Matthew M Cornett

Tag: life

  • “Time After Time”

    Growing up, we always hear that time seems to move so much faster the older we get. If you’re like me, you never believed it until you experienced it. 

    I remember hearing “old” people say it back then but it never made sense to me. When I was a kid, summer break felt like an eternity. I remember going back to school in August feeling like I hadn’t seen my friends in forever but in reality, it had only been a couple months. I read somewhere that the passage of time seems so much longer to children only because they have experienced so little of it. That makes sense and explains why their perception of it is different, which in turn, explains why that perception shifts the older we get. I guess after 53 summers you’ve “been there and done that” and they all start to blend together.

    But time doesn’t move faster or slower. It’s a constant and it’s only our perception of it that gives us those feelings. But every once in a while something hits you right in the face with it all and you ask yourself where did it all go? Yesterday my sister in law sent me an old photo she found of me, my nephews, and my son from the summer of 2006, 19 years ago! The six of us were riding a rollercoaster at Dollywood. As I looked at it the first thought I had was “Man, I’d be so sick if I was on that right now” but then another thought hit me hard. The boys in that photo were between the ages of 8 and 15. Heck, I was 34 years old! Where did that time go? They are all grown, amazing men now between the ages of 27 and 34. My oldest nephew is the same age I was riding that rollercoaster. What in the world??? Where did that time go?

    I have said this time and time again. Most of us just don’t truly see the significance of things until it is too late and hospice reinforced that to me daily. In the 14th chapter of my book If We Never Meet Again, I wrote about this very thing. In that chapter, I met a broken man, not much older than me, who was about to lose his wife not much older than my own. It’s a story that had its twists and turns that ended with her passing away before we could even help her. The last time I talked to him I told him that if he or his daughter needed anything to just reach out. His response was “I appreciate all you tried to do. But it don’t matter now.” 

    When it came time to pick a song for that chapter, there was only one choice: Cyndi Lauper’s “Time After Time.” I have always loved that song. I remember the girl who lived across the street from us had the cassette tape. I would go over to her house, and we’d shoot hoops and sit on her  back porch and listen to music. I’ve always had a melancholy side to me even as a kid and I loved how that song was both beautiful and sad, inspiring yet a little depressing at the same time. I’m sure I didn’t understand the bittersweet appeal of the song then as much as I do now but I really likes it even as a kid. 

    If you get a chance, go to Youtube and watch “Time After Time-Cyndi Lauper: Music Production Breakdown.” The first thing the guy mentions is that the rhythm part of the song made up of a kick drum and Cabasa. The cabasa is reminiscent of a ticking clock and the kick drum sounds like a beating heart. Let that sink in.

    The guitar begins and she sings “Lying in my bed, I hear the clock tick and think of you.” Honestly, there really was no other song that could have worked for the chapter. It ultimately reminds us that time moves on and there’s nothing we can do about it. 

    But what has always blown my mind about the song is how there is still hope and comfort even in the midst of such sadness:

    If you’re lost, 

    you can look, 

    and you will find me

    Time after time

    If you fall

    I will catch you

    I’ll be waiting

    Time after time

    Yes, time moves on and yes, there is pain, but as long as we have the people we love, we can make it. But what if those people are gone? For me, the lyrics still work, because we have those memories. I lost one of my childhood and teenage friends to cancer way too soon. But every once in a while, I think about him and yes, it makes me a little sad, but it also brings a smile to my face too. The thought that the ones we love will still be with us even if it’s only in our memories is sadly comforting to me and I hope it can be for you too. 

    If you still have those people in your life, cherish them each and every day because you don’t know how much longer you will have them.

    I guarantee that husband and everyone else who has lost someone that they love would tell you the exact same thing. 

  • Stay Gold

    I’m sure at some point every generation has said this, but if I hear that “these kids today are worse than they have ever been,” the Kentucky boy in me just might have to make an appearance. Seriously. It’s getting old and honestly, that comment is only a reflection of yourself. I know that sounds harsh but it’s the truth.

    The problem, and the worst thing that any adult working with children can do, is to forget. When we forget, we make assumptions that those kids are there for the same reasons we are when the fact is they are not. We have different priorities than they do and that’s just a fact. We want them to learn while they just want to have fun. But you don’t remember that for some reason, do you?

