I have struggled for days with how to say goodbye. Its not the easiest thing to do, I've discovered. In the past goodbye has only ever meant “until next time”. But not now. Now, goodbye has a hollow permanence that expands in my heart when I think about you.

Or more specifically, about the fact that you are gone.

Gone.
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I don't know how it took a month for you to push your way into my heart, how I didn't fall in love with your laugh the minute I first heard it in that basement of offices. It’s not that I disliked you, I just kept you at arm's length. Somehow, I kept you out until New Orleans. That wild, spontaneous, exhausting trip to New Orleans, you and me and him getting lost and finding our way in the winding streets of the French Quarter. Stumbling upon the shop of cartoonish voodoo dolls. Eating gator sausage only weeks after my vegetarianism had fallen to its demise. I fell in love with New Orleans that fall day. And I also fell in love with you. Not in a romantic way, that would have been foolish. But in the way that I wanted to consume everything you would give me- art, literature, love, heart, soul, mind- consume, absorb, learn, and emulate. You were infectious, and I caught you that day.

So much of those two years is a blur from my memory now. I don't remember all the classes we took together, but I remember your shadow puppets and your masks. I can tell you what you would eat each week at Sitar Sunday, but I can't remember if I sat next to you every day for a year. You just became this fixture in my life, and I didn't look back. I would always be guaranteed candy or a mom cookie if I came to your office where we would plan our trip to Wales. It was so effortless for you to make a genuine connection and for two years you were this unshakable, beautiful rock in my life, as though you had always been there.

When I left Alabama, when you still had a year, I disappeared. I needed to decompress from that time, and got absorbed into my work and my travel and my traveling work...... I left you, because I had to, but I wanted so badly to keep you and I knew what would happen when I left. I knew that I would disappear myself from your life, not out of choice but out of habit. Work took over, and I lost you for a few months at a time, but each time I would pop back up in Alabama, every few months, your smile and laugh were waiting for me.

I almost lost you when the tornado came through. I was terrified for all of my loves in Alabama, but you were in the front of my mind as I waited for news. I thanked everything in the world that your office was in the basement, hoping it kept you safe while the town was getting destroyed, while I anxiously waited, 600 miles away for news. It broke my heart that I couldn't drive to see you, to hug you, to know you were safe, to help the community that had brought you into my life.

The last time I saw you was a beautiful spring day, after you too had left Alabama and were heading home, but stopped to have lunch with me. I don't remember what you ate, but I do remember that you jumped out of that moving van, and wrapped your arms around me, and I knew that you understood my absence, that you had never questioned it, and that most importantly, you really hadn't disappeared in that tornado. When you hugged me goodbye, I knew that it was until next time. It was until we could create worlds together. It was until Cardiff. It was everything except what it actually was- goodbye.

6 months later you announced that your cancer was back, but that you had beaten it once, that you could beat it again. I believed you, and I kept booking work, I stayed busy, knowing you would have it no other way, and that I would always be able to come see you when the work slowed down. In October of this year, I told you about a Roman centurion that had gotten on my train that morning. I also apologized for being a terrible friend. I didn't know how sick you were even then, you wouldn't let me. Two days before Christmas, you let everyone know that your arm had gone “on vacation”, but that you were grateful your mother didn't have to host Christmas this year. I replied with one simple word- Love. I didn't know what else to say, I thought it would be enough to let you know I was thinking of you and that I would see you again. Because I had to believe that you would come out the other end of this perhaps a little weary and war torn, perhaps skinny and weak, but with a smile and a laugh, and then we would go to Wales.

I have spent the last few days trying vainly to share you with those who were never blessed to know you. How you never met a person that you didn't want to teach, who you didn't see a raw talent just waiting to be urged into taking flight. How you were willing to take risks on people, giving them the chance to succeed if they would only take it. How everyone was your friend, you were just waiting for them to discover it.

Six months into our friendship, you introduced me to the Doctor. And suddenly I was escaping where we were and exploring ideas with you, and you became my mad man with a blue box, my Doctor, my passage into worlds that only you knew. The beautiful thing about the Doctor is that he doesn't die, his story will always continue. His companions lose him, and they are forever changed by their time with him. You have left me stronger than when you found me, with a more beautiful view of this world and the people in it, while you have moved onto other adventures. You fought a war that took its toll on you, but you remained inspiring through each and every battle, and I will always remember you for your love.

Goodbye my beautiful mad man. I hope that your next adventure is filled with the love that you brought to this one.

Matthew and I were dear friends at Fargo South high school. Sharing a love of music and both being a bit "theatrical" in nature (just a bit!), we got along like peanut butter and chocolate. We even called one another "big sister" and "little brother". Matt was a touchstone for me as well as someone I could always count on to cheer me up. Just the sight of his cherubic face would make me feel better. No one could dry my tears like Matthew. We also laughed and laughed together over one silly thing or another until the tears came. We absolutely adored one another.

