Once we realized Debbie was in fact pregnant, things went into fast forward. It was as if Tito said "Good, now you're aware of me. Now let's par-tay!" Deb's belly suddenly began to balloon, and she experienced more kicks than a Bruce Lee movie. Remember, we only had a few scant days between discovery of her pregnancy and the arrival of this little turtle. Now we gotta come up with names.
Deb knows my Puerto Rican culture is very important to me, and she deigned to let me choose the name. We already knew it was a boy from the sonogram (the flag pole was at full mast, if you know what I mean.) So I went through my list, and waited for her approval. The following names she rejected:
• Mabodamaca - a Taíno Indian chieftain
• Agüeybaná - a great Taíno warrior and chieftain. There were actually two, father and son. Agüeybaná el Viejo (the Elder) and his son, Agüeybaná el Bravo (the Brave). The son was the one who led the ill-fated rebellion against the Conquistadores.
• Urayoán - a great and wise elder and chieftain on the Taíno council. It was his wisdom that sought to find the Spaniard's weaknesses. You see, the Taíno had never seen body armor, and when their arrows bounced of the Spaniard's chests, it was thought you could not kill a Spaniard. Besides, even if you did kill one, he'd just come back in 3 days and 3 nights (they claimed Jesus' power). But Urayoán decided on an experiment. Let's kill one and see what happens. So, a Castillian named Miguel Salcedo demands Taíno laborers to take him into the interior, and Urayoán decides he will do nicely. The Taíno come to a shallow river, and Salcedo demands to be carried on the shoulders of a Taíno so as not to get wet. Perfect. When they get to the middle of the river, the Taíno "accidentally" slips and drops Salcedo in the water. Now the river is shallow, but Salcedo's body armor weighs him down, and he drowns. The Taínos drag his body onto the bank, and hide in the bushes, watching his corpse for three days and three nights. They spent the time making up a story in case he should ressurect and demand an explanation. After the third day, Salcedos carcass is getting pretty funky and full of flies, and the Taíno realize the Spaniards CAN be killed. So begins "Guasábara" or the Big Fight, the Taíno Rebellion of 1511-1530.
• Mephistopholese - I just threw that in to keep her on her toes.
Well, Debbie demands I get real. So I decide to name him after my father, my grandfather, and her father. My father's name (and his father's name) is Otilio, Spanish for Othello. My mother's father's name is Elías (Elijah), and Debs pop's name is William. I also kept the custom of taking both surnames for the child. Hence: Otilio Elías William Colón-Lomax.
So I'm in Manhattan and Deb is visiting her mom in The Bronx. I get a call; she's in labor. Meet them at Beth Israel Hospital.
She's got nice little birthing room. Couches and a TV too. I'm a nervous wreck while we're waiting for this kid to pop out. She starts to go into labor, and they put her in the stirrups. Let me tell ya, there's a reason ancient societies did not let men witness childbirth. If you see that thing stretch and pulsate like some kind of sea monster, you may not want to go near it again!
Anyway, while she's contracting and we're waiting, Jeopardy is on. We are watching Alex Trebeck; the doctor, the three Filipina nurses, Deb's mom, Deb's gramma, me, and even Debbie's watching. Tito's head starts to crown; I guess he wanted to watch, too. Just then, instead of popping out, he goes back inside (smart kid). The doc goes back to watching Jeopardy. I'm like, Yo! Get in there and get the kid out! The doc tells me to relax. Then the real thing starts to happen. What I am about to say may violate national security, but who cares. I had taken shahada in 1981 after my father died, which means I had converted to Islam. So while she's birfin' dat baby, I'm reciting the shahada: "La Il Aha Il Allah, Muhammadan ur-Rasul-ullah." "There is no god but The God, and Muhammad is his Prophet." While I am crying (I do that a lot) and reciting the faith, a Jewish doctor and three Catholic Filipina nurses look at this Jehovah's Witness woman's Puerto Rican husband say a Muslim prayer in Arabic! Only in America!
Finally, the doc squats like Mike Piazza waiting for a curve ball, and out slides Otilio. Again, great joy and abject terror. I am honored that God sent this tiny soul for me to care for and raise. I am also scared shitless. I hold him and say, "Welcome to earth. I will be your father for the rest of this flight."
