It was unusual– unheard of, for our eldest son Matt to miss our Sunday evening family chat. Every Sunday like clockwork, my husband Mike and I, and our three adult children–Matt, Ryan, and Megan--catch up on each other’s lives via Google Chat. It is one way we have remained close despite the miles that separate us. In addition, and even more uncharacteristic, Matt missed wishing his brother Ryan a happy birthday that day too. 

We knew that he had been attending a professional conference in Ireland. He had given a presentation on his recent research and had plans to pack in some sightseeing. To the best of our collective knowledge, he was supposed to have returned home several days ago. Were we mistaken? Was he just busy? Did he forget? Unlikely, but these were the questions and thoughts that went through our minds. Mike expressed fear that there may be something really wrong–something related to a rare brain anomaly (AVM)* that Matt was diagnosed with just a few years prior. He suggested we call a neighbor to check on Matt.  But then we wondered: Were we simply overreacting? After all, Matt was a busy, 34-year-old university professor with a full life outside of work. 

After some discussion, Mike and I agreed to wait until Monday morning to call him again, and if that didn’t work, we would call the university to verify that he had shown up to teach his first class, and if not, to clarify his trip itinerary.  Mike was assigned this task. When I did not receive any news by ten o’clock the next day, I texted Mike for an update. He had been unable to reach Matt or anyone in the Engineering department where Matt worked. Mike indicated he was extremely busy at work—he and I were both practicing physical therapists (PT)–and because I had more flexibility in my schedule I took over. After several attempts and no results, I started calling random phone extensions hoping to find someone, or anyone in the building to help.  Eventually, someone, one floor above, picked up and offered to go downstairs and find help. 

No one had seen him.

When very predictable, punctual Matt had not shown up to teach his first class as a professor of electrical and computer engineering at Lafayette College in Easton, Pennsylvania, the department head tried unsuccessfully to reach him by phone. Alarmed, he promptly dispatched two professors to Matt’s house to see if everything was alright. They knocked and looked around the house but got no answer. Upon hearing this news, the department head immediately called the police department and left a message since no one picked up. When I finally spoke to him an hour later, he had yet to receive a response. Thank goodness I had better luck reaching a dispatcher and the police agreed to check Matt’s house and report back. And so, I waited. Forty-five excruciatingly slow minutes later, I received the news that no one, especially a mother, ever wants or expects to hear.  

When the police had gotten no response to knocking, they circled the house, peering in windows for signs of activity. They found Matt lying motionless on the bathroom floor. The police called for an ambulance and broke into the house. As they relayed their findings to me, I could barely listen. My mind was preoccupied with one important question. Is he alive? “Yes,” they replied “He is alive. He is unconscious and his breathing is very shallow.” That was all they could tell me.