12/24/07 2:48 PM
At 5:30 this morning, the love of my life and reason for living, the mother of my children, Deborah Shirl Lomax Colón, had an epileptic seizure. She then went into full cardiac arrest. Despite vigorous efforts by paramedics, my beautiful wife passed away.
I love her more than life. She loved me as I was, flaws and all. She was, IS, a gift from Jehovah to me. She gave me two beautiful sons, and the best years of my life.
She believed deeply in the Resurrection, and it is my hope to see her again.
I love you Debbie, my sweet.
This is how it began. With this e-mail to the world, I announced the most horrible day of my life. The day my Angel died. The day I died. I blame myself. Plenty of others blamed me too. But that's a discussion for another posting. I promise I will elaborate. But this blog is more for me than for any of you, so I need time to work through things.
We live near the World Trade Center. On 9/11/01, I was freelancing at the Long Island Rail Road headquarters in Jamaica, Queens, miles from Lower Manhattan. My oldest son, 6 at the time, went to school 2 blocks from there. My wife was often shopping in the promenade of the Twin Towers. I thought my family died that day. It took me 7 hours to get home. I had not been right in the head since.
Debbie had been quite ill for sometime. She was epileptic, diabetic. had high blood pressure, and suffered a near fatal heart attack in November of 2001. My 4-year old and 6-year-old (at the time) saved her life by going to the neighbor's for help. I was at work.
Well that night of 12/23/07, I was getting really pissed off because my wife and kids kept knocking Nintendo and PlayStation controllers on the floor. Those things cost $25-$35 each to replace, and I'm not made of money. I was mad and yelling to be careful with those things. Debbie wasn't feeling well, and when she knocked over another controller, I yelled "GODDAMMIT, BE CAREFUL!" She had not been feeling well for days, and she shouted back (she never shouted) "Shut up Nori, you're not the one who's sick! You're not the one who is going to die!" Prophetic.
Whenever I was a jerk with her (more often than I'd care to admit), I always got on my knees and begged her forgiveness. And she always did the same thing. She'd hug me, give me a kiss, and say "I forgive you, you bum!" And she did it again that night. Then God gave me the grace of allowing me to make love to my wife one last time.
The next morning, 12/24, about 5 in the morning. I felt her get up. I always get up when she does, because I worry about her. I said, "Are you OK?" She responded, "I have to pee." I'd like to think that her last words to me were "I love you", but actually they were "I have to pee". I have a sick sense of humor, and so did she, so she would have found that funny.
So, I lay back down while she turned on the light in the kitchen. Suddenly I hear a loud thud, and I run into the kitchen to see my wife in a full grand mal epileptic seizure. A voice in my head said "She's going to die!" I said "No she's not!" The voice said "Let her die." I said "No fucking way! I'm not going to let her die!" It wasn't the first time she had a grand mal, but she had not had one in many months. So I know the drill. I grab her and lay her down on her side, so that she won't hurt herself or choke on her drool. Otilio asks what's going on (Ramiro was asleep, he took sedatives at the time). I told Tito to get me towels soaked in cold water. I would clear her mouth with the towels, and wipe her face with the cold water to help rouse her. It always worked before, and it seemed to work this time, too. She started to come around as I stood straddled over her. I looked at her, smiled and said, "Welcome back!" That's when things went wrong. She looked at me and tried to speak. All she could do was dig her fingernails into my calves. This was not normal. I shouted her name. "Debbie? DEBBIE?" Suddenly she went into another seizure. This never happened before, and I knew this was bad. I told Tito to give me the phone so I could call 911. Before I could dial, suddenly all this white foam started pouring, gushing out of her nose and mouth. It was fizzing like soda water, and I was on the phone with 911 getting paramedics. I tried to clear her passages so I could do mouth to mouth or SOMETHING. But it just kept coming too fast. Then the foam turned red. I had never seen such a red before, all crimson and shiny and bubbly. I looked into her eyes and kept calling her name. Please God, don't take my baby from me! Then the foam went from red to snow white. She started convulsing, breathed deeply 5 or 6 times, let out one long exhale, and just... expired. I couldn't even hold her in my arms. I couldn't believe it. I REFUSED to believe it. My honey can't die! I need her! Her kids need her!
I could hear the paramedics coming upstairs. I shouted "She stopped breathing!" The first EMT ran up the last 2 flights. He looked at her on the floor and then he looked at me. I could tell from the look on his face that she was dead. But I begged him, Please save my baby! Save my honey! Bring her back to me! And he tried. Soon I had 10 firemen and EMTs in my tiny apartment. But I knew they were just putting on a show for me and my kids. I prayed God bring her back. They can do it! They hooked her up to the defibrillator and must have zapped her 12 times. Nothing. She was full of needles and tubes and pumps and airways. Still nothing. They took her down stairs stopping at every flight to do CPR. I called St. Vincent's Hospital around an hour later (I was waiting for my sister from New Jersey to pick up my boys). I asked How is my wife?...
"I'm sorry, Mister Colón. We worked on her for over an hour. At some point we have to stop and declare her deceased."
My soul was rendered asunder. My heart was torn from my chest. I cried out such a cry, even Satan pitied me. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHAAAAAA!!! NOT MY SWEETIE!!! NOT MY BABY!!!" I loved her more than my own life. She was the very air that I breathed. And now she's gone!
