Join Memories to request access to contribute your cherished photos, videos, and stories to Aidan James's memorial with others who loved them.
Join MemoriesJoin Memories to request access to contribute your cherished photos, videos, and stories to Aidan James's memorial with others who loved them.
Join MemoriesAidan was the kind of person who could light up any room just by being in it. He didn’t need to say much, but when he did, his words felt like they carried weight—like they mattered. I can still hear his laughter, warm and carefree, echoing in my memory. Those carefree days on Whidbey Island, when we were pirates on a grand adventure in his backyard pirate ship, running through the trees, battling imaginary foes, and making up stories that felt real. It was in those moments that we were invincible, and the world seemed so big, so full of possibilities. Aidan’s curly, floppy hair was always a part of his charm. It never quite stayed in place, always tumbling over his forehead, giving him a carefree look that matched his personality perfectly. In high school, it was a bit wild, just like him. I can still picture him running across the lawn as children, barefoot like the rest of us, laughing. He had this energy, this spark, that made everything feel like an adventure—even when we were just running around chasing each other for fun. The grapes and sand sprinkled cheeses I remember sharing as kids weren’t just snacks; they were symbols of our friendship, simple moments that are now etched in time. I can still feel the salty air of the beach on my skin, the sand between my toes, and the sound of the waves crashing in the background as we danced around on the water's edge, sharing the world in our own little way. I recall all the legendary birthday parties on Whidbey. The kind where everyone gathered around music, where the air was filled with excitement and laughter, and the whole world seemed to stand still for a moment as we played. I remember one particular party where we had a pinata hanging from Mama Ceci’s deck. We took turns at the bat, swinging wildly, laughing when the candy finally exploded out in a cascade of color and sweetness. Aidan’s face, full of that boyish grin, was always the brightest in the crowd. Then, there was the year he got the Gator for his birthday. I’ll never forget the look of sheer excitement on his face as he hopped into the driver’s seat, grinning as he revved the engine. I recall Luc as his copilot, and they zoomed around the driveway like they were in some kind of race, kicking up gravel and spraying grass in every direction. The wind whipped through Aidan’s hair, and he had this joy about him, this uncontainable excitement that made everything feel magical. It was just a Gator, just a little ride-on vehicle, but in that moment, it felt like the key to the world—like anything was possible as long as we had each other and our laughter to carry us forward. Aidan’s joy was infectious, and for that day, nothing else mattered. We were free, we were young, and life was simple and perfect. Those days on the green grass, running barefoot through the yard, chasing after each other in games that had no rules except the ones we made up on the spot, were some of the best memories. The warmth of the sun on our skin, the softness of the grass beneath our feet, and the sound of our laughter blending with the breeze—it was all so magical. In those moments, the world felt like it was ours. Aidan made it feel that way, with his endless enthusiasm and his ability to find the joy in everything. It’s funny how those little moments—sandy cheese, splintery beach logs, pinatas, Gators, and barefoot chases—stick with you. They are the pieces of time that stay with you long after the years pass. Aidan wasn’t just a part of those memories; he was those memories. His curly hair, his bright smile, his excitement for life—those are the things I will carry with me forever. They remind me that even in the toughest times, there’s always a spark of magic to be found, just like we found in the simplest moments with Aidan. I often remember that summer wilderness camp we attended where we ran across the field blindfolded behind the little brown church towards the sound of a beating drum, dodging trees as we went. One day the camp leader brought in a dead rabbit he claimed was roadkill and taught us how to skin and cook it. Cooper ate most of the rabbit but Aidan was a close second! That camp taught us how to make woodland shelters, how to sharpen obsidian and make tomahawks with branches and twine (which I still have displayed on a bookshelf) and what plants are best for foraging. I have so many little moments of Aidan tucked away in my mind that I will cherish forever. Even in high school, when life took us in different directions, there was always this unspoken bond between us forged from childhood. A simple glance across a crowded hallway, a shy smile that would pass between us, said everything we needed to say. It was comforting, knowing that no matter how far we went, no matter the paths we chose, Aidan was still there, somewhere, just like he always had been. He had this rare gift of making everyone feel like they mattered, like they were important. Whether you were close to him or not, Aidan always made the effort to make you feel seen, heard, and appreciated. He had a way of drawing people in with his warmth, with that infectious smile, and with his generous heart. It’s hard to believe that someone so beautiful, so full of life, could be taken away so soon. It feels wrong, still, to think about a future that doesn’t have Aidan in it. He was supposed to be there, sharing in all the moments to come, supporting us like he always had. I had always imagined that one day we would reconnect fully, pick up where we left off, and make new memories, maybe laugh at our childhood antics, and reminisce about the times we shared on that beach. But now, it’s all just memories, fading as time moves on. Aidan, and everyone in our group, is the family I chose, people I could always rely on. He helped shape me in ways I never even realized at the time. He was always there when I needed him, offering encouragement, understanding, and unconditional support. He showed me what it meant to be kind, to be a friend without hesitation, and to love without limits. In a small community like ours, we all had a special bond, but Aidan was different. He was a constant—his energy, his spirit, his kindness were woven into the fabric of my childhood, and the thread of his presence will never be unraveled. There is no replacing him, no filling the space he left behind. But I carry him with me, in every moment of joy, in every act of kindness, and in every smile I share with the world. I will never forget Aidan. I will always remember him as the beautiful, shining soul that he was. And while his physical presence may be gone, the imprint he left on my heart, and on the hearts of everyone who had the privilege of knowing him, will last forever.