They decide it's time to take Tito up to the nursery. Susan (110 camera) is their also, and helps hold me up. (I seem to collapse near women.) We pass a Puerto Rican family; this is old hat to them, mom is giving birth to number six while the other five are in the waiting room with relatives. They see me crying and smiling, and they look at me and say "¡Ay, que emocionante! Su primero..." "How emotional! His first one..."
So happy...
Oh, by the way, before Homeland Security (what a fascist name) comes a-knocking at my door, I learned a great deal from Islam, but I am a Spic, not a Towel Head. I prefer arroz con pollo over hummus and pita bread. And my name is Norberto.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Monday, October 13, 2008
12. My Wife the Dog Killer
Another trip to Puerto Rico. We're driving back to Arecibo around 1:00 AM from San Juan. Now, they had just built an new autopista (highway) called the 22. It's great in the daytime; cuts travel time from an hour and a half to around 30 minutes. The old road, el Número Dos (the #2) is still used for local traffic. But the 22 is murder at night. You have to drive with high beams (no lightposts at all) and the straightaways and gentle curves are really conducive to highway hypnosis. So I take the #2 back. Even though most of the stores are closed, the marquees and store signs are still lit, and there are many curves, not dangerous, to help keep your mind on the road.
Still, I am exhausted from a long day of beaching and sight-seeing and all, and I can feel myself falling asleep at the wheel. I asked Debbie to drive, because I am nodding out. But she is reluctant; she had given up her license because she was afraid of having a seizure while driving, and had not driven in some time. But I said I'd remain awake and talk to her, but I could drive no longer. She takes the wheel.
Deb's doing just fine, around 25 mph, making our way to Arecibo. We round a curve, and there's a pack of stray dogs crossing the road. Stray dogs in PR are as common as pigeons in New York. The dogs see us and scurry across the road, except for one. He remains on the other side of the double yellow line, seemingly waiting for us to pass. Deb's concentrating on driving, and doesn't see the dog. But I say nothing; I don't want to startle her and perhaps swerve into the dog, and the dog is looking right at us and is perfectly still. So long as the status quo remains, every one will be cool.
Well, she rounds the curve just fine, when suddenly, we're about three feet from the dog when this crazy mutt decides to step right in front of the car! BATHUMP!!! ARRR, ARRR ARRR! Debbie screams, "What the hell was that!?" "I think you just ran over a dog." "Oh, my god, we have to go back and help it!" "Naah, the rest of the pack is probably eating him by now!"
Deb feels awful! Naturally, I seize upon the moment to tease and torment her to no end (good-naturedly, of course). "Murderer! Dog Killer! Assassin! You aimed for that dog!" She's laughing and pleading, "Don't say that Nori!" I roll down the window and stick my head out. "Help! I'm being held prisoner by a dog serial killer!" Thank god no one was awake, or spoke english! She smacks me: "Get in here you nut!" I tell her not to be upset; the dog probably decided to commit suicide. He probably hated his life as a stray, his wife was a bitch, and he figured he'd end it all when he saw us coming.
I teased her for years after that. I miss my sweet little assassin.
Still, I am exhausted from a long day of beaching and sight-seeing and all, and I can feel myself falling asleep at the wheel. I asked Debbie to drive, because I am nodding out. But she is reluctant; she had given up her license because she was afraid of having a seizure while driving, and had not driven in some time. But I said I'd remain awake and talk to her, but I could drive no longer. She takes the wheel.
Deb's doing just fine, around 25 mph, making our way to Arecibo. We round a curve, and there's a pack of stray dogs crossing the road. Stray dogs in PR are as common as pigeons in New York. The dogs see us and scurry across the road, except for one. He remains on the other side of the double yellow line, seemingly waiting for us to pass. Deb's concentrating on driving, and doesn't see the dog. But I say nothing; I don't want to startle her and perhaps swerve into the dog, and the dog is looking right at us and is perfectly still. So long as the status quo remains, every one will be cool.
Well, she rounds the curve just fine, when suddenly, we're about three feet from the dog when this crazy mutt decides to step right in front of the car! BATHUMP!!! ARRR, ARRR ARRR! Debbie screams, "What the hell was that!?" "I think you just ran over a dog." "Oh, my god, we have to go back and help it!" "Naah, the rest of the pack is probably eating him by now!"
