During this period of preparation, with one foot firmly planted in the ICU and the other aiming for the door, we did our best to connect with Matt. We didn’t just hang out in his room reading quietly or conversing among ourselves, or worse yet, crying uncontrollably without cease. We believed that engaging Matt in the process of living would help him fight his way out of the coma-abyss and later maximize his recovery. We started small and progressed as he was able.  Family members took turns sitting at his bedside, holding his hand, and filling the space with familiar voices—speaking to him as well as including him in group conversations.  We talked about our busy days, his house, what the latest doctor had said, or gave updates on friends and relatives. Mike even ribbed him about how much work it was to keep his grass mown while in the same breath commenting that he was jealous of Matt’s lush lawn.

Ryan set up Matt’s iPod and portable speakers to play his favorite music artists and showed the nurses how to use them.  On occasions, at night we turned on the TV to watch a soccer game, a show he liked, or Dancing with the Stars. He wasn’t necessarily a fan of the later show, but he did like to ballroom dance, so we went with that common interest, and in all honesty, it just served as a distraction.

Occasionally, I brought in thank you notes to write, and in the process, told Matt about the kind and compassionate words and acts that kept pouring in. We came to learn how much the students and faculty valued and missed him at college, and we tried to encourage him with that knowledge. On several occasions, Megan commented that it was a shame that one often doesn’t realize how much others appreciate them, or value their contributions until they’ve taken a job elsewhere, or in Matt’s case, calamity strikes.

From near and far away, friends and family came to see Matt. Visiting Matt took courage. He was but a mere shell, and a battered-up one at that, of the man they knew, loved, and respected. Some hesitated or held back initially, others choked up, and a few unabashedly broke down and cried–-but all were equally crest-fallen and deflated at the overwhelming odds against him. We gave them the latest update on Matt’s condition; they expressed their concerns and offered prayers. For brief moments our foreboding was camouflaged reminiscing about times spent with Matt or our family–-yet only too quickly melancholy and morose seeped back into the room as people said their goodbyes. Their presence, and willingness to see Matt in his current state, was an indication of the strength of their relationship, and the ties that bind us together. And perhaps, just perhaps in the process, our chatter engaged Matt’s subconscious–-like an unborn child responding to voices and noises in his environment–-and gave him the will to live.