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It encourages me to hear how Matt’s story motivates others to persevere—to keep believing. For example, in a Facebook update on April 3, 2020, I shared that Matt had walked the neighborhood’s 1¼-mile loop—outpacing me for the first time. Mike’s physical therapy colleague noted that Matt’s ongoing progress has challenged him to “advocate for patients with involved conditions to keep up the good fight.” For us, it was a timely reminder that his future success is not guaranteed and will not be handed to him on a silver platter. We must resolve to never give up and continually expand Matt’s involvement in everyday life as we prepare for his yet-to-be-determined future landscape.
Multitasking and recall were peeking out after a long hibernation. When asked for options for a particular request, e.g., “What would you like for your birthday?” Matt provided three ideas and reiterated them a few days later. He could brew a cup of tea while preparing his oatmeal, or make pancakes and bacon, or meat with a vegetable. However, while making scrambled eggs for the first time in ages, he could not coordinate cooking sausage links. His skills were far beyond rusty—in fact, they hit a bizarre snag. Bypassing the frying pan entirely, he whipped the eggs and then cooked them right inside the same metal mixing bowl, set directly on the stove burner.
We urged and pestered Matt to adopt checklists to compensate for his lagging memory—a necessary strategy that stood in stark contrast to our son of old, who had competently managed technology in one hand while clinging to pen and paper in the other. Before the injury, his desk had been neatly organized with small scraps of paper containing notes and larger checklists. The refrigerator had simultaneously been a gathering place for a partial grocery list and an inventory of freezer contents, some already marked off. Now, those habits had vaporized. Efforts to revive these strategies for reinforcing daily routines—such as taking his medicine and flossing his teeth—were implemented alongside household obligations such as vacuuming, dusting, and cleaning the bathroom. Leaving reminders around the house in hopes that he would pay attention was even less effective. Alas, rebuilding consistency was elusive; whether writing or doing, it was a slow go.
Yet there were banner days. Notably, in late July, while Mike and I were at work, he not only completed everything on his list but also cleaned the stove and counters and vacuumed the couch cushions. Home alone with an unusually long task log, Matt did not slack off—he finished it all. He did the seven-minute workout, utilized the rowing machine, completed speech homework, practiced computer coding, piano, and typing, hosted a Zoom meeting, and, for pleasure, read a book and watched The Price is Right. Upon our return, we were deeply impressed—and equally proud and hopeful about what this accomplishment represented.
Matt frequently helped me in the kitchen. He started with simple French toast and advanced to waffles made with multiple components, which required some guidance to find the oddball ingredient. When he asked questions, he followed my instructions easily: “Get out the step stool, take it to the corner cupboard, and find the cornmeal on the top shelf.” I got to sit in the living room and read a book—a rare treat.
As summer marched steadily onward, we canned five half-pint jars of hot-and-spicy pepper relish with homegrown vegetables. Matt chose two of his favorite recipes, made a shopping list, and did his best to find the items in the store himself. Occasionally, I pointed him in the right direction. The first meal he tackled was a “One Pan, Two Dish” chicken dinner. Next up was pork chili.
The back deck was our playground, too. One Friday, we smoked two good-sized pork butts. I did the rub; he made the BBQ sauce and fired up the smoker. Although he needed frequent prompts to keep the temperature at 250 degrees for the seven-hour cook, he did a yeoman’s job pulling the pork for a solid hour. The yield was enough for our family vacation and six frozen meals for the three of us when the snow fell—a scrumptious reflection of a hot August barbecue. Our next foray was smoked beef brisket and a rack of ribs. This time, Matt was entirely on top of his game. It was by far the easiest time I’ve ever had smoking meat, and it was delicious to boot.
Not every interaction or household exchange was rosy. While Matt was generally agreeable and accepting of indoor responsibilities, he was far less accommodating when it came to outdoor chores. First, he gently resisted, then he adamantly drew a line in the sand, flatly refusing my request to rake leaves. When pushed, his newfound defense mechanism was to shut down: “Fine, ignore me. I’m a complete failure.” I wouldn’t let him get away with using that as an escape hatch. The third time it happened, I insisted, telling him plainly that he didn’t have special dispensation from yardwork. He was part of this family; we shared the labor, and doing his part was ultimately essential preparation for living independently. Beyond his normal tasks, Mike further challenged him to broaden his awareness: “Be more observant, see a need, and do something about it.”