Deb feels awful! Naturally, I seize upon the moment to tease and torment her to no end (good-naturedly, of course). "Murderer! Dog Killer! Assassin! You aimed for that dog!" She's laughing and pleading, "Don't say that Nori!" I roll down the window and stick my head out. "Help! I'm being held prisoner by a dog serial killer!" Thank god no one was awake, or spoke english! She smacks me: "Get in here you nut!" I tell her not to be upset; the dog probably decided to commit suicide. He probably hated his life as a stray, his wife was a bitch, and he figured he'd end it all when he saw us coming.
I teased her for years after that. I miss my sweet little assassin.
11. My Big Fat City Hall Wedding
If you remember from Chapter 2 (please review; there's a quiz on Friday), Deb's pregnancy with Tito was my version of the Tunguska comet; unexpected, came out of nowhere, and phenomenally explosive. Now the fun begins.
Deb's parents knew something was up. Now it's time to face the music. I kept thinking, Deb's father is gonna kill me. We go up to the Bronx to tell them. They sit down with dour faces. I'm seated by the window, in case I need to make a quick escape. We're on the 17th floor, but I figured I'd take my chances with gravity rather than face the ire of Deb's father, Elder William Lomax of the Jehovah's Witnesses.
Deb: "Mom, Dad, I'm pregnant."
Mom: "We KNEW it! How could you?!"
Deb: "We're getting married!"
Mom: "But you sinned! You had sex outside of marriage!"
Me: "Mr. and Mrs Lomax, please understand..."
Pop: "Don't give me that, Nori! I was in World War Two! I KNOW WHAT SEX IS!"
I look out the window. 17 flights. I can make it! If I can just grab that pigeon...
Deb's folks storm off into their bedroom. But I know what they're REALLY doing. I can hear the champagne bottle pop and the streamers and horns and dancing around. YES! WE'RE GONNA BE GRANDPARENTS! But they had to put on that "upset" face for what I did to their little girl (never mind she was 36 at the time!)
Now everything is spinning so fast. I'm driving back and forth between NYC and my sister's house in Jersey, picking up a bassinet, baby stuff and other crap; it's all a blur. Oh, right, gotta get married. I FORGOT!
I'm supposed to be at the Municipal Building at 2:00 pm. It's 1:30, and I have no suit. (I'm a hippie, remember? I still don't own a suit.) I get off the subway at Wall Street, run down Maiden lane figuring to pick up a black suit jacket at Conway's. I got black pants, at least. I pick up a nice linen black suit jacket off the rack. Problem: more wrinkles than a shar-pays face (ugly dogs). ALL of them are wrinkled. 1:41 pm. I grab the jacket, run outside and see a store-front tailor. I run inside. "I'm getting married in 20 minutes! I need this pressed!" "Give it here!" This guy puts the jacket on the steam press, and in 2 minutes this thing is so pressed you could shave with the creases. "How much do I owe you?" "Ahh, it's a wedding present! Now get outta here, you got 15 minutes!" I run to the Municipal Building getting dressed along the way.
So I get there. Deb, her Mom, auntie and Gramma are there. Nobody from my family (feigned look of shock and surprise). Kyle is my best man. Well, maybe not "best", but he was pretty good. Susan is there, too. Kyle had offered to bring a camera. But Susan said she was bringing hers. So we tell Kyle don't bother bringing that nice expensive Minolta SLR High Resolution camera. Bad choice. Susan shows up with this piece of shit obsolete 110 camera, with only 4 shots left because the rest of the roll is full of her vacation in Trinidad! Needless to say, I have no pix of my "wedding". Very ghetto, Susan! Still mad at ya, but I love and forgive ya. ;-)
We get upstairs to the McDonald's of Weddings. The place is packed. The only thing missing was the drive-thru window. You heard of speed dating? This was speed wedding. Every few minutes, the judge would come out and shout "NEXT!" like the receptionist at HUD from the PJs. We were on after the Punk Rocker Wedding Party. I wish I had pictures of this! These heavy metal Punks, women and men alike, parakeet purple and silver hair-dos with studs and chains and tattoos all over their faces, were dressed in perfect tuxedos and gowns. It was high-larious! It was as if somebody had switched the heads off of some bobble-head dolls!
NEXT!