Hell begins...
This is how it began. With this e-mail to the world, I announced the most horrible day of my life. The day my Angel died. The day I died. I blame myself. Plenty of others blamed me too. But that's a discussion for another posting. I promise I will elaborate. But this blog is more for me than for any of you, so I need time to work through things.
We live near the World Trade Center. On 9/11/01, I was freelancing at the Long Island Rail Road headquarters in Jamaica, Queens, miles from Lower Manhattan. My oldest son, 6 at the time, went to school 2 blocks from there. My wife was often shopping in the promenade of the Twin Towers. I thought my family died that day. It took me 7 hours to get home. I had not been right in the head since.
Debbie had been quite ill for sometime. She was epileptic, diabetic. had high blood pressure, and suffered a near fatal heart attack in November of 2001. My 4-year old and 6-year-old (at the time) saved her life by going to the neighbor's for help. I was at work.
Well that night of 12/23/07, I was getting really pissed off because my wife and kids kept knocking Nintendo and PlayStation controllers on the floor. Those things cost $25-$35 each to replace, and I'm not made of money. I was mad and yelling to be careful with those things. Debbie wasn't feeling well, and when she knocked over another controller, I yelled "GODDAMMIT, BE CAREFUL!" She had not been feeling well for days, and she shouted back (she never shouted) "Shut up Nori, you're not the one who's sick! You're not the one who is going to die!" Prophetic.
Whenever I was a jerk with her (more often than I'd care to admit), I always got on my knees and begged her forgiveness. And she always did the same thing. She'd hug me, give me a kiss, and say "I forgive you, you bum!" And she did it again that night. Then God gave me the grace of allowing me to make love to my wife one last time.
The next morning, 12/24, about 5 in the morning. I felt her get up. I always get up when she does, because I worry about her. I said, "Are you OK?" She responded, "I have to pee." I'd like to think that her last words to me were "I love you", but actually they were "I have to pee". I have a sick sense of humor, and so did she, so she would have found that funny.
So, I lay back down while she turned on the light in the kitchen. Suddenly I hear a loud thud, and I run into the kitchen to see my wife in a full grand mal epileptic seizure. A voice in my head said "She's going to die!" I said "No she's not!" The voice said "Let her die." I said "No fucking way! I'm not going to let her die!" It wasn't the first time she had a grand mal, but she had not had one in many months. So I know the drill. I grab her and lay her down on her side, so that she won't hurt herself or choke on her drool. Otilio asks what's going on (Ramiro was asleep, he took sedatives at the time). I told Tito to get me towels soaked in cold water. I would clear her mouth with the towels, and wipe her face with the cold water to help rouse her. It always worked before, and it seemed to work this time, too. She started to come around as I stood straddled over her. I looked at her, smiled and said, "Welcome back!" That's when things went wrong. She looked at me and tried to speak. All she could do was dig her fingernails into my calves. This was not normal. I shouted her name. "Debbie? DEBBIE?" Suddenly she went into another seizure. This never happened before, and I knew this was bad. I told Tito to give me the phone so I could call 911. Before I could dial, suddenly all this white foam started pouring, gushing out of her nose and mouth. It was fizzing like soda water, and I was on the phone with 911 getting paramedics. I tried to clear her passages so I could do mouth to mouth or SOMETHING. But it just kept coming too fast. Then the foam turned red. I had never seen such a red before, all crimson and shiny and bubbly. I looked into her eyes and kept calling her name. Please God, don't take my baby from me! Then the foam went from red to snow white. She started convulsing, breathed deeply 5 or 6 times, let out one long exhale, and just... expired. I couldn't even hold her in my arms. I couldn't believe it. I REFUSED to believe it. My honey can't die! I need her! Her kids need her!
I could hear the paramedics coming upstairs. I shouted "She stopped breathing!" The first EMT ran up the last 2 flights. He looked at her on the floor and then he looked at me. I could tell from the look on his face that she was dead. But I begged him, Please save my baby! Save my honey! Bring her back to me! And he tried. Soon I had 10 firemen and EMTs in my tiny apartment. But I knew they were just putting on a show for me and my kids. I prayed God bring her back. They can do it! They hooked her up to the defibrillator and must have zapped her 12 times. Nothing. She was full of needles and tubes and pumps and airways. Still nothing. They took her down stairs stopping at every flight to do CPR. I called St. Vincent's Hospital around an hour later (I was waiting for my sister from New Jersey to pick up my boys). I asked How is my wife?...
"I'm sorry, Mister Colón. We worked on her for over an hour. At some point we have to stop and declare her deceased."
My soul was rendered asunder. My heart was torn from my chest. I cried out such a cry, even Satan pitied me. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHAAAAAA!!! NOT MY SWEETIE!!! NOT MY BABY!!!" I loved her more than my own life. She was the very air that I breathed. And now she's gone!
Hell begins...
3 comments:
Chico,
Your writing skills are amazing. I am looking forward to more installments of your blog.
Pipo
Wow! Powerful stuff! Sad...tragic...but well-written and very powerful! I hope it helps you to heal.
-J
God bless keep on sharing your journey. Let the words and sharing your narrative heal others. Please consider doing continuous blogs and podcasts. You are here. You have the power to heal and to support others with their healing. You are such a warrior. Persist!
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