Out of the blue, I observed Matt playing a Star Trek video on his phone. When did he pull that rabbit out of his hat? So simple on the surface, this unassuming blip on the radar carried the weight of intricate cognitive synthesis, executive functioning, and motor planning—and was certainly smile-worthy.

As if to say, “If you think that’s something, check this out,” Matt took it upon himself to investigate a replacement for his failing laptop. He selected a Surface Pro online, ordered it, and downloaded and transferred his records with only a 25 percent assist from me.

His purchasing foray didn’t stop there. Next came the everyday necessities—he ordered socks, T-shirts, and briefs. Then he turned his attention to smartphones, hunted down a great deal on a Google Pixel 5a, and even convinced me to upgrade my phone. Working side by side, we installed apps, migrated files, and coordinated with Verizon to activate both devices.

More and more, Matt dynamically embraced the digital world and used his computer and phone in ever-expanding ways. Once, these tasks had been second nature to him; now, it was deeply satisfying to watch him navigate the web on his own terms—browsing for a cappella and jazz, homebrewing tips for beer and wine, professional articles, and YouTube videos, drawn in by endless possibilities.

Matt’s penchant for online queries and discount shopping had deep-seated roots. When he was seven, he would wake at the crack of dawn to view infomercials, analyzing them and taking meticulous notes to bombard us with persuasive arguments before we’d even wiped the sleep from our eyes. As an adult, that same knack for finding a bargain evolved into buying everything from Yankee Candles to lightbulbs in industrial bulk. Now, as he browsed the internet post-injury, that familiar impulse felt like watching an old habit recapture ground.

By October, his attention turned outward to support me. Though it might be hard to imagine, I had never owned a laptop, always sticking to my tried-and-true desktop. Getting one was a big leap for me. When I requested his opinion, Matt enthusiastically assumed the role of tech wingman. I showed him a list of specs for five Lenovo Yoga models. He easily compared them, pinpointed the two top alternatives for my needs, and explained his rationale with conviction. I had total confidence in his recommendation, and letting him take the lead was such a relief.

We continually looked for opportunities for Matt to refine his teaching skills. Earlier, in the fall of 2020, Matt wrote to the Project Lead the Way (PLTW) department coordinator at Saratoga Springs Central High School—a national nonprofit organization that establishes hands-on, project-based STEM curricula. Although the curriculum was introduced after his graduation, he knew its value because Ryan and Megan had completed it. He wrote to describe his academic background and asked if he could serve as a guest lecturer or assistant, but lingering pandemic restrictions ultimately dashed his hopes.

By January 2021, as we discussed new possibilities, Matt set three lofty goals that genuinely excited him. First, he wanted to design a college-level computer engineering lecture on Java. He started strong—typing a structured outline in a Word document and drafting a PowerPoint presentation. But like so many ambitious projects, he struggled to maintain momentum, perhaps losing sight of the cost-benefit analysis midway through.

By May, another prospect emerged: teaching two ninety-minute classes for the Skidmore College Academy for Lifelong Learning (ALLL)—an initiative geared toward local senior citizens—scheduled for September. Matt chose the topic "The Ins and Outs of Microsoft Word." It was an interesting choice, given that he wasn’t particularly quick on the draw when navigating toolbar icons, highlighting text, or indenting lines. He had to rehearse those hands-on skills himself while crafting the lesson material and the lectures. Unlike his ability to deliver familiar, well-rehearsed university course content, he faltered here when trying to demonstrate the information and articulate it out loud at the same time—often neglecting one or the other altogether. Even though past experience had taught me that repetition was key, this dual-task hurdle ultimately felt too risky, and the idea was tabled.

The third undertaking was to write a research paper—just like in the good old days. Matt decided to build on his previous paper on CPUs and GPUs by incorporating FPGAs. He explored how all three could run in parallel, with each processor assigned duties best suited to its strengths rather than running the same thread simultaneously. He formulated a hypothesis and dove headfirst into a literature review: reading and summarizing multiple academic papers, appraising their merits, and conferring about several with his PhD advisor, Dave. To keep himself accountable, he set aside eight to ten o'clock every weekday morning specifically for this work.

