This next variable is essential: ascribe a piece of information or a vivid spatial memory to link each of these key points. For example, let's say you are trying to remember the first three presidents of the United States. You first arrive at the doormat and think of washing your shoes—Washington. Next, you see the fruit bowl—Adam's apple. Lastly, you see the ugly picture of a cat—a tomcat, Thomas Jefferson. These associations don't have to make sense to anyone but you. Once you’ve assigned all your objects, it's time to walk through your memory palace, solidifying each connection.

Matt and I created visual memories that, over time, we hoped would transition from short-term to long-term memory. We focused on learning each detail and designated stops along the way. I often took liberties with this approach, simplified, or modified the process, especially in our early attempts.

We started with The House Loop for Paternal Relatives. This series was designed to help Matt retain the names of extended family members. It went something like this: His PopPop stood at the foot of the driveway dressed in a pink sweater and wearing a snorkel, while his grandmother, at the top, was in a purple tutu, blowing bubbles. Entering the house, Aunt Debbie hula-hooped wearing a party hat, and just inside, Uncle Tim played the piano in stilettos—and the bizarre scene continued for three more relatives.

Peggy shook her head in fascination at my perseverance and creativity, especially in how I continually researched and sought ways, like this, to promote Matt’s recovery. Whenever I felt Matt had reached a plateau in a certain part of his rehab, I found a new, often innovative path forward. This dedication to finding solutions became the main motivation behind our need to "Think Outside the Box."

A Waiter Wearing a Hawaiian Shirt and Green Bermuda Shorts Sets the Table. After practicing the first three examples for a month, I introduced this mental imagery to aid Matt set the table for dinner. The waiter was a sight to behold: a knife, spoon, and fork dangled from a chain around his neck. On his head, he wore a napkin as a makeshift headband and balanced an empty glass, all while carrying a tray with salt, pepper, butter, milk, and salad dressing. Unfortunately, this wasn't as intuitive as the other visual aids and required more repetition; nonetheless, when Matt was on his 'A game,' it worked well.

I felt like the manager of a major league baseball team, shepherding Matt through his day with an intricate system of signals. In the same way a coach uses secret hand gestures, animated arm motions, and verbal commands to guide a player—raised palms to stop, a windmill motion to round third, or lowered fingers to call a pitch—I developed my own routine of impromptu cues. Staying in character with our different mnemonics, I would mimic tucking an item into a Billy Goat’s pouch, hoist an imaginary waiter’s tray onto my shoulder, or use raised fingers to indicate how many items he needed to find. Whether pointing to the refrigerator for salad dressing or to the cupboard for brown sugar, these visual cues proved far more effective than verbal ones; they required less mental analysis and let Matt stay in the flow of the task without getting tripped up by words.

We stopped at these four unique, challenging mnemonics to reduce mental fatigue and give him time to gain proficiency. I had intended to circle back and introduce more, but it never happened. Most likely, I discovered another beneficial strategy that led us down a different path, which included the pursuit of specialists.

Over time, new opportunities pulled us toward a wider circle of support. A co-worker introduced us to a daily Brain Training group—originally designed for individuals with Parkinson’s—that welcomed Matt into their fold. Seeking more social interaction, I found a residence for Veterans with brain injuries who shared Matt’s love for board games. I also turned to Facebook, asking his friends to call or text so he could practice the high-stakes art of real-time conversation.

Because Matt was a professor of computer engineering, I drew on projects that mimicked programming, proceeding until he could manage basic code with prompts. I even learned some of the 'language' myself, so I could guide him—a literal attempt to rewrite his internal software. This led to a novel approach: inviting people from his past—his favorite professor and even a former student—to engage him through the lens of his career rather than his injury. Peggy noted that this was a masterstroke; it provided a 'hook' to stimulate his memory and socialization while allowing others to contribute their unique gifts. It occurred to her that people truly want to help, but they often need someone to build the bridge and ask them to step up to the plate.

Reminiscing with Matt on December 23, 2023, proved to be an encouraging revelation. He chimed in that he still remembered PopPop standing at the bottom of the driveway and his grandmother at the top wearing a tutu. He even vaguely recalled that the Billy Goat had three pouches and that the number two was significant—even if he couldn't quite place why. Back then, I had no way to know if he was storing these memories in a mental cache for later retrieval. Seeing those bits and pieces surface years later was the proof I needed.

This validation, all these years later, has profoundly bolstered my commitment. It is the same unyielding perseverance that Peggy valued in me at work, now mirrored in my commitment to Matt’s cause. As she observed, “While I am sure others would have given up on certain tasks, Sarah’s resolve to complete an objective was extremely impressive. I assigned projects that required long-term perseverance to Sarah, and she never let me down—and she won’t fail Matt.”

This steadfast belief brings to mind a quote by Norman Vincent Peale that Matt and I often repeated in the early years for inspiration: 'Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you will land among the stars.' To most, the moon and stars are distant points in the night sky, but to us, they represent the ambitious goals we set for Matt's recovery. Those small but significant recollections—the bits of data that finally surfaced years later—were our shining stars. They serve as a constant reminder that even if we never fully reach our ultimate destination, every achievement is progress, and every star is a reason for hope.

© 2026, Sarah Watkins