims) he was so tired and weak (he could barely stomach anything, though he managed a Portuguese custard tart (which we joked was a delicious form of protein). I had never seen him like that – and even still, he projected a positive attitude, telling jokes and trying to set everyone at ease (he re-introduced himself as “being bald” as his hair took a hit). A few weeks later, I got the chance to hang out with him and Mare again, and we went out to eat; he seemed better – more positive. Sadly, he never had the chance to get his second treatment as his body couldn’t take it anymore.

I found out shortly after he passed and my world turned dark.

I wanted to write something of a cohesive list of aspects of him that come to mind – things that convey how much space he takes up in my heart – but I didn’t know how to order them. So, what follows are some thoughts about my dear friend:

In a world where pieces of personal knowledge and familiarity are bartered as social currency, JP didn’t really give a shit. You could have known him for minutes or years – either way you were his focus in a conversation and you couldn’t ask for someone better to be in your corner. 

One of my favourite things about JP is his family. I loved watching them interact with each other – and I always looked up to JP and Marianne’s partnership as something to aspire to. The love they share is a powerful one – and this energy definitely passed down to their children, who are just as accepting, quirky and fun.

JP was one of the smartest people that I knew – but his manner of communication was easygoing and accessible. Soft-spoken and jovial, JP could pivot and send out edgy zingers with the best of them in the spirit of fun and camaraderie – no malice. Even for subjects he didn’t like (be it people, products or situations), he always had a balanced and kind undertone – something that I wish I could emulate more effectively.

JP was the exception to the idiom “jack of all trades, master of none”. Even after he left us, I am still learning new things and discovering the extent of his various talents and skills. Whenever he took an interest in anything, he would absolutely immerse himself in it – his passion a roaring fire that enveloped his task completely. It wouldn’t take too long for him to become more than familiar with the ins and outs of most activities – and yet, he remained humble in his newfound knowledge, sometimes even choosing to hide it.

Out of everyone in the world you would never suspect that JP had a huge amount of impostor syndrome – so much so that when he would address it I would wonder to myself “if he feels like that how do I have any hope whatsoever?”. One of the most insightful moments was when we went out for dinner to a wonderful little place called “Sakai Bar” on one of his more recent visits to Toronto. He told me how much more he appreciated life and how he didn’t want to take anything for granted – to which I replied that out of everyone I knew, he was the last person that I would say took anything for granted. We laughed at this.

During our camping trip last year, JP wanted to go fishing – and I wanted to try out my new Solarite filter, so we scooted off to the north side of Presqu’ile park and found a nice place to set up shop. While JP was fishing, I took a few photos of the sun and then took some other photos of various aspects of the landscape. After a little while, a male mute swan landed in the water far from shore, and we watched it swimming around looking for food. JP asked if I was going to take some photos of it – and I thought about adding the extender to the tele-zoom that I had on the camera at that moment – but I didn’t; I replied that it would be so much cooler if it came up to us. No sooner had I spoken, the swan turned towards us and then started flying right at us – low level, running on the water (as I was madly snapping away, I felt glad I didn’t swap out my hardware). It then slid to a stop no more than thirty metres or so from us. JP, always appreciative and filled with wonder, commented about how cool that was. And again, as if on cue, the swan rose up and presented its chest, extending its wings out wide (again, another wonderful set of images captured). JP turned to me and said “Dafuq is witchu, man? You’re like the nature whisperer or some shit.”

Last week, after Marianne told me that she wasn’t sure how long he had, Tracey and I settled down onto the couch, each with a glass of Michter’s Sour Mash (in the whiskey glasses JP gave me as a gift) toasting to the health of our friend and sending good vibes to him through the ether. On our television was a picture of a garter snake (the television displays my photos, changing them up randomly every ten minutes – there are one hundred and three photos in all); I turned to Tracey and asked “Wouldn’t it be something if the next photo was the swan?”. And it was – I felt tears building. The next day he moved on from this world.

So now I sit with my tears and my broken heart, selfishly thinking of all the grand times and adventures that I still want to share with him (also wondering, more importantly, how much more difficult it is for Mare and the kids). He won’t be at our annual Presqu’ile trip this year. I can’t tell him how much I loved his SelfMadeMan album (thanks for sharing that with me, Kirk). He won’t be able to come camping in the backcountry with me and Kirk. So many things.

At least, that was my immediate reaction to his passing. Were he to read this (and given the power of his will, it wouldn’t surprise me if he can do this right now), he would probably tell me that he’s going to be okay and that while he will miss everyone, he would hope that they would hold him in their hearts.

And it’s true. We will carry him with us wherever we go. We will use his generous heart, his vast intelligence, his eternal gracious kindness and his warm sense of humour to help propel us forward to evolve into better versions of ourselves.

The most wonderful thing about JP is that my story is but one of many, as I know that he had a profound impact on so many others – and I look forward to hearing more about him.

One thing I will never regret is that I took every chance to tell him how much I loved him. I really, really do.

Mon frère – un jour, nous lèverons encore nos verres, quelque part dans l’au-delà.

Filed under: Friends, General Dialogue | Tagged: Brother, Cancer, Friend, Friends, Life, Love, Memorial, Remembrance |