I remembered a short while ago that Matt had a Yahoo account. So I hacked into it (not really) and looked at his "sent" folder. Yes, I do feel weird going through his stuff. But I found some notes he sent to himself from his old phone. This is his first memory after his car accident in 2000. I think he wanted to write a book about his recovery, hence the subject line. So here is this little piece I found:
Date: Dec 10, 2009
Colors and shapes faded in and out on a wall full of reminders of the life I once lived. The urge to urinate was at the front of my mind, so I turned to the right, to find my father who was fast asleep in a cot, nestled against the windowthat overlooked a dimly-lit parking lot.
I called out to him, "dad." but a weak jumble of sound was all that came out.
I decided to let him sleep and shoved the bedsheet to the left as I slid my right foot to the side of the bed. I snapped the safety gate down, which awoke my dad. As my right foot landed on the cold floor, my father said "Matt, wait!." while he ran out the the room calling for help, I swung my left leg off the edge of the bed. I held on to the bed for a moment to allow myself to get oriented.
I let go of the bed and crumbled to the floor.
My father and a women ran to me, lifted me up and walked me to the bathroom, where I sat on the cold toilet seat. After urinating, I was helped back to my bed.
On the way to the bed, I passed a full mirror and saw a reflection that wasn't mine. It looked like a shell of a young man. His face appeared to be sunken in, blotchy, and his once perfect hair was lopsided. His long legs were lke the legs of a spider and his arms were like two twigs. It was me.
in my neck, there was a hole with a clamp. I touched it. Somehow I knew something happened to me, but I had no idea what caused me to be the stranger I saw in the mirror.
I was abruptly awoken early the following morning by my parents. I wished I could sleep more, but a woman in her twenties steppped out from the hall and said good morning.
I smiled as she introduced herself and walked over to my bedside. She helped me to the shower, where I undressed and was seated on a wheelchair.
the shower started and as I began to wash myself, embarrassment flooded my mind as the women helped wash my frail body.
Under normal circumstances I wouldve loved the position I was in, but the formerly smooth guy with the muscular body and perfect hair didn't exist. I hardly had the strength to lift my arms. How did I get here?
-- Sent from my Palm Pre