September 2018. The car turned into the driveway, and a wave of emotion washed over me. After what felt like an eternity of sterile hospital corridors and institutional routines, Matt was finally coming home. The allure of the outdoors – the warm sunshine beckoning, the fresh air promising respite, the cheerful chirp of birds – teased us with the possibilities that lay ahead. We had weathered the storm. The hospital stays, the grueling rehabilitation centers, the bland institutional food, the indignity of baths given by strangers, the soul-crushing empty hours – all of that was, at last, behind us. 

in my garden each summer. Some seeds have long germination periods, while others grow slowly. Some may even exhibit stunted growth or fail to thrive altogether. But what about Matt? We lacked the clear growing instructions found on every seed packet. And as any good gardener knows, yielding a harvest takes work; you can’t sit back and leisurely wait for a bountiful crop. For the unforeseen future, our family lacked a compass. We would have to rely on best guesses, forecasts, and suggestions for success. However, each came with a disclaimer, similar to the stock market: past performance is not indicative of future results.

This was a tentative, yet pivotal, time in Matt’s recovery. The moment he left Sunnyview and crossed the threshold of our house, the ball was in our court. It became our responsibility to advance Matt’s cause and guide his growth, shaping who he would become. There would be no delay; it all began now as we embraced life at home, starting with lunch as a free man.

After eating and taking a well-deserved two-hour nap, we settled onto the patio, basking in the warmth of the late afternoon sun. A neighbor stopped by for a chat, and the simple pleasure of companionship underscored life as it was meant to be. Matt’s face and mine glowed with contentment, a reflection of the peace and joy that had returned to our lives, even if only for this fleeting moment. I lavished him with hugs and, with playful affection, asked, “How much do I love you?” while holding my thumb and index finger slightly apart. An exuberant smile would blossom as he spread his arms wide and replied, “This much.” This became a frequent and cherished exchange between us in the months that followed, a simple yet profound expression of our bond.

In the rehab centers, Matt had spent most of his days confined to a wheelchair. But the wheelchair we borrowed from a local equipment closet was banished from the house, except when others came to assist. For Mike and me, the wheelchair would be relegated to doctor and therapy appointments or community events. We were determined that he would walk within the sanctuary of our home. This meant that Matt walked short distances around the house throughout the day, each step a small victory. Walking was now a means to an end, a function-based activity. Drawing upon our physical therapy training, we were able to implement this approach much sooner than most families in a similar situation.

The days that followed were a blend of familiar routines and discoveries as we navigated the unfolding intricacies of our transformed lives. We determined the optimal placement of equipment and supplies and developed the most efficient methods for doing things. As we had learned from his overnight visit, increased participation in daily activities and regular walks around our house were incredibly tiring for Matt. Mike and I established routines that spread tasks throughout the day, doing our best to minimize long distances and extraneous trips. We organized activities by region of the house, such as walking between the bedroom and bathroom to get ready in the morning or at bedtime, and between the dining room and family room for meals and leisure. We constantly monitored whether our expectations and demands were reasonable, whether Matt could comprehend and follow instructions and participate, and how much we should do for him to conserve his precious energy. We were navigating uncharted territory, planting seeds of possibilities in unfamiliar soil, unsure of what would bloom but determined to nurture every sign of growth.

© 2025, Sarah Watkins