The news of his death saddens me so much. The world has lost such a bright spark, and a thoroughly loving and good man. It's hard to think of a world without Matt. I find myself asking, "Why God? Why did you have to call THIS beloved one home? Why so soon?" I think about this and then I think of my silly story as Matthew would want me to, and I feel better.

In high school Matt had a part-time job doing singing telegrams. He was either the guy in the tuxedo with the rose, or the guy in the gorilla suit, assigned to scare the dickens out of people. Of course he took full advantage of this -- which means you've probably figured out my story by now. One time he had a gig at West Acres wearing the gorilla suit. Being Matthew, he said, let's put the costume on FIRST, and drive there so we can see other drivers' reactions! Oh my goodness, did we laugh, it's amazing we made it to the mall in one piece. So picture a man in a gorilla suit driving a tiny blue Yugo down 13th avenue. I was sitting in the passenger seat trying to act perfectly normal. Oh, it was hilarious. So many people were scared, it's also a wonder we didn't cause a fender bender. Amazing too, were the citizens of Fargo who looked as though seeing a gorilla driving a Yugo to West Acres was a perfectly normal thing to do, which made us laugh even harder.

Now you've got your wings Matthew, I promise to try and laugh more, and be silly, as you would want. I will never forget you. I love you so much. Love from "Big Sis" xxx

I LOVE this guy! 

Everything about him is what I think we should all aspire to become: fun, sweet, funny! Kind. I wish I could've spent time with him as an adult. I know we could've been great friends. I love who he became.  Facebook allowed us to send each other a couple of update messages and to comment on each other's posts. Mostly, I watched with admiration and probably a twinge of jealousy as he seemed to lead such a rich life. So proud of him that he made a great life doing what he loved most. 

Here is a snippet of our conversation in Jan, 2009. He was one of the first people I made contact with on Facebook.

January 24, 2009 
2:37pm Paul Dunkirk: 

What I should've said was "Give the rednecks some hell for me." So what are you studying/working on currently? 


3:04pm Matthew Burkholder: 

This semester I'm directing Shadow Puppetry for a production of Medea directed by the 3rd year Directing Grad, Sound Designing Henry V and Stage Managing Thoroughly Modern Millie. All while teaching two sections of Intro to Theatre and taking 3 classes and observing Beginning Acting so I can teach it next year. No rest for the wicked. And then next year I'll be directing 2 shows. How bout you? How's life post Blenders? 


Matt was one of the first people I made contact with after joining Facebook. We had similar political views and life views. I'm so sorry our lives didn't have a chance to reconnect in person. I would've loved to have spent time with him. 

So here is some background to my feelings for Matt. 

I spent Kindergarten through high school with Matt. Like a lot of us, I was pretty clueless about what makes a quality person. I admit that in elementary school, Matt and I were not friends. I was a "body" person, meaning I was physically active and competitive. I was obsessed with all things involving sports. Matt was a bit clumsy. Looking back it's as if I ranked everyone in my world according to how well they threw a dodgeball (battle-ball as we called it). I had another side, but it was overshadowed by my body's need to run, jump, throw, and kick. I even went as far as teasing Matt. I won't tell you the details other than to say that something very embarrassing happened to Matt and I took advantage of it and rubbed it in, so to speak. I was an asshole in many respects. But I must forgive that dumb child in order to move forward. 

I went through a more reflective phase in my 20s, thank god, and was appalled at the anger and stupidity I had spread. I spread a lot of love too. But those lower times still sting. Working through my own crap at the expense of others I guess. 

Good news is that Matt forgave me. We got to know each other in high school as seniors in our show choir, PIZZAZZ!! (Yes, it needs to be all caps with 2 exclamation points!!) I apologized to Matt and he forgave me. And by doing that he taught me about forgiveness, about kindness, and about just loving life. He was a saint to me. He was an inspiration. 

I love you Matt. And I am positive that you have made this world better and spread love and humor everywhere you've gone. I'm kinda pissed at the universe for taking you away way too early. The world is a sadder place without you. My world sure is. 

A long time ago, Matthew Burkholder was driving to dress rehearsal for a show that was supposed to open in a few days. He was pulled over by a cop, and after a lengthy, farcical game of where's your license and registration, Matthew was put in a holding cell, presumably until someone figured out he was missing and bailed him out. 

While sitting in a holding cell, awaiting processing, Matt discovered that the acoustics in the room were good enough to buoy a Rodgers and Hammerstein repertoire, for what one would hope would've been a few hours. As apocryphal as some of the details may be, I still believe that the guards were happy Matthew was allowed to return home. As we all wish he could do now.