    Be honest with yourself for a moment. When you were their age, what was the last thing you were interested in? I know that when I was in high school, the last thing I cared about was what was going on in the English classroom, except for maybe the girls across the room. Grammar? Boring. Literature? It wasn’t anything I wanted to read, so again, boring. And writing? Ugh. None of it appealed to me but I did enough of what I needed to do to keep the teacher and my parents off my back. I would have much rather been hanging out with my friends, listening to my music, or honestly anything other than what my English teacher wanted me to do. 

    So why is it that when kids act and feel the same way we did, we say “these kids are terrible and worse than ever?” What makes them so terrible? The fact that they are just like you were? It goes back to my point: that we forget what it was like and when we do that, it shades all of our interactions with them and they know it. They can feel it from you and it’s damaging to the learning environment.

    Now, ask yourself, what could have made that classroom a little better for you, if anything? I’m not saying I have the answers but maybe we as the adults can do something different. For one, we can at least act like we want them to be there. I like my students, no matter how idiotic and goofy they can be. Trust me, them saying “67” every time they turn around could be so much worse. They could be saying some of the more inappropriate things we used to say. At least they’re just being goofy kids, which is what they are. Take my advice: jump in there and be just as silly from time to time even if you are the butt of the joke. They will see a whole different side of you and it may impact that classroom for the better.

    Also, remember this. Most of the stuff we want them to do is completely boring to them. Being bored with our stuff doesn’t make them the morons you think they are. It makes them kids and as the adult in the room, you need to find ways to make it connect with them. If you can’t, you’ll only compound the problem. Never change the learning priorities but at least try to make it fun and be the idiot who tries to connect with them. Build a relationship with them and have fun doing it. Trust me: they get so much of the opposite from other adults, at least they’ll be slightly entertained as you are trying to teach them and that connection will pay off, I promise. 

    One of my favorite poems by EE Cummings says (technical errors intended if you know anything about him as a poet:

    Children guessed(but only a few

    And down they forgot as up they grew

    That’s one of the saddest lines ever to me. It reminds me that we are cursed to forget as we grow up and that just stinks. That breaks my heart for them and for us as adults but what can we do? I say fight it. As Johnny told Ponyboy and our generation: “Stay gold.” I really do believe that’s the key. 

    These kids are worth it. And you are too.

  • Beautiful Son

    Beautiful Son

    When my son was born, he had colic. It was the summer of 1998. I was teaching full time and in Grad School getting my MA in English. If you know anything about colic, you know that he cried. All the time. Nonstop. But you couldn’t get upset at him because you knew the poor guy felt terrible. For some reason though, he bonded with me. If he was crying, I would take him, do my “don’t cry little bubbie” walking bounce, and he would stop. It worked every single time. Even when his mom tried to take him in the middle of the night, he would cry and cry. I would finally come get him and he would stop. There was no sense in both of us losing sleep.

    I don’t know how I made it that Fall semester. I must have looked like walking death with the lack of sleep I had for those first few months of his life, but looking back now, I wouldn’t trade those late nights for anything. The older I get, the more my mind goes back to those kinds of things: the beauty of watching your little girl sing and dance to her favorite Disney Sing Alongs, playing video games in the basement with your son for hours on end, or watching your young wife walk ahead of you on the beach with both kids on either side hand in hand. Those and a thousand other memories live on in my mind and come back now to make me smile, admittedly a little sadly, but not in a bad way. They come back to remind me of the life I’ve lived and that’s how I know I’ve been blessed.

    But that’s what made Mr. DeMarco’s story break my heart. People often ask me which was the hardest story to write or which one was the saddest. It’s a toss up between three of them and Mr. Demarco gets one of the votes. He was a New York transplant who had an amazing New York accent. I met him because he looked my company up on the internet. Sadly, he had recently buried his own son who had passed from cancer and he was looking to donate the hospital bed. When I met him at his son’s apartment a few days later you could tell he was hurting. But for some reason, donating that bed was something he needed to do. We loaded it into my truck and I made a promise to him that it would go to a good cause. 