Showtime, folks! The judge (I could not see the stopwatch) explains that the vows are short; no mention of "love, honor, and obey" because the "obey" part starts too many fights and they're not married yet! Also, they don't ask "if anyone objects, speak now" because there is always some nut who comes to these things just to object and cause trouble (damn, they found me out!). So she starts:
Judge: "Do you?"
Deb: "I do."
Judge: "Do you?"
Me: "I do."
Judge: "Give her the ring. NEXT!"
Kyle starts to hand me the ring, but those of you who know me know I am not exactly the orthodox type. Instead of taking the ring, I whip out a pair of hand-cuffs I had hidden in my brand new pressed $25 Conway suit jacket. I click us together, and say, "Together forever, babe!" Kyle smacks me upside my head, by I get him back at the reception in the Chinese-Jamaican restaurant. That's right, Chinese-Jamaican. Fried rice and curry goat. Jackie Chan serving while Steele Pulse plays in the background. Was that racist? I sure hope so!
Next installment: The Birth of Ramiro.
Deb's parents knew something was up. Now it's time to face the music. I kept thinking, Deb's father is gonna kill me. We go up to the Bronx to tell them. They sit down with dour faces. I'm seated by the window, in case I need to make a quick escape. We're on the 17th floor, but I figured I'd take my chances with gravity rather than face the ire of Deb's father, Elder William Lomax of the Jehovah's Witnesses.
Deb: "Mom, Dad, I'm pregnant."
Mom: "We KNEW it! How could you?!"
Deb: "We're getting married!"
Mom: "But you sinned! You had sex outside of marriage!"
Me: "Mr. and Mrs Lomax, please understand..."
Pop: "Don't give me that, Nori! I was in World War Two! I KNOW WHAT SEX IS!"
I look out the window. 17 flights. I can make it! If I can just grab that pigeon...
Deb's folks storm off into their bedroom. But I know what they're REALLY doing. I can hear the champagne bottle pop and the streamers and horns and dancing around. YES! WE'RE GONNA BE GRANDPARENTS! But they had to put on that "upset" face for what I did to their little girl (never mind she was 36 at the time!)
Now everything is spinning so fast. I'm driving back and forth between NYC and my sister's house in Jersey, picking up a bassinet, baby stuff and other crap; it's all a blur. Oh, right, gotta get married. I FORGOT!
I'm supposed to be at the Municipal Building at 2:00 pm. It's 1:30, and I have no suit. (I'm a hippie, remember? I still don't own a suit.) I get off the subway at Wall Street, run down Maiden lane figuring to pick up a black suit jacket at Conway's. I got black pants, at least. I pick up a nice linen black suit jacket off the rack. Problem: more wrinkles than a shar-pays face (ugly dogs). ALL of them are wrinkled. 1:41 pm. I grab the jacket, run outside and see a store-front tailor. I run inside. "I'm getting married in 20 minutes! I need this pressed!" "Give it here!" This guy puts the jacket on the steam press, and in 2 minutes this thing is so pressed you could shave with the creases. "How much do I owe you?" "Ahh, it's a wedding present! Now get outta here, you got 15 minutes!" I run to the Municipal Building getting dressed along the way.
So I get there. Deb, her Mom, auntie and Gramma are there. Nobody from my family (feigned look of shock and surprise). Kyle is my best man. Well, maybe not "best", but he was pretty good. Susan is there, too. Kyle had offered to bring a camera. But Susan said she was bringing hers. So we tell Kyle don't bother bringing that nice expensive Minolta SLR High Resolution camera. Bad choice. Susan shows up with this piece of shit obsolete 110 camera, with only 4 shots left because the rest of the roll is full of her vacation in Trinidad! Needless to say, I have no pix of my "wedding". Very ghetto, Susan! Still mad at ya, but I love and forgive ya. ;-)
We get upstairs to the McDonald's of Weddings. The place is packed. The only thing missing was the drive-thru window. You heard of speed dating? This was speed wedding. Every few minutes, the judge would come out and shout "NEXT!" like the receptionist at HUD from the PJs. We were on after the Punk Rocker Wedding Party. I wish I had pictures of this! These heavy metal Punks, women and men alike, parakeet purple and silver hair-dos with studs and chains and tattoos all over their faces, were dressed in perfect tuxedos and gowns. It was high-larious! It was as if somebody had switched the heads off of some bobble-head dolls!
NEXT!