Although Ryan had already identified the problem, I asked Matt to walk me through the fix. I was finally feeling competent with my new laptop until it was upgraded from Windows 10 to 11—and everything changed. Matt stepped right up, directing me to update my BIOS, install Lenovo updates, configure my fingerprint reader, add my camera app, and determine whether my hardware supported facial recognition (it didn't). I was apprehensive about tackling these updates on my own, so having him guide me was not only a relief but also a meaningful opportunity to hand the tech baton back to him.

Months later, in January 2022, my computer files were peppered with red flags warning that I had exceeded OneDrive’s free storage limit, along with relentless reminders to upgrade to a paid subscription. Matt swiftly determined the root cause: Windows 11 had quietly set OneDrive as the standard storage path, rapidly eating up my free cloud allocation. Once we disabled the auto-sync setting, the red flags disappeared. In sync, bit by bit, Matt was reclaiming his identity—not just as someone who receives care, but as the capable, trusted expert who solves problems for others.

Next, Matt enrolled in an MIT online class—Practical Programming in C—complete with lecture notes for fourteen sessions, homework, lab assignments, and a final project. His siblings saw this as the ultimate benchmark, a way to answer the lingering question: was there real substance behind Matt’s bravado? He maintained that he knew his stuff, but offered no proof. From our perspective, the basic principles were simply no longer at his fingertips.

Less than a quarter of the way through the syllabus, his interest waned and then fizzled altogether. But as his mother, I held to a unique metric: nothing ventured, nothing gained. At least for a short span, the coursework engaged his brain in demanding new ways—even as it quietly revealed that his cognitive endurance still had a way to go.

Where the MIT syllabus’s open-ended demands had drained his intellectual bandwidth, Codecademy’s bite-sized, interactive lessons told a different story. Since starting on the platform eighteen months earlier, Matt had advanced from C++ to Java and was far more adept at coding and solving tough problems. He still made frequent errors and occasionally peeked at solution clues, but his stamina was undeniably growing. Some days, he persevered for up to an hour to complete a task. Beyond programming logic, Codecademy offered an added bonus: every session served as a multi-layered workout for his mental processing speed, visual scanning, and typing skills.

A recurring theme at home was how to tap into his innate passion and initiative—qualities that had always been his hallmark. If the engineering track he had chosen last year was no longer appealing, what did he think would spark his interest? Matt quickly perked up, eager to voice a long-held pet peeve: what had been a single-semester course at Bucknell University was split into two terms at Lafayette College. He envisioned combining them into a unified seminar on Cores and Multiple Threads.

This proved to be the winning ticket. By mid-March 2022, Matt was deeply committed, and the momentum was palpable. He dove into online research, watched technical videos, and created lecture slides, eagerly sharing updates with me as his enthusiasm surged. He carefully tracked the breakthroughs that emerged over the past four years since his brain injury. Within several months, he had prepared fifteen complete PowerPoint lectures and presented them to Dave.

However, as the weeks passed, Matt arrived at their meetings increasingly unprepared. Because I was no longer acting as the gatekeeper, their time together naturally shifted from formal engineering discussions to general socializing. Dave tried to generate new academic prompts, but that really wasn't his responsibility. Lacking the self-awareness to appreciate the immense time and dedication Dave was donating, Matt let the routine slip, and eventually their weekly sessions ended.

No one could replace Dave—he will always be remembered as a dedicated mentor and a steadfast friend. Yet, as so often happened throughout Matt’s recovery, when one avenue closed, a new one opened. His Aunt Beth stepped in to help him polish his delivery so it resonated better with students and to explore ways to integrate media such as YouTube or Matt's own library of twenty-five instructional videos. Remarkably, it was the first time since his accident that Matt took notes during their planning meetings—a critical skill returning to his toolkit. Although he didn’t quite cross the finish line—stopping before developing the homework and lab assignments—it stood as his greatest academic achievement, forged against seemingly impossible odds.

© 2026, Sarah Watkins