Matthew Matt Joseph Bachman

I’d first like to thank all of you for your outpouring of love, support and words of comfort to help us cope with this great loss. And our challenge now is to move past this time of sadness and today we take that first step by celebrating the life of Matt, this simple, lovable, hardworking, good man.

I’m sure Matt would want us to celebrate his life because that’s the way he was. He, with his Hawaiian shirts, flip flops, pooka shells and his “loud, boisterous, life of the party” personality.

His early life resembled something out of a Beach Boys song, cars, girls, the beach. He was gregarious and very sociable, an all-league football player. He sometimes chose the mountains or the beach, over going to class or practice. I remember his football coach, Coach Washburn telling my mother “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Bachman” because he knew that Matt could be a handful, but always in a fun loving way.

He was the perpetual teenager. But over the next several years, he grew into this wonderful man and I know meeting and marrying Leslie was the main reason for this. He never lost his youthful, fun loving ways that so many people, young and old, found so endearing, but he also became a dedicated and loyal husband and father.

He and Leslie did everything together. He gave so much of his time and passion during Amber’s softball years, and doted on daughter Taylor as well. But he also found time to help others. He worked on other people’s cars or houses, built tree houses for our kids, picked us up in the desert when our trucks broke down. He was always the first one we’d call and never complained, no matter the time of day or night, or the amount of effort involved. He took care of our mother during her final years, and she passed away peacefully in his home. When questioned about his generosity, he would often say, “Les, I’m a giver”. And while he was always joking when he said that, no truer statement could be made.

And yet all through these years, the wild side still persisted. He was a skilled plumber, although I was never quite sure what company he was working for. He was our Smell Good Plumber. He was very impulsive, very adventurous, and had a zest for life. He said and did some of the most outlandish and unexpected things. We said he had no filter. When Les would travel for a couple of days on business, he protested “How am I going to eat?” And he was dead serious.

He changed cars more often than most people change their oil. He seemingly crashed more times than Evil Knievel, whether it be in cars or his off road vehicles. I have personally seen him thrown off a cow he was attempting to ride, tumble hundreds of feet down one of the steepest ski slopes at Mammoth Mountain, and bounce across the desert floor after crashing his ATV. And yet somehow, he was always able to walk away from these. I don’t know that he thought he was invincible, it just seemed that he was. And when he would collect himself after each mishap he would mutter those three words, “Don’t tell Les.” But he couldn’t hide his last crash from her. She was with him in the RZR last year in Utah. Yes, they did everything together.

And through all the buying and selling of cars, boats, jeeps, motorhomes, the many house moves, and multiple job changes, the one constant in Matt’s life was Leslie. In recent days she has referred to Matt as her Rock. But Les is a strong person herself, and she kept him centered on the wild ride, that was Matt’s life.

He looked forward to retiring and traveling with Les in the motorhome and becoming a campground host, welcoming and helping out fellow campers. I’m guessing if he gets the opportunity, he’ll be pestering St. Peter to let him take a turn at the pearly gates and welcome people into heaven.

Father Mark asked me what I missed most about Matt. The question caught me off guard and my initial reaction was “free plumbing.” But unlike Matt, I did not blurt that out, thought for a second before speaking, and said “I lost a very dear friend”. And whether you were his neighbor, co-worker, customer, family member, or friend of his daughters, you considered him a dear friend because that’s how he made you feel. And I know we’ll all miss our dear friend Matt, that simple, lovable, hardworking, good man.