Showtime, folks! The judge (I could not see the stopwatch) explains that the vows are short; no mention of "love, honor, and obey" because the "obey" part starts too many fights and they're not married yet! Also, they don't ask "if anyone objects, speak now" because there is always some nut who comes to these things just to object and cause trouble (damn, they found me out!). So she starts:
Judge: "Do you?"
Deb: "I do."
Judge: "Do you?"
Me: "I do."
Judge: "Give her the ring. NEXT!"
Kyle starts to hand me the ring, but those of you who know me know I am not exactly the orthodox type. Instead of taking the ring, I whip out a pair of hand-cuffs I had hidden in my brand new pressed $25 Conway suit jacket. I click us together, and say, "Together forever, babe!" Kyle smacks me upside my head, by I get him back at the reception in the Chinese-Jamaican restaurant. That's right, Chinese-Jamaican. Fried rice and curry goat. Jackie Chan serving while Steele Pulse plays in the background. Was that racist? I sure hope so!
Next installment: The Birth of Ramiro.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
10. Let's Lighten the Mood a Little
Okay, so you got it so far. I'm miserable, scared, lonely, overwhelmed, horny, disorganized, unsure of myself, self-esteem shot to hell, confidence destroyed and a host of other crap that would fill a therapist's datebook.
But there are good times I can tell you about. While sailing the stormy Seas of Oblivion, it was hard to see through the Mists of Despair and recognize the shores of the Isles of Joy, especially when the charts and instruments were washed overboard. It was not even possible to take a celestial reading, as the stars were obscured by the storm clouds. But I digress...
On our first trip to Puerto Rico (Otilio was 6 months old, Ramiro had not been born yet), Debbie was flabbergasted at what bad drivers Puerto Ricans are. And I'd tell her, "You ain't seen NUTHIN' yet babe!" I had gone to PR every year since I was a child, and I have seen some pretty horrific accidents over that time. Well, one night we're driving back to Arecibo from Aguadilla (Aguadilla is in the northwest corner of the island; Arecibo is to the east, on the coast, about a third of the way to San Juan), when we see up ahead, at a highway intersection, a small car makes a hard left against the light and gets T-boned by another car going west. Panic erupts as people run out of their houses screaming, waving their hands in the air (you know how we Ricans do) because they realize the people in both cars are residents of the neighborhood. Pandemonium. Deb and I look at each other. We have to help.
We stop the car and pull over to the side. Otilio is strapped into the baby seat, sound asleep. We lock the door. Running across the lanes, we put down flares and reflectors. In all the emotional panic, no one thought to call 911. Remember, the year is 1995, and not too many people had cell phones then. The ones that were available only had 1 hour of talk time and were the size of a brick. But we had 'em! All the passengers got out of the car that was the strike-er. The strike-ee car was T-boned and bent 'round, but no one was trapped. There was a woman in the back seat, however, who was in pain and could not move her neck. We told her to be still; I was on the phone with 911 (Puerto Rican style) arguing with the operator because I did not know the exact location of the accident. I finally shouted to her, "¡Pendeja! Manda una patrulla desde Aguadilla a Arecibo. Cuando ves un choque, ¡allí estamos!" "Asshole! Send a patrol car from Aguadilla to Arecibo. When you see a car accident, there we are!"
Meanwhile, we are trying to keep the injured woman from moving; her neck injury could lead to a spinal problem, and she needed to be immobilized. Debbie and I try to keep people from pulling her out of the car. "¡Los paramédicos están en el camino! Si la mueves, se pondrá peor!" "The paramedics are coming! If you move her she could get worse!" All of a sudden, the woman's sister shows up, climbs in the car crying, and tries to hug her! I start screaming: "¡No la mueves! ¡Saca esa muchacha! ¡Sacala, sacala!" "Don't move her! Get that woman out of here! Get her out, get her out!" I didn't want this girl to be paralyzed!
Finally, an ambulance shows up. But where is the driver? The crowd looks around, and we see this little Cantinflas-looking guy, reminded me of Nature Boy from Bugs Bunny. He's wearing a white lab coat and all, but walking in and out of the crowd, trying to lose himself in the commotion. The crowd grabs him and pushes him forward. "Good, you're here! She needs to be immobilized before you put her on the stretcher." "I can't do that." "Why not?" You have to wait for the paramedics." "And who the hell are YOU?" "I just drive the ambulance!"