    When it came time to write that story and pick a song for Mr. Demarco’s chapter, I chose the song “Beautiful Son” by Without Gravity. It’s a gorgeous acoustic guitar driven song that captures a magical sense of ethereal melancholy, perfect for listening to during a low key drive on a lazy afternoon. As I wrote in my book If We Never Meet Again, “When I added it to my favorite song playlist years ago it was because it reminded me of my own son. But now when I listen to it I also think about Mr. Demarco and his son I never knew.  

    Where have you gone? 

    What have you done,

    My beautiful son. 

    Where have you gone? 

    What have I done?

    I used to listen to it and think about my own son growing up, not that it was his fault. It’s just what happened but there was always a tint of sadness to it for me. But now when I listen to it I can only see that sorrowful father wondering what he was going to do.”

    The last time I talked to Mr. Demarco, I asked if he was gonna be alright. He said “Yeah. I’ll get there. Someday.” I concluded the chapter with “At some point, we all have to deal with loss. There’s no right way or wrong way and it’s different for everyone. For some reason, making sure that bed was used again and not just tossed away meant something to him and I’m glad I could help with that. I can only hope in some small way it helped that man begin to cope and that someday he does get there, wherever that may be.”

    Honestly, I can’t imagine the pain of burying your own child. I know people who have had to do it and it breaks my heart for them. I just pray that the good and beautiful memories of those children eventually overtake the long lasting horror of losing them. 

    Someone once said that grief is the price we pay for love. I truly wish it wasn’t. But if we live long enough, we will all face that reality. Do me a favor. If you know someone who has gone through something like Mr. Demarco did, reach out to them and let them know you are thinking about them. You never know what difference it might make for them today. 

  • Slip Sliding Away

    You never really know what someone could be going through. 

    If hospice taught me anything, that’s one of the more powerful lessons I learned early on and one that has stuck with me. When you see firsthand what some people go through when losing a loved one, it affects you and opens your eyes. You begin to see things differently. Just the other day, I stopped at McDonalds to get a drink and noticed an older lady eating by herself. My immediate thought was why is she alone? Did she lose someone and now she has to come here all by herself? Before working in hospice, I probably wouldn’t have even noticed and gone on with my life. But there I was wondering if I should risk looking like a weirdo and say hello or just move along. After all, maybe she needed the peace and quiet of eating alone and I was just making a bigger deal than I should. At least that’s what I told myself as I simply got my drinks and walked out to my truck. 

    The point is, we never know. My cousin posted something this morning that said “We’re all just one accident, one diagnosis, one unexpected phone call from a different life. Stay humble and don’t take anything for granted.” But that’s the problem…we do take it all for granted, don’t we? We go about our lives and don’t give a second thought to those kinds of things until it’s too late. I’m not saying we should go around gloom and doom all the time, but maybe taking a moment every once in a while to remind ourselves what’s really important could be beneficial. There’s a fine line there and we need to learn to navigate it.

    Music helps me do that. I’ve talked about this before, but that’s why I like sad songs. They are cathartic for me and remind me how good things actually are. Take Paul Simon’s “Slip Sliding Away.” Talk about a depressing song. It’s about three people-a husband, a wife, and a father, all of  whom see their lives “Slip Sliding Away.” Oh, and by the way- the one and only Oak Ridge Boys actually sang backup on it! Go read about it! It’s on “My Favorite Songs” playlist and has been since the first iteration of the list. When the main hook is“The nearer your destination, the more you’re slip sliding away,” you know you’re dealing with some heavy stuff. So why? Am I just masochistic? Or is there something more there?   

    In chapter ten of my book If We Never Meet Again, I wrote about a woman who was not exactly the happiest woman I’ve ever met and even her granddaughters admitted as much, but as I learned a little more about her story, it all started to make sense. She lost her husband early in their marriage during WWII and never remarried. One afternoon I was driving out in the country and the song came on. I listened to the first verse and the chorus without batting an eye. But when it got to the second verse it hit me.

