Sometimes our attempts to introduce a new aspect of Matt’s prior life were premature, too lofty, or needed to be broken into smaller chunks. Such was the case with the complex features of his cell phone. For most of us, a smartphone is an appendage we take for granted. For Matt, it was a locked vault—one that would take a year and a half to fully open.

Shortly before his one-year anniversary, we uncovered the device from where it had lain dormant and dusty. Our plans to restore it initially stalled because, of course, he couldn't remember his security password. A full manufacturer’s reset was a clean slate that mirrored Matt’s own journey of starting anew. Once restored, it acted as a digital time capsule. Matt’s spirit lifted as he reminisced while scrolling through old pictures, reconnecting with familiar faces and cherished memories.

Next, Matt and I set about making plans to call people. First up, for fun, he surprised his siblings by calling them out of the blue. Ryan and Megan had to carefully craft the conversation, building questions around his simple, one- or two-word responses. Not long after, I noted in my journal that I had overheard him leave a "pretty awesome" voice message for Megan. These were the first signs of social engagement beyond in-person, one-on-one conversations—secondary gains on our radar as vital markers of communication.

In November, we reached a major milestone: Matt finally did it—he called me on his cell phone! However, the victory came with a stumbling block—he hadn’t remembered to call until I called him first as a reminder. Even in moments when I felt impatient, I knew that slowly and steadily, the communication lines were opening.It wasn’t until January 2020 that Matt finally hardwired the very basic necessity of remembering to put the phone in his pocket each morning and charging it every night. Now we've added new layers of complexity: unlocking the screen with a passcode, listening for email or text alerts, and training him to reply promptly rather than letting messages sit for days. Equally important was the task of recognizing incoming calls and calling us as requested.

With each passing week, Matt overcame many of these early obstacles, and success stories accumulated. For instance, when he missed his dad's call, he took the initiative to call back and leave a voice message. To our surprise, one day I was working, and he was home alone; he was perceptive enough to answer the landline—not once, but twice. One of these calls led to a delightful conversation with his grandparents, though we realized that remembering to tell us about it later was another skill yet to learn. Soon, they were having regular, heartfelt conversations—moments of freedom for Matt and me.

The most significant shift occurred in the spring of 2020. During a visit to Cornell University, Matt saw his former student, Phil, whom he had taught at Lafayette College. We reached out to him to see if he would participate in Matt’s recovery by discussing "shop." Our goal was to expose Matt to engineering topics—bridging the gap between "patient Matt" and "Professor Watkins." When Phil called, the transformation was immediate. Matt became excited and animated.

Initially, Phil did most of the talking, sharing his research project, while Matt made sounds of acknowledgment. Within a month, Matt held his own, adding his "two cents" and engaging in the academic rhetoric. Phil even remembered the advice Professor Watkins once gave him about the intensity of graduate school. Those weekly 30-minute calls were a touchtone; more than improving his speech, they were a way to reclaim his professional identity.

By July 2020, the phone was no longer a hurdle; it was woven into the fabric of his life. Even his digital organization had improved; he moved from randomly deleting emails—swipe, swipe—to screening unwanted promos and selectively reading the important ones. I was also delighted to note that his ability to keep a dialogue going had improved significantly since two months earlier. His voice was louder—a combination of clear speech and occasional mumbling—but the give-and-take of conversation finally felt natural. During a call with a friend named Jenny, Matt garbled a few words, paused, and laughed.

"I screwed that up pretty good," he admitted.

Being able to occasionally identify his mistakes and joke about them marked a pivotal shift. It was a glimpse of the man who, in time, would navigate his errors with grace.

With the vault to his smartphone wide open, it became a powerful tool for reclaiming his autonomy. With this newfound independence, Matt began looking toward the next horizon: using his smartphone and laptop to access the internet, master Google searches, and expand the world once again at his fingertips.

© 2026, Sarah Watkins