You see the commercials for Puerto Rico USA, but PR is still very much a third world country. You call for a paramedic, and they send a Domino's Pizza delivery guy! Two cop cars pull up. Thank God. But we are up in the mountains, and the police radios don't work! So what do they do? THEY BORROW MY CELL PHONE! Now we hear a God-forsaken scream of the screech of tires. All those flashing lights and flares and reflectors, and some prick-head in a pimped out van sees NONE of this and almost plows into the crowd! Stupid spic drivers!
Another car pulls up. It's a Puerto Rican guy from the Bronx with his wife, on vacation in PR. And they both just happen to be paramedics! They even have some gear in their rent-a-car! I get my cell phone back; they check the victim, relay the vitals to me, and I relay them to 911. Deb is doing crowd control, keeping people away from the crash. Otilio is still asleep in the car seat. Where are the cops? Why, having donuts of course! And Nature Boy the Pizza guy? We had to save him from being lynched, because the crowd was angry that this guy didn't even know how to use a band-aid and he was the first to show up!
The paramedic couple is working on the victim. A fire brigade with PROPERLY trained medical personnel finally shows up. I retrieve my cell phone, my wife and baby, and we pull off.
"So, Deb, wanna get a drink?"
"Rum and Coke, please!"
But there are good times I can tell you about. While sailing the stormy Seas of Oblivion, it was hard to see through the Mists of Despair and recognize the shores of the Isles of Joy, especially when the charts and instruments were washed overboard. It was not even possible to take a celestial reading, as the stars were obscured by the storm clouds. But I digress...
On our first trip to Puerto Rico (Otilio was 6 months old, Ramiro had not been born yet), Debbie was flabbergasted at what bad drivers Puerto Ricans are. And I'd tell her, "You ain't seen NUTHIN' yet babe!" I had gone to PR every year since I was a child, and I have seen some pretty horrific accidents over that time. Well, one night we're driving back to Arecibo from Aguadilla (Aguadilla is in the northwest corner of the island; Arecibo is to the east, on the coast, about a third of the way to San Juan), when we see up ahead, at a highway intersection, a small car makes a hard left against the light and gets T-boned by another car going west. Panic erupts as people run out of their houses screaming, waving their hands in the air (you know how we Ricans do) because they realize the people in both cars are residents of the neighborhood. Pandemonium. Deb and I look at each other. We have to help.
We stop the car and pull over to the side. Otilio is strapped into the baby seat, sound asleep. We lock the door. Running across the lanes, we put down flares and reflectors. In all the emotional panic, no one thought to call 911. Remember, the year is 1995, and not too many people had cell phones then. The ones that were available only had 1 hour of talk time and were the size of a brick. But we had 'em! All the passengers got out of the car that was the strike-er. The strike-ee car was T-boned and bent 'round, but no one was trapped. There was a woman in the back seat, however, who was in pain and could not move her neck. We told her to be still; I was on the phone with 911 (Puerto Rican style) arguing with the operator because I did not know the exact location of the accident. I finally shouted to her, "¡Pendeja! Manda una patrulla desde Aguadilla a Arecibo. Cuando ves un choque, ¡allí estamos!" "Asshole! Send a patrol car from Aguadilla to Arecibo. When you see a car accident, there we are!"
Meanwhile, we are trying to keep the injured woman from moving; her neck injury could lead to a spinal problem, and she needed to be immobilized. Debbie and I try to keep people from pulling her out of the car. "¡Los paramédicos están en el camino! Si la mueves, se pondrá peor!" "The paramedics are coming! If you move her she could get worse!" All of a sudden, the woman's sister shows up, climbs in the car crying, and tries to hug her! I start screaming: "¡No la mueves! ¡Saca esa muchacha! ¡Sacala, sacala!" "Don't move her! Get that woman out of here! Get her out, get her out!" I didn't want this girl to be paralyzed!
Finally, an ambulance shows up. But where is the driver? The crowd looks around, and we see this little Cantinflas-looking guy, reminded me of Nature Boy from Bugs Bunny. He's wearing a white lab coat and all, but walking in and out of the crowd, trying to lose himself in the commotion. The crowd grabs him and pushes him forward. "Good, you're here! She needs to be immobilized before you put her on the stretcher." "I can't do that." "Why not?" You have to wait for the paramedics." "And who the hell are YOU?" "I just drive the ambulance!"