    I know a woman became a wife

    These are the very words she uses to describe her life

    She said, “A good day ain’t got no rain”

    She said, “A bad day’s when I lie in bed

    And think of things that might have been”

    As I began to reflect on the lyrics after she had passed, it hit me. Later, I wrote about that moment: “I have always taken that part to be about a lonely wife unsatisfied with her marriage but in that moment, those lines spoke differently to me. I imagined all of the memories and emotion she must have lived through daily; images of a young couple in the 1940’s and their desperate love caught up such in a turbulent time; images of him heroically dying for his country somewhere in the South Pacific; images of her falling to her knees after being told of his death. Yes it was long ago, and yes she was able to move on and create an amazing life for her daughter and eventually her granddaughters, but those memories were still there, underneath the surface of all of that, seemingly eating away at her daily.” I concluded: “Honestly, I don’t know if we ever get over anything. We move on and we cope, but the pain of loss is always there just waiting at a moment’s notice. I’ve heard some sad love stories in my lifetime, but for some reason the one I’ve had to imagine has stayed with me to this day.”

    For me, when I listen to this song, yes it reminds me of how bad things could be and that makes me stop and think, but more importantly, it reminds me how good I’ve really got it. Sure, I’ve gone through things but comparatively? I don’t have anything to complain about. In fact, I need to be thankful for what I’ve had and what I’ve still got each and every day. 

    That’s why the Greeks liked Tragedy so much. Not because they were masochistic, but because it reminded them how good they had it and to be thankful for every day that was “slip sliding away” whether they wanted it to or not. Like Paul Simeon said, “We work our jobs, collect our pay, believe we’re gliding down the highway when in fact we’re slip sliding away.”

    That fact is inevitable. What is not, is the ability to recognize that and value each and every moment before they are gone. It’s all about a mindset and I’m thankful for the people in my life who have taught me that.

  • More Than A Feeling

    One of my favorite episodes of the X Files is “Clyde Bruckman’s Final Repose.” It’s about a man who can supposedly tell how someone is going to die and Mulder and Scully work with him to try to catch a serial killer who is fascinated with his own future. There’s a moment when Mr. Bruckman and Mulder are standing in the apartment of a murdered woman who collected dolls and Bruckman delivers the following lines:

    “Why does anyone do the things that they do? Why do I sell insurance? I wish I knew. Why did this woman collect dolls? What was it about her life? Was it one specific moment where she suddenly said ‘I know…dolls.’ Or was it a whole series of things starting when her parents met that somehow combined in such a way that in the end, she had no choice but to be a doll collector?” 

    That episode always made me wonder, why are we the way we are? Nature? Nurture? A combination of both or the luck or curse of being born in a particular place and time? All of those things fall together and turn us into who we become. I have always been fascinated with the concept and it’s made me do a lot of self reflection. For me, I have always wondered why it is that music has always intrigued me in the way that it does. Many people enjoy listening to music, but for me it’s almost an obsession.  I have always tried to figure out why and I talked about it my book If We Never Meet Again when I said about my childhood:

    “For some reason, I also remember rain. We had this huge front room window and I clearly remember looking out and watching the rain fall on our driveway. I was captivated with the way each drop fell and pooled up around itself. I remember just standing there barely able to see over the ledge, watching, observing, and lost in the fascination of that moment desperately trying to understand what I was witnessing while listening to my mother’s music. It’s that perfect feeling that great music still creates for me even after all these years.”

    When I wrote those lines a year and a half ago, I had an epiphany. Music, like all great art, has the power to move us. For me, it recreates that feeling of being “lost in the fascination of that moment.” Music is emotional resonance, and I can’t imagine living without it. In chapter nine of my book, I met a man who had been doing just that and I was blessed to be part of a special moment in his life that forever changed me.

    Once I had to drive a patient to his new residence. He was forced to move to another assisted living and his only relative lived 20 hours away. I always felt bad for him because he used to just sit in a dark oppressive room always half asleep because of the medication he was on for his brain tumor. My marketer arranged for a company to move his things and I volunteered to drive him. It was a bright, beautiful, South Carolina Spring morning. He sleepily climbed into my truck and we began our morning journey. I asked if he wanted to listen to some music and he basically said “Whatever.” From my book: 

    I scrolled down to my “Classic Rock” playlist, hit shuffle, and then it happened. Boston’s “More than a Feeling” started playing. The slow fade in of the 12 string string playing the opening arpeggio, repeating the pattern, the bass, and then the drums leading into the first verse of the song which I typically took for granted. Mr. Davis sat up, rolled the window down, leaned back again and began to enjoy himself for what I imagine was the first time in a long time. For a man who literally sat in the dark and barely said anything, by the time he sang out “It’s more than a feeling, (More than a Feeling), When I hear that old song they used to play” he was alive in a moment of ecstasy, punctuated with drum fills on his legs. When he finally broke out the air guitar for the solo, he was truly reborn. For the next 45 minutes, through various songs, he sang lyrics that had obviously been etched on his heart the same way they had been on mine. It was a great drive.

