Matthew's Eulogy

Eulogy for Matthew

Thank you all for being here today to honor my brother, Matthew Garcia. Seeing so many of you here is a reflection of the life he lived, the love he gave, and the impact he had on each of us. My family and I are deeply grateful for your presence, your prayers, and your love during this time. Though today is filled with sorrow, it is also filled with gratitude—because we were given the gift of him, a gift we knew was never truly ours to keep but one we cherished for as long as we were blessed to have him.

Matthew was our superhero. Not in the way we often see in movies, though he loved those too, but in the way that truly matters—through his strength, kindness, and the way he made the world brighter just by being in it. From the moment he was born, he had a heart unlike any other, one that beat with love, resilience, and unwavering joy. A heart that, despite the challenges life gave him, stayed strong until the very end.

Matthew was born on November 13, 1984, the youngest of four siblings—the baby of the family. He was born with Trisomy 21, also known as Down syndrome, a condition that occurs in approximately 1 in 700 births. While medical advancements have greatly increased life expectancy, individuals with Down syndrome often face significant health challenges, including congenital heart defects. Matthew was born with one such defect—a hole in his heart—and at just two months old, he underwent open-heart surgery. Over the course of his 40 years, his life was replete with challenges, including ten pacemaker surgeries, each one a testament to his endurance and fighting spirit. His heart, both literally and figuratively, was built to withstand anything. He defied expectations at every turn, proving that his life was not defined by limitations but by resilience, joy, and boundless love.

Matthew was a talker as a child—always eager to share joy and connect with those around him. At restaurants, he would often wander off to other tables, introducing himself and making friends, much to the amusement of our family and the strangers he charmed. He was the cutest little kid with the highest-pitched voice. He had a way of spreading love effortlessly, and everyone adored him. But as he grew older, perhaps due to multiple surgeries or simply the way life shaped him, his words became fewer, his voice softer. Instead of speaking, he began to whisper, relying on his famous thumbs up or thumbs down—always paired with that incredible smile we all know. That simple gesture, combined with his beaming expression, could say so much, and somehow, he never needed words to make his feelings known.

He was known by many names—Matthew, Matt, Captain, Angel Boy, Matchew, Chooch, and most importantly, Tío. As kids, our aunts and uncles always reminded us that Matthew was going straight to heaven. And how could he not? He was the purest among us, living a life without sin, full of love, laughter, and contagious joy. Matthew loved his family deeply, especially his nieces and nephews. From the moment they were born, he was there, holding each of them in his arms—their first and most loyal Tío. It was a title he wore with pride, and every one of them called him Tío. He played with them, loved them, and showered them with the same warmth and kindness he shared with everyone he met.

He was also the family DJ. His love for music was unmatched. The Beatles, Elvis Presley, Michael Jackson—he knew all the classics. And when it came to movies, he had a special place in his heart for the silliest ones, the ones that made him laugh the hardest. Adam Sandler, Jim Carrey, and Chris Farley movies were among his favorites. We have so many memories of him, moments that will always make us smile. Like how he would remind us that Nashe cried for Armageddon or how he loved pointing out to Omar—"You're Bob, I'm Richie!" a reference to La Bamba. These little moments, the way he made us laugh, the way he connected with all of us, are the pieces of him that we will carry forever.

Matthew was an athlete. He competed in baseball, basketball, swimming, and bowling. Through sports, he made lifelong friends, including Max, Marcos, Brandon, Tim and many others—each as special and full of personality as Matthew. He loved being around them, interacting with his friends at Very Special Arts (VSA), through Special Olympics, and in many other forums. These communities were a source of joy for him—places where he could be himself, laugh, compete, and share in the love of the game, music, art, and dance.

Matthew was surrounded by an incredible support system—people who dedicated their time, energy, and hearts to helping him thrive. In high school, coach Mark Garcia made him manager of the wrestling team, ensuring he was always included. His physical therapist, Randy, and his speech therapist, Lisa, were just a few of the many who worked with him over the years, showing him kindness, patience, and unwavering compassion. These individuals, along with many others, devoted their lives to working with people with disabilities, ensuring Matthew had every opportunity to grow, learn, and experience life to the fullest. They are unsung heroes, leaving a lasting impact not only on Matthew’s life but on the lives of everyone who loved him. And in his final days, they stood alongside his family and friends, and were in attendance, as he took his final breath. At this time, I’d like to ask you to stand and join me in recognizing these individuals who stood alongside Matthew, as they too are superheroes.

On Tuesday, February 11, 2025, otherwise healthy, Matthew fell ill with Influenza A and Group A Streptococcus. What started as the flu and strep throat quickly became more serious, and within two days, he was hospitalized. He was later diagnosed with Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome (ARDS), a devastating condition that even the strongest fighters struggle to overcome. But Matthew fought. He fought for four long weeks, surrounded by his family, his medical team doing everything possible to save him. And his heart, against all odds, kept going—like the little engine that could.

When Matthew passed, he was surrounded by his family. Several long minutes after his last breath, the nurse, surprised, noted that his heart was still beating. My brother-in-law, Nathan, turned to her and said, “You have no idea how strong this dude’s heart is.” I couldn’t have chosen a better phrase to sum up his life—a life defined by challenge, resilience, strength, and love.

Even in the end, Matthew continued to give. As an organ donor, he saved lives, ensuring that his legacy of love and generosity carries on. His heart—his strong, beautiful, unstoppable heart—lives on in more ways than one.

Our mom frequently said she knew God only lent our brother to us. She called him her professor because he was constantly teaching us how to be patient, kind, and loving. Even in his final days, he was still teaching us—how to hold onto faith, how to support one another, how to never give up. The glue that binds us—his heart, both metaphorically and physically, the center of our world.

Matthew, our son, our brother, our Tio, our cousin, our nephew, our friend, our superhero—rest easy, brother. Your heart still beats in all of us.