Fast forward four years to Megan’s birth. At eight-years-old Matt pampered his new sister and protectively watched over her. So much so that his Aunt Debbie chastised him for limiting her ability to spend time with her new niece. Our children forged a strong bond at an early age. Matt expressed his love for Ryan and Megan through the many ways he cared for them—holding their hand to cross a busy street, doing funny things to make them laugh, and comforting them when hurt. 

They enjoyed playing outside and often the neighborhood children joined in. Matt dragged the kids around on a tarp filled with raked leaves, helped them sled down our side hill, pushed them on a swing, and helped them across the monkey bars. When Megan and her friends were too small, he lifted them to the zipline or caught them as they came flying down. Often, the three of them rode their bikes around the neighborhood. They had epic water balloon and Super Soakers fights, shot hoops, played Spud, Running Bases, wiffleball, and just plain had fun. 

Our family supported each other. Together, we attended soccer games, school plays, band concerts, and award ceremonies. They wanted to be there. Family routines and traditions grounded our family: evening meals, carving pumpkins, cutting down our own Christmas tree, and decorating Easter eggs. During the annual Easter egg hunt, Matt respectfully left the easy eggs to be found by his younger siblings. A necessary lesson he had to learn though, was that when debating Ryan, he didn’t always have to be right or have the final say. He could let his brother win now and then on a topic that ultimately was of little consequence.

When he was in middle school, the two days a week that Mike and I both worked, Matt willingly took on the responsibility of watching his siblings after school and had dinner ready upon our arrival. He was always available to answer questions and help them with homework.

Ryan and Megan have always held him in high regard, and more so with the passage of time. They knew that he was dependable and worthy of their trust. Matt was never embarrassed or ashamed to be around his younger siblings. Matt earned their respect because he respected and valued them as individuals. 

Midnight and a commotion in the hallway wrenched me back to the hospital room and my memories vanished.  My saviors were here—Mike, Megan, and Ben had finally arrived! I fell into their arms and drew strength from their mere presence. Grateful that I no longer had to bear this heartache alone, it saddened me that more of my loved ones were about to see Matt this way—in his alien form with his hopeless prognosis.  Once they entered his room, they would not be able to deny or escape this nightmare. Inconsolably we wept; resisted and denied this drastic, unfathomable calamity; and wrestled with the unimaginable—life without Matt. 

Vigilantly, the four of us stayed through the night taking turns to catch a few hours of sleep. The staff was very attentive to Matt and our needs. They continued to report that Matt had extensive, massive, irreparable bleeding in the brain with absolutely no expectation of a meaningful recovery. The physician assistant from neurosurgery projected that if we kept Matt alive that perhaps, after 18 months of intensive rehab, he might be able to blink his eyes or squeeze our hands as a means of communication. We didn’t want that life for Matt. Every possible outcome conveyed to us was hopeless and catastrophic. 

Ryan and Corinne’s arrival early the next morning united our family. Ryan almost passed out upon seeing Matt’s lifeless, unrecognizable body. Both Ryan and Megan were distraught having to see their big brother, mentor, and guardian reduced to this—let alone contemplate what this all meant. They hovered at arm’s length, uncertain how to interact, perhaps clinging to a childhood belief that what they didn’t touch wasn’t real.  When Megan and Ryan finally bridged the distance, they reached out to Matt and told him what a great brother and role model he has been, expressing all their admiration and love. They sat close to his bed quietly talking to him, holding a hand, or rubbing his arm—tender, bittersweet moments that warmed and broke my heart.