Saying Goodbye to a Friend

Usually when people ask me about my brief legal career, I laugh and say, "It was one of those things that seemed like a good idea at the time." In reality, however, many, many good things came out of that decision, and I would not go back and change it if I could. Mainly because of the people I met along that path.

Matthew Ryan, QC, was one of those people. He was one of two partners in the small law firm where I spent my legal years, and one whom I counted as a good friend. He passed away on Thursday after a battle with leukemia that lasted the past couple of years. He was only 62.

Those of you who know me, know that my memory for many things is not good. I often joke that I won't remember most of my life until I develop Alzheimer's and it all comes back to me. However, I clearly remember the first time I met Matt.

It was the summer after my first year at law school, so working at a firm seemed like a good idea. Matt was on vacation when I went in for an interview with his brother David, the other partner in the firm, and David offered me the position for the summer. Matt was still on vacation when I started work, and I had been there a few days before he returned. By the time he came back, I was ensconced at a desk and had some assignments, so I was busily working away that first morning. He said hello to me as he passed my desk and I reciprocated, of course. A few times over the course of the morning I noticed him glance at me thoughtfully, but we were both busy, so I didn't have too much time to wonder about it.

Finally, when the day was almost over, he came back to my desk and said, "Who are you, anyway?" I guess everyone thought that someone else had told him I had started working there. We had our first laugh together (of many) over that. I went on to work there as an articled clerk and practice law for a number of years, so we became good friends and colleagues.

I also remember one time he "came to my rescue." This was after I had been practicing with the firm for several years. I had a client in my office, a client who had ignored my advice and consequently found himself in a pickle. He was angry, and starting to yell, and although I was handling it okay, I suspected that it would not be long before I burst into tears (confrontation not being one of my strong points, hence one of the reasons I'm not a lawyer any longer, but I digress...). Anyway, Matt obviously realized what was going on, knocked and came into my office, sat down and started talking to the client in a very reasonable way, got him to admit that he had caused his own troubles and it was no fault of mine, got him to apologize to me, and quietly got him to leave. To me, he was like a knight in shining armour, although of course he shrugged it off like it was nothing. He never made me feel like I needed rescuing (although I think I did). He was just helping out. That's the kind of man he was.

Matt was a very kind, easygoing person, not the kind of lawyer who is overly impressed with the fact that he's a lawyer, if you know what I mean. All those lawyer jokes you know, were not about him. All those lawyer stereotypes, ditto. He was a great teacher and mentor, but never seemed to feel that his experience gave him any particular status other than the ability to pass along some advice to those learning the ropes. He taught me more about drafting contracts and drawing up wills and dealing with clients (even the difficult ones--maybe especially the difficult ones) than any law professor did. And more importantly, he modelled integrity, professionalism, and care for others--things we should take away from law school but often don't.

Honestly, I could go on for a long time here, but I won't. I have laughed while writing this, and cried, and I think if we have friends who can exert this much influence over us even after they've ceased to be part of our day-to-day lives, we can be confident that they'll stay with us for a long, long time to come.

It comes down to this: I am privileged to have known and worked with Matt, and I will miss him.