I met Aidan in organic chem at UW. He was ALWAYS at the study center, reading, doing homework, helping other students. My first impression of him was that he was going to be that classmate that cures cancer or some other extraordinary feat. He's one of the smartest people I've ever met. I'm so proud to call him my friend. He would drop whatever he was doing to help us (chem students and his friends) out. I remember one time he didn't know the answer to my question and he dug through the textbook to find the answer for me. We bonded over how fascinating his work at the inorganic lab is and our love for chem. Aidan was genuinely one of the nicest people I've ever met, he would do anything for his fellow students. I was always happy to see his face in the study center after having been there for hours on end. He answered so many of my questions before i headed into my exams, he was a wonderful tutor and friend. I remember one day after we both finished chem, I saw him when we were both walking to class. We stopped and talked for probably 10 minutes before going our separate ways. We laughed a lot during that conversation, I dont remember about what. That was the last time I talked to him. I'll never forget the impact Aidan had on my life, I'm sending love to his family.
This is Will from Ginger group, UW Chemistry. I would just like to share some stories about Aidan during our time together playing the UW intramural soccer league. He was a star player in our team and often filled up the score sheet. I had so much fun playing with him. Even participating in a competitive sport game, you can tell he is a nice and humble young man. He not only exceled at playing soccer but also demonstrated great sportsmanship and team spirit, which makes him a very lovable team member. My Ginger group colleague, Robert also created a Slack group chat with just Aidan, Robert, Sung-Joo and myself. Sometimes, the four of us would chat about the game we played, talk about game plans, and share some friendly banters at times. For Aidan, sharing a group chat with 3 other postdoc members in a research group means he was often on the receiving end of those friendly banters. "If Aidan's shoes were intact, I don't think we would lose that game last week." "Aidan, you should try to get a new soccer shoes this weekend. This is your homework for the weekend." "If we win tomorrow, it is totally a team effort. But if we lose, it is your (Aidan's) fault because you did not score enough goals for us." And I can't remember how many laughing-out-loud emojis we sent in the chat. It was definitely a fond and loving memory of my time with Aidan. Other than his excellence on the research work he has carried out for the past 2 years with us, this memory of playing soccer together with him is just another tribute to a lively, positive, and bright young man. I often refer to him as an exemplary undergraduate researcher to other colleagues. Just last month, when he shared the news that he got offers from grad school programs, I was genuinely happy for him, and I can tell he was so happy for it as well. The day I heard about the tragedy was very devastating for me and I can't even begin to fathom the pain of his family. I will hold dear the memory I have had with him, and wherever he is now, I hope he finds peace. I also want to let his family know: You have raised a hell of a son! My condolences.
Aidan was an amazing man and a great friend. I played soccer with him most of my life and can vouch for how strong of a leader he was. No matter if we were winning or losing he was always reminding us to keep our head up, and to push until the very last minute. Both on and off the field he kept both his teammates and the coaches laughing. No matter the situation he always had a joke or a witty statement to say. He made sure to keep things light when tensions were high and knew when to remind everyone to quiet down and listen up. If the other team were to ever get rowdy with one of his teammates he would never hesitate to jump in and stand up for them. HIs character was unmatched, he was honest, courageous, kind, and loyal to all around him. Aidan was a big part in why I loved soccer so much and kept with it most of my life. There was a time years ago when I had just joined the select team and one of our teammates was picking on me. Aidan stepped in and no one else, he stood up for me and I never forgot that. He always had your back and no matter what, you could count on him to be there for you. He was also incredibly academically inclined and when I heard about his major and what he was doing in school, all I said was “wow”. Even just reading the title of the paper he published went right over my head. I will never forget all he did and who he was. I hope wherever he is provides only the best for him because he deserves only the best. I am so happy and grateful to have known such a great man. I wish his family the best and I am sending all my love and more their way.