On Christmas Eve, I was sitting in Matt's hospital room with JJ Gordon, listening to the cast recording of the new Les Miserables film. "Stars", the first solo piece sung by Javert, began playing. Matthew, not one to allow such opaque audible tripe as the sound of Russel Crowe singing continue to climb the staircase, began singing OVER the Australian vomit. Seated. Strapped to a gurney. Disease constricting his genes. Immediately, I pictured a caged baby Matthew, sitting at the Cass County Courthouse or wherever the hell he was, demonstrating that it's not me who is locked up with you, but it is YOU who is locked up with me. And in the fashion of an actor trained in comedic timing, Matthew stopped on the perfect note and stated, "I have cancer, and I sing this part better than Russel Crowe."

If there was anything Matthew was acutely aware of, it was timing. His death, following a long and valiant struggle with the worst diseases known to man, still comes to me as an ugly shock. I've cried and yet I haven't. I've mourned… and yet I haven't. Matt knew those emotions would be a weight carried by those he loved most, and so he did the best thing he could do. He was Matt. He sat in a hospital bed with cancer and talked about the things he would do for the next few years, while most of us haven't planned past the upcoming weekend. He would look at you… and smile. He would drink you in like a first time alcoholic. He would welcome you, and feast to you, and have a story to tell about you before he even knew you. 

I won't know what I really need to say about my friend until months after he is gone. It's not quite reality for me that all who have known him, from Fargo to Boston to New York to Alabama, are now living in a world where he no longer exists. Matt was caged inside his body ravaged by disease, but like a canary unaware of it's copper cage, he continued to sing.

He was a friend of mine. I loved him dearly. If you knew him, you loved him too. If you didn't know him… then you don't understand that you actually did.

I first met Matthew Burkholder my Junior or Senior year in High School when I attended a play that my cousin Toby was in. I don't recall if it was "Ten Little Indians" or "Confetti!", but I am sure it was both. I loved both shows. I loved theatre, and seeing theatre of that quality performed by high school kids (Gwen should be commended for the quality of her program). I was totally taken aback by Confetti. And by the improv, especially Aaron and Matthew. They were so good together. I was able to fall in with them, and then met them again when we were cast in "The House of Blue Leaves". 

1991 was a glorious summer.

I am afraid I don't remember the year,  I know it was while we went to South High.  Matt's parents wanted to take Matt to the twin cities for his birthday.  But Matt wouldn't enjoy the trip as much without a friend along.  So, I got to go along as Matt's birthday gift.  

We were staying at a downtown Radison.  I think.  I admit some of the specifics are gone.  I am not good with names.  But it was the fanciest place I had ever stayed.  We were all in the same hotel room but there was a different room for Kieth and Vel Rae to stay in while we stayed on the couch pull out bed.  Which was still VERY comfortable.  

And we went out to eat at amazing restaurants that were so expensive that I was afraid to order anything.  "Just don't look at the prices.  Order what you like." Matt said, encouragingly.  It was hard!  Everything was so pricey.  But it did taste good!

We went to a restaurant that had live jazz music playing while we ate.  And they were good, whoever they were.  I remember when I handed the menu to the waitress and she asked if I wanted the small or large size fries, I answered large.  Thinking it was like at McDonald's or something. And she brought me this huge basket of fries!  A Family size order.  I was appalled, but they just laughed and we put it in the middle of the table and everyone ate some.  

They were very good at making me feel comfortable.

We also ate at a Japanese restaurant.  A first time for me.  You know,  where they cook the food at the table for you.  It was incredible.  And much easier because I didn't see a menu, I just told them what kind of meat I liked.  

And the views were great at these restaurants too. 

We went to Valley Fair.  Also a first for me.  I don't remember details but I remember it being very, VERY fun.  

A lot of the trip is a blur in my memories.  But even to this day, I have to say it was the best vacation I have ever been on.  All thanks to Matt.  (And his parents, of course.)

I met Matt my first day of High School.  I was overwhelmed.  I had come from a grade school that was very small.  My class had 7 people in it.  And my new high school was Fargo South High.  With hundreds.  It was overwhelming, to say the least.

I had made it through the day (barely) and I had one class left.  Theatre, the one I was looking forward to the most.  I entered the theatre and there were students already there and no teacher yet.  

The other students scared me.  They seemed intimidating to me.  In fact, I decided to leave school and go home.  But as I headed for the exit, the teacher came in.  With Matt beside her.  

So I was stuck.  

During that class, I met Matthew.  Or Matt, as I knew him.  We quickly formed a close friendship.  Which not only helped me enjoy that class, but also helped me through the rest of school.  He made it much easier to go to school, knowing I had a friend waiting there for me.