    I have been a fan of Boston since I was a four year old kid in my oldest brother’s room listening to their debut album on 8 track cassette back in 1976. I remember holding my brother’s white wooden Wilson brand tennis racquet like it was a guitar and rocking out to sounds none of us had really heard before. If you get a chance, get on Youtube and watch Rick Beato’s “What Makes This Song Great? More Than A Feeling.” He does a far better job than I ever could talking about the genius of Tom Scholz. He even plays an isolated track of Brad Delp’s vocals that will truly blow you away. As Paul Phillips wrote in the comments “No pro tools, no plug-ins, no copy and paste, no samples, no loops, one of the finest compositions ever” and I couldn’t agree more.  

    When I had time to reflect on those moments, I wrote “All we did was drive down the road with the windows down listening to some of the greatest music ever made. It was something so commonplace for me that had been stolen from Mr. Davis by disease and neglect. All it took was a 45 minute drive to reignite that dormant passion. One song in and he was reborn…But ever since then, whenever I roll down the windows and let the music flow over me, I always think of that moment and try to appreciate it like we always should.”

    Do yourself a favor later on today. Go for a drive, roll down the windows, play whatever works for you, and enjoy the moment. Whatever is weighing on you, let it be for just a while. It will still be there later, but for that moment, enjoy. Like Mr. Davis taught me…without those moments, all we have is the dark room of all of our struggles. Sometimes we just need to go outside, roll down the windows, and rock on. 

  • Themes, part 3

    I’m a little weird academically because in a lot of ways I am very traditional but in others, I’m probably a little profane. The other night we went and saw comedian John Crist who had a bit in his show where he talked about having “these thoughts that just pop in out of nowhere.” He gave some funny examples and as we were laughing my wife leaned over and said ‘you do that all the time.” I couldn’t deny it because it’s true. I like trying to think for myself and have no problem asking questions most English teachers wouldn’t. For example, take The Great Gatsby. It’s an amazing work or art and not even his best if you ask me. But if you’ve ever had to study it, inevitably, you came to the discussion about the green light Gatsby sees off in the distance. Much has (deservedly so) been made about that light and what it represents. For me though, I remember thinking “what if the city got a really good deal on green bulbs that year? What if we are making way too much out of this?” I mean, if it had been red, what would we be saying? I’ve always wondered about greatness in the literary world. How much of it is intended and how much is what we make it out to be? I know…I’m not supposed to have those kinds of thoughts but I do. 

    Writing the book If We Never Meet Again was a very interesting experience for me. I can honestly say that there are things I planned and things that just kind of developed as it went. And in retrospect, I do love how it all came together. Honestly, it all started out of me telling stories about the people I encountered in hospice, but as the book began to take shape and grow, it became so much more for me. And the weird thing is how things just fell into place as if they were part of a greater plan all along. There are many things about the book that I love, but the first and biggest hint toward what I feel is a primary theme of the novel is the cover. I even had to fight for it and I’m glad I did because for me, it would be a very different book without that cover.

    On January 6, 2020, at exactly 7:10 am, I took that photo on my phone at Huntington Beach State Park (a little south of Murrells Inlet). That was my first official day of work in the world of hospice. I was staying with my in-laws (we wouldn’t officially move to the area until February 1), got up early before heading to the office, watched the sunrise, and took the photo. I loved it so much, my wife had it enlarged into a canvas that we have in our bedroom. When it came time to design the book cover, I was adamant that it had to be that picture. Initially, my publisher said no because it didn’t have a high enough quality (dpi) to be the cover. They assured me that they could find a similar stock photo but I said nope, did some quick research, and found a site that allowed me to increase the picture quality. I sent them the new version, they said it looked good, and I got what I wanted. 