Although I continued to recommend a variety of home-brewed exercises, Matt increasingly refused. Other than his daily seven-minute workout, he put up a fierce fight. If I insisted he do his core or balance routines, he would explode: “This is stupid! This is not helping me in any way!” or “Yes, mom, I’ll do it, MOM, just because you say so.” No matter how many different approaches I used to explain the rationale and purpose behind them, it rarely altered his opinion.
Hence, I expanded our repertoire of functional activities to build his stamina and grit. At least some were successful, given our nose-to-nose confrontation over raking. Maybe it simply depended on his mood, how the request was phrased, or his dislike of a specific task.
We moved on to stacking two cords of chopped firewood, which had been ordered and dumped at the head of the driveway. You have no idea how much wood that is until you see the dauntingly humongous pile that has to be loaded into a wheelbarrow, schlepped across the uneven lawn, and lined up in neat, stable rows. Matt had no complaints and did an awesome job. Seriously, he was a tremendous asset. He rolled eight wheelbarrow loads, bending, lifting, loading, stacking, and repeatedly walking across the yard before he got tired. It took three days, with backup from Mike in the evenings. Motivation may have been the key; Matt relished, even enjoyed, being the fire-master, ensuring we stayed toasty warm on long winter nights.
Deserved, yes, though there was no rest for the weary. Finally, in September, a window of opportunity opened. The three of us headed back to Easton, Pennsylvania, one last time to say farewell to Matt’s pride and joy—no longer his home or his future—to retrieve his furniture and a pyramid of boxes. We paid a visit to a former Lafayette College colleague who had been closely following Matt’s accomplishments, and stopped at Weyerbacher Brewery, of course, to stock up one last time. Unfortunately, health restrictions kept us from walking around the Lafayette campus, and Weyerbacher lacked its usual ambiance and jovial crowd.
Gloriously, the new owners’ kindness and thoughtfulness overwhelmed us. Before we even showed up, they had retrieved Matt’s numerous possessions from the basement and moved everything into the garage. Since our house couldn’t hold all of his worldly possessions, we packed the Penske truck strategically, loading the boxes designated for storage into the very back, then the items for our home. Seeing our waning energy, the new owners came to our rescue and helped us finish packing. The move was an old-fashioned workout. Seeing Matt pitch in right alongside the rest of us—hoisting boxes and pausing periodically to take delight in his life’s accumulations—was a true manifestation of his recovery. With Mike driving the truck and me following in the car, a four-hour trek finally brought us home late that night.
On Sunday, we moved items into our garage, and on Monday, Matt, Aunt Sue, a neighbor, and I spent the morning cramming everything else into a five-by-ten-foot storage unit and quickly slamming the door shut. Back home, boxes cluttered the garage, waiting patiently to be absorbed within. Mike and I cleared out Matt’s room and moved his bedroom set in—the one he had meticulously searched for and had proudly bragged about. He smiled and cheered exuberantly, recognizing that this physical piece of his identity, reclaimed from his "ghost life," would be a living testament uniting his fractured past with the here and now.
Calendars, Banks, and Bills, Oh My! Matt’s financial world was expanding far beyond the initial handwritten checks he had practiced six months earlier. With steady practice, he was gaining operational proficiency. He added events to his Google Calendar and to the family calendar hanging on the bulletin board. He paid bills online with PayPal or a credit card, independently balancing his checkbook while I peeked over his shoulder, just to be sure. As with the previous Christmas, he ordered, wrapped, and surprised his siblings and parents with thoughtful, sometimes unusual, gifts.
He did incrementally better at remembering how to log in to his professional websites, such as IEEE, and at navigating the correct links to update his profile and pay the annual membership dues. Matt even made phone calls with his financial adviser without a go-between. We were thrilled when this gentleman reported how much better Matt's speech had become, noting that he was actively asking questions and expressing clear preferences regarding his investment strategies.
And the “crème de la crème”: One evening, Mike was stymied trying to recall a famous motto often mistakenly attributed to Churchill, which Matt instantly supplied: “Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.” While credit for that sharp observation actually belongs to Lord Acton in 1887, Mike is far from the first or last person to make that mix-up.
Pause and consider the complex mental choreography this exchange required of Matt. He had to listen to Mike’s search for information while simultaneously scanning his long-term memory, connecting the dots, and verbalizing an intricate string of words without "glitching." These exciting glimpses into the workings of Matt’s mind did far more than show his progress; they reassured us that our painstaking efforts were truly moving the needle forward
© 2026, Sarah Watkins
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