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Mom's Boot Camp marched steadily onward to the heavy beat of a bass drum. Retirement was beginning to sink in, and Matt and I were settling into a rhythm of drills, therapy, and play. Here’s a quick peek at his “life of leisure.”
Guided by an evolving weekly activity flow sheet of 20 tasks, I tracked intensity and repetitions, upping the ante whenever possible. This record bolstered our morale when Matt excelled, though it could just as easily deflate it if progress plateaued—fortunately, that wasn’t a frequent occurrence. On therapy days, our home sessions were abbreviated; on others, each lasted three hours and included varied activities. This was no cakewalk; we aimed to cross the final hurdle sooner rather than later.
As before, we utilized elastic bands, dumbbells, and cuff weights, leveraging his own mass for resistance. We incorporated the entire house into our regimen. For example, on the soft carpet of his bedroom, Matt performed "clamshells" against resistance bands or marched with three-pound fitness straps. Targeting his midsection was strenuous as he attempted to fly like Superman, arms outstretched. He then moved to a tall kneeling position to increase hip range of motion and steadiness. Matt wrapped up this segment with sit-backs—the reverse of an abdominal crunch—lowering his torso until he reached the absolute limit of his capacity.
Moving to our bright kitchen and dining area, Matt practiced crawling, balancing on a half-foam roll, and lunge walking. He also performed a leg routine with bands anchored to a newel post. For a change of pace, he sat at the table for fine-motor tasks: stacking blocks, practicing flashcards, and doing vision exercises. Since Matt was no longer in formal occupational therapy, his Uncle Dan and I built a pegboard to persist in honing his ability to reach, push, and twist. As summer progressed, his right shoulder mobility improved significantly, especially when we practiced in positions where gravity's heavy pull was less influential.
In the family room, resistive bands secured to a door handle allowed for diagonal trunk exercises. Alternatively, Matt pinned a small foam roll against a door with one knee and twisted his torso like a helicopter, pivoting around his stance leg. The non-negotiable rule: "Don't let the roll fall." Lastly, to stretch tight muscles, he sat in a "frog-leg" position, hands behind his head, pressing his elbows back until they touched the door.
As we toiled, we, mostly I, chit-chatted to pass the time, coaxing Matt to respond with brief answers. In the background, the Moody Blues and Earth, Wind & Fire provided the tempo. In July, when Mike procured tickets to Hamilton, we added that soundtrack to the mix. Hoping to familiarize ourselves with the hip-hop rhythms and rapid-fire lyrics before the show. It was motivational and added levity amid the constant labor, a.k.a. the grunt-and-grind.
A primary focus of our efforts remained his physical frame and muscle tone. After months of inactivity, Matt’s midsection had softened, and he was twelve pounds over his normal weight. We tackled this by envisioning his pelvis as a bucket that, without the upward pull of strong muscles, tips forward, causing the stomach to protrude. This same instability caused his back to arch while standing and to sway like a broken horse’s when he was on his hands and knees. In reality, building strength is attainable, but consistently maintaining that form during movement is formidable—even for the most capable individual.
Matt and I labored to solidify his center and fuse that control into daily habits. With frequent reminders to "tuck," our routine included modified push-ups, planks, and alternating arm-and-leg maneuvers on his hands and knees. To help burn calories, Uncle Dan lent us a rowing machine and a stationary bike. Gratefully, Matt was content to watch TV while pedaling away for 20 minutes, turning a chore into a blessing.
The Care Lane Gym was a welcoming environment. Each visit, a handful of supportive patrons greeted and encouraged Matt. They asked polite questions with the understanding that most likely he wouldn’t recognize they were talking to him and, if he did, he wouldn’t think to return their greeting. He usually started on the upright arm/leg bike and finished on the treadmill. We cycled through the routine, hitting the leg press, hamstring curls, pectoral butterfly, rows, and lats pull-downs. A favorable development was when Matt began to self-direct aspects of his routine, knowing which piece of equipment to use next, though I continued to adjust the weight units. On one occasion, I sneakily increased the tension without telling him until after he finished the set, to which he exclaimed, "Oh, that explains it!"
Gradually, I incorporated a dynamic cable-column sequence designed for intricate, synchronized motion. This succession combined core and arm strengthening with standing balance, mimicking actions such as pulling a lawn mower cord, opening a garage door, or swinging a tennis racket. To further challenge him, I attached the cable to a belt around his waist, simulating a horse pulling a heavy cart—just like pulling Eric behind on a stool. Matt also threw a two-pound medicine ball off a trampoline, which was an eye-opener—it required quick reactions to catch the ball before it smashed his nose. Additionally, he worked with a flexible BodyBlade that wobbled and vibrated, forcing him to maintain equilibrium while performing small back-and-forth arm motions overhead or in front of his chest. Throughout all these activities, my most critical responsibility was to prevent a fall.
Creativity kept drills from getting stale.
In September, Matt was introduced to the BOSU ball, a fitness tool resembling a half-sphere with a bouncy, rubbery dome and a flat base. His first tries were hesitant at best, often ending in a quick retreat before he could conquer his footing. He desperately clutched my hand, muttering that it would be his demise. I encouraged him to trust that he could safely mount it, holding that self-assurance for him until he could finally visualize it for himself. He also balanced on a 2 x 4 piece of wood with one foot directly in front of the other—like a balance beam—for 30 seconds with decreasing assistance. Although not reproducible, on one standout day, he stood in this tandem stance for 10 seconds all on his own.
Because he lacked confidence in his movements, he often resisted these balance activities, making my job more difficult. However, his vocal defiance was a positive sign that he was learning to speak up for himself.
Amidst the physical exertion and the occasional friction, there was a profound emotional resonance that anchored our days. His life is an answer to my prayers, and thankfully, Matt is eternally grateful that we fought to give him that chance. My positive attitude, dedication, and habit of looking deep into his eyes reassured our souls and fueled our resolve. Sprinkled throughout each day were bone-crushing bear hugs and high-fives—cherished moments. We lived a version of the Avatar philosophy I had first felt back at Sunnyview when he drew his 'Clam with Platform Shoes.' Just as that simple caricature once signaled to a breathless audience that Matt was still 'in there,' our daily connection was a constant 'I see you'—a deep recognition of the man he was, the man he would become, and the genius still emerging.
This mutual recognition made the "full-time vocation" of home therapy feel less like a burden and more like a shared mission. We weren't just rebuilding a physique; we were honoring the life we had fought so hard to keep.
In Eric’s absence and honor, we carried the banner forward to regain stability, propulsion, and power. The fruit of our labor was evident in Matt’s enhanced ability to hop forward, step sideways, and navigate two steps at a time. The grand finale was a very awkward—but successful—performance of mini-jumping jacks. Coupled with the return of his automatic balance reactions—that unconscious reflex to raise an arm or leg to prevent a fall—we witnessed a transformation in his walking speed and endurance.
In October, we put his progress to the ultimate test: a steep trail up to the summit of nearby Prospect Mountain. This trek included a stretch of thirty steps without a handrail. It was demanding, but Matt conquered it. Although the sky was overcast, the fall foliage was lovely, and his effort was a triumph, deserving of celebration and optimism.
© 2026, Sarah Watkins
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