    Why was it so important? First of all, it’s a sunrise and not a sunset. If it had been the sunset, it would be something totally different. And to be honest, it would have worked given the stories. Perhaps a sunset could have represented our patients and their passing. But that’s not what I intended. I have always said that it’s not a book about death. Yes, that happens a lot in my book but that’s not the focus. For me, the focus is the lives they lived in their final moments and the lessons that they each taught me. I state this pretty clearly at the end:

    “Each of the people on these pages have impacted me in their own unique ways and I will never forget them. While I may have had to change their names and certain identifying characteristics, they are forever imprinted on my soul and have remade me into who I am today. As Dylan once said “He not busy being born is busy dying.” I always liked that line but now I think I finally get it. That’s what this entire experience has been for me (135).” 

    After all, my book is a memoir about the experiences I had and the lessons I learned from the individuals I met in the world of hospice. For me, the book is all about my own “journey of becoming” and rebirth. Yes, the sun eventually sets. But my hope is that the inevitable sunset will always inspire a new sunrise in each of us the way my patients did for me. But that’s only my take on it. And don’t for a second think that I haven’t wondered what if I had got up late that morning and never taken that picture. We would be having a totally different discussion now wouldn’t we? 

  • Themes, part 1

    I went to college at the University of Kentucky from 1990-95 (yes, I was on the five year plan). My major was English Education which allowed me to become a high school teacher for 24 years. The first two years felt like high school part two with a few interesting things thrown in every so often. The high points for me were always the English classes. Reading, writing, thinking about, and discussing literature were the things I enjoyed, although I did have some good History and Philosophy professors too. Math and Science were necessary check boxes and although I still wish I was smarter in those areas to this day, they just never clicked for me. 

    Graduate School was where I really geeked out. It was all literature, all the time but it became much heavier. Back then, you had a week to read the novel, go to the library and check out the research the professor had on hold (yes, internet was relatively new in 1997 so you had to check out a physical copy), familiarize yourself with the research, and be prepared to participate in discussions which were brutal, especially if you weren’t prepared. And trust me: you never really were prepared enough and the professors always knew. Some were more gracious than others and it was tough but I loved it.

    Today, if you google “theme in literature,” AI gives you the classic definition in its overview: “the central idea or underlying message that an author explores throughout a story.” It lists examples such as “love, loss, redemption, power, coming of age, and identity.” If you read some of the greatest books ever written, you can see these kinds of concepts developed throughout. The question is how did they do it? There really are only 3 options: it was either (1) planned all along like a storyboard that becomes fleshed out, (2) it just kind of grows and develops as the writer naturally tells a story, or (3) there’s a mixture of the two. I have a feeling that in most cases it’s the 3rd option (it certainly is for me as a writer) but I’m sure it’s possible that there are some talented people out there who plan it all out and then simply execute. 

    For me, I like to see where it goes. Yes, I have a general concept or even a plan when I first start out but then I go where it takes me. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t, which is where revision comes into play. I learned this when I was writing my MA Thesis at the end of Grad School. I remember coming up with the concept, talking to my professor, and then going off for two weeks to write what would become the second chapter. I “finished” it, gave it to him, and then came back about a week later to hear his accolades for my work. I can still hear Dr. Hill in his quirky little voice saying “Well, Mr. Cornett, this is a good start to what will be a fine chapter.” I remember thinking, “Start? What the heck is he talking about?” I called my wife on my Unidon Brick cellphone with the retractable antenna and said “I don’t know what this man wants from me! I can’t do this.” She calmed me down, told me to read his comments and go from there. I went to the library, sat in my usual spot on the fourth floor, and realized that he was right. I wasn’t seeing the bigger picture, and I am proud to say that with his guidance, I was able to create something that went somewhere I never intended and I am truly proud of it. Ever since then, that has been my approach. Plan things out the best you can, execute that plan, but allow for the twists and turns to take you where it is meant to go. Sometimes you just have to get out of the way.  

    My initial plan with If We Never Meet Again was to collect the stories that people seemed to love to hear me tell. Moving from High School English Teacher to Hospice Associate Administrator doesn’t seem like a typical career path and trust me, that was never the plan. Whenever I would go home, people would always be interested in my new job, and I was always ready with a great story about typical hospice stuff completely foreign to most people. The more stories I told, the more people seemed intrigued. Little by little, the idea of the book began to take shape. Eventually, I had a plan and I went with it but it took me to a place I never intended. 

    More on that next week.