The ultimate test of his independence came in February 2020 at the Saratoga EOC Foodbank. For the first time, I left him there alone for three hours. I felt like a mother dropping her child off at preschool—leaving him with "strangers" caused a shaky mix of trepidation and excitement. I needn't have worried; Matt thrived, immediately agreeing to a regular Friday shift. Watching him walk back to me after that first afternoon, I felt a surge of hope. The sight of Matt stepping out from behind the diagnosis and back into the community was the answer to years of prayers.

At the piano, the journey was about reclaiming his identity. "Shaping" the notes evolved incrementally, just like any student. A year ago, his right hand had been stiff and awkward; now, he was finally blending both hands, moving from simple Christmas carols back toward the syncopated rhythms of beginner jazz. On one joyful evening, Megan’s Maid of Honor, Devan, encouraged Matt to perform a duet: she played the bass notes while he carried the melody. As Christmas approached, Megan pulled out "Linus and Lucy"—Matt’s annual tradition—and guided him through the intricate rhythms he had once known by heart. Reviving that long-buried memory felt like a victory for the whole family.

Music and play became the soundtrack of our evenings—a conduit to the man Matt had always been and a bridge to new connections. Mike and Matt began a nightly tradition of karaoke after dinner; the lively brass of "Saturday in the Park" and other Chicago tunes filled the air. They weren’t Grammy-winning performances, but watching Mike look over Matt’s shoulder—their eyes following the lyrics on the teleprompter, Mike’s stronger voice guiding Matt’s—earned my heart’s highest praise.

Like the playful singing for pleasure, we eagerly continued our pursuit of the physical language of dance. Oh, for the days when the dance floor had been a battleground for Gold! In recognition of his glorious first-year anniversary, Matt received Arthur Murray dance lessons. Moving from our living room into a professional studio added a lovely air of realism, though the work was exacting. Slowly, he began the difficult process of mastering the Waltz, Foxtrot, Rumba, Swing, and Tango. It was a bittersweet comeback; he was often frustrated by the comparison of his current movements with his previous grace as a competitive dancer. Yet, despite mourning what was lost, his commitment stayed ironclad.

By late 2019, he was successfully leading underarm passes and side-by-side steps in the Swing. In the Waltz, rising up on his toes proved difficult—almost impossible on his right foot—but he persisted. Preparation at home intensified as Megan’s September wedding approached. During our August vacation at the Thousand Islands, the sun deck became a makeshift ballroom. There, amidst swimming gear and the river breeze, Matt and Megan practiced their steps, focusing on the "pretzel move" repeatedly under the bright summer sky.

As his physical confidence stabilized, his world expanded toward service. Beginning in June 2019, he volunteered in various programs, starting with our church food pantry, stocking shelves. Later, we worked together packing meals for the Summer Lunch Program. By autumn, his confidence had evolved from manual labor toward social engagement. In November, we visited the Veteran House to teach the residents how to play Ticket to Ride. The men listened patiently to Matt’s sometimes disconnected instructions before diving into the game. As they bantered, Matt remained focused and intent on his next move. Watching him share his love of play with those who had served our country was a powerful reminder of the caring man within—an educator and friend re-engaging the world.

The ultimate test of his independence came in February 2020 at the Saratoga EOC Foodbank. For the first time, I left him there alone for three hours. I felt like a mother dropping her child off at preschool—leaving him with "strangers" caused a shaky mix of trepidation and excitement. I needn't have worried; Matt thrived, immediately agreeing to a regular Friday shift. Watching him walk back to me after that first afternoon, I felt a surge of hope. The sight of Matt stepping out from behind the diagnosis and back into the community was the answer to years of prayers.

At the piano, the journey was about reclaiming his identity. "Shaping" the notes evolved incrementally, just like any student. A year ago, his right hand had been stiff and awkward; now, he was finally blending both hands, moving from simple Christmas carols back toward the syncopated rhythms of beginner jazz. On one joyful evening, Megan’s Maid of Honor, Devan, encouraged Matt to perform a duet: she played the bass notes while he carried the melody. As Christmas approached, Megan pulled out "Linus and Lucy"—Matt’s annual tradition—and guided him through the intricate rhythms he had once known by heart. Reviving that long-buried memory felt like a victory for the whole family.

By January 2020, we raised the bar with formal lessons. Playing an instrument is one of the most taxing activities for a recovering brain, requiring the simultaneous integration of visual reading, fine motor control, and rhythmic timing. It was the ultimate "cognitive workout." Mike arranged for Matt to study with Phil Spaith, the organist at St. Peter’s Church. Matt deeply respected Phil, viewing him as a mentor who could push him back toward his former skill level. These appointments were an instant hit; Matt took immense pride in clearly relaying his two homework assignments to me afterward.

Even as the early tremors of a worldwide crisis began to shutter normal life, Matt didn't miss a beat when it came to his music. He transitioned seamlessly to virtual learning. His more agile mental function was on full display as he learned to queue up his laptop for Zoom meetings, propping it on a stack of encyclopedias and angling the screen so Phil could watch his hands on the keys. Those virtual sessions were more than just practice; they were a metronome, providing a steady, reliable rhythm to his week when the rest of the world felt wildly out of sync.

Then, incomprehensibly, New York State’s "shelter-in-place" order took effect. The gates to the outside world slammed shut, silencing the dance studio, ending his volunteer work, and abruptly severing new opportunities before they could even take root.

It felt as though the world was spiraling out of control, leaving us with no power to intervene, interrupt, or muscle our way forward. Until that point, sheer willpower, an unflinching attitude, and tried-and-true strategies had carried us through every crisis. Now, those tools were rendered useless against the gripping forces of a global shutdown. We were being asked to fight for Matt’s recovery with one hand tied behind our backs. Our consuming fear was that, just as a child’s development can stall in isolation, Matt’s hard-won progress beyond our home would wither without life-giving sustenance

But the mandate could never dim the light Matt had fought so hard to rekindle. We may have been forced to retreat behind our four walls, yet the man sitting in our living room was not the same one who had first come home from the hospital. The world had paused, but Matt was no longer a spectator watching from the sidelines. He had become an active participant in his own life.

© 2026, Sarah Watkins