Aidan was beautiful, not just in form, but in spirit. No part of him wasn’t touched by kindness, no piece of his soul that wasn’t built for love. He was truly breathtaking in a way the world didn’t always deserve. He taught me about love, not the fleeting, conditional kind, but the love that elevates the soul, that makes us strive toward something greater than ourselves. Aidan embodied that love, and in knowing him, I felt it in its purest form. He was tall and sweet, with those perfect curls that always fell just a little out of place. He was effortlessly messy, but never in a way that felt careless. His world, his books, his scattered thoughts, his unfinished projects, was a kind of chaos that felt safe, like a room lit by the glow of a lamp in the middle of the night. Trustworthy. Loyal. The kind of person you could tell your darkest secrets to and know they were safe. The kind of person who didn’t just listen, he understood. His eyes held such a burning curiosity about the world. And when Aidan spoke of the things he loved, he did so with a fire that made the world seem brighter. He had a way of making even the smallest things feel important, of making people feel seen and valued. The way his excitement could make you fall in love with something you’d never even noticed before. He gave so freely of himself, never asking for anything in return. Our time together was heartbreakingly brief, but it was full of dreams. We had afternoons lost in the aisles of our favorite bookstores, sunlit moments where the world paused just for us. We spoke of life and happiness as if they were things we could reach out and grasp. In the stillness of the night, we baked cookies and talked until dawn, spinning futures that now exist only in memory. Now, I find myself searching for him in the places we once shared. In the pages of our books left unfinished, in the hush of dawn after a long night of talking, in the spaces where silence should feel empty but instead feels like an echo of him. The hardest part of losing him isn’t just letting go of the past it’s mourning the future we never got to have. The stories we never got to write. Sharing memories is hard because we weren’t done making them. I would give anything for just one more laugh, one more conversation, one more moment wrapped in the comfort of his presence. But if love is what connects us beyond this life, then I know Aidan is still here. He exists in the kindness he left behind, in the dreams we once spun together, and in the way he changed the people who loved him. Aidan, you are loved beyond measure by me and all others. And you always will be.
Aidan was a scholar and a gentleman. He cared deeply about making the world a better place, and from what I saw firsthand, he lived that ideal—whether through his research on solar energy or his generosity in mentoring others as a chemistry tutor. He not only boosted the scoring stats (and morale!) of the lab soccer team but also uplifted countless undergraduate chemistry majors. I knew him best as an exceptional scholar and researcher while he worked on our team studying new semiconductors for converting sunlight to electricity. If we suggested advanced reading that would take most students weeks to digest—like when his Ph.D. mentor recommended the first five chapters of Martin Green’s Solar Cells: Operating Principles, Technology, and System Applications—Aidan would come to next meeting, having absorbed it all, asking insightful questions that proved his deep understanding. As an undergraduate, he successfully advanced his own research project, optimizing the synthesis and surface passivation of all-inorganic halide perovskite thin films (CsPbI₃). These systems model the hybrid perovskites used in solar cells but without the organic cations that can complicate surface spectroscopy. Aidan not only synthesized CsPbI₃ semiconductor films and verified their band gaps and crystal structures, but he also characterized their carrier lifetimes using time-resolved photoluminescence and processed them into thin-film solar cells – an impressive and complex set of tasks. He was dedicated—so much so that I remember walking into the lab just after New Year's Day, 2025. The department was nearly empty, most people on vacation. Yet there was Aidan, making new samples for analysis—as if, of course, that’s just what one does during winter break. He was quiet, probably because he was a profound thinker. When he asked a question, it had depth. When he gave a presentation, you might have thought he was an experienced Ph.D. student preparing for a qualifying exam. His talent and work ethic were undeniable—so much so that when advising others on mentoring undergraduate researchers, one Ph.D. scientist remarked, “Just don’t expect them to be as good as Aidan…” Our world is a little dimmer without this bright star. We miss him deeply.