You see the commercials for Puerto Rico USA, but PR is still very much a third world country. You call for a paramedic, and they send a Domino's Pizza delivery guy! Two cop cars pull up. Thank God. But we are up in the mountains, and the police radios don't work! So what do they do? THEY BORROW MY CELL PHONE! Now we hear a God-forsaken scream of the screech of tires. All those flashing lights and flares and reflectors, and some prick-head in a pimped out van sees NONE of this and almost plows into the crowd! Stupid spic drivers!
Another car pulls up. It's a Puerto Rican guy from the Bronx with his wife, on vacation in PR. And they both just happen to be paramedics! They even have some gear in their rent-a-car! I get my cell phone back; they check the victim, relay the vitals to me, and I relay them to 911. Deb is doing crowd control, keeping people away from the crash. Otilio is still asleep in the car seat. Where are the cops? Why, having donuts of course! And Nature Boy the Pizza guy? We had to save him from being lynched, because the crowd was angry that this guy didn't even know how to use a band-aid and he was the first to show up!
The paramedic couple is working on the victim. A fire brigade with PROPERLY trained medical personnel finally shows up. I retrieve my cell phone, my wife and baby, and we pull off.
"So, Deb, wanna get a drink?"
"Rum and Coke, please!"
9. So Lonely...
3/22/08 9:52 PM
Forgive me but I must vent.
I had back spasms for the past 3 days. Today I could not move. Nothing done. No laundry, messy house, can hardly stand. How can I do this alone? She took care of me. Am I spoiled? I needed her. Who will take care of me now? I have no one.
If one more person says to me "you're not alone, you have the boys", I will slap them into next week. Without going into detail, I made Otilio cry with all the responsibilities and chores I gave him today because I could not move. He was crying and said "Papi, I'm only 12!" A wake up call that really made me feel like shit. I need a companion. I cannot make love to my sons (hold all wise-ass remarks). I cannot converse with them or confide in them on an equal level. Yes, they are my companions, but the are my charges first. How many times can I talk about SpongeBob and Dragonball Z?
With Debbie I felt young. Now I feel so old. Some foxy supermodel types moved down the hall from me. Stunning chicks, partying late into the night. Across the hall from them, some Limey Brit moved in too. I never used to care. Now I am envious and sometimes angry. They are so free. Even married with kids, I felt a degree of freedom. Now I feel shackled and imprisoned.
I'm so crazy for companionship, I'm ready to study with those oh-so-whacky Jehovah's Witnesses. I have no intention of being baptized into their little cult. I have been too open-minded and tolerant of others' beliefs to turn my back on my beliefs and accept their dogma. I have no use for dogma. A man's actions determine his final judgment, not his lip service. No one can ever make me believe otherwise. Besides, If I need a blood transfusion, I don't care if it's lizard blood or horse piss, pump me up!
No man is an island. Solitude can be murder. I stare at the walls and the floor and watch the hours and days slip by. Not fulfilling at all. She found solace in her faith. She found happiness in her religion. But to thine own self be true. I have my own mind. No elder or clergyman who is just as fallible as I, whose farts smell just as rosy, who eats when hungry just like me, will ever control me or convince me he has a direct line to Jehovah God Allah Buddha Jesus Chango or whatever name you want to assign to the Creator and Source of All Things. Besides, if I joined the JWs, they'd disfellow my tolerant ass in about a week.
Think of this irony. I must be the only person on the planet who WANTS a bible study but can't get one! Every one else heads for the hills when the JWs come around on Saturday mornings. I set myself on fire to grab their attention and invite them in, but they're not interested. I'm told to go to my wife's former congregation and ask for a study. My response is, you people hassle strangers at home, you go to crack houses and brothels and prisons, and you plant yourselves by the subway turnstiles. Why cant you drag your magazine-pushing asses my way? I'll tell you why. THEY WANT THE TRUTH, THEY WANT THE TRUTH, BUT THEY CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH! And the truth is, you don't have to be a JW to get God's grace. You just have to be a good person. By their logic, a bad JW can get grace, but a good Santero cannot. Sorry, Charlie. Can't buy that load. Besides, some of the stories Debbie told me leads me to believe that JWs can be just as freaky as the rest of us. But if it will alleviate my solitary confinement, I will study with them. At least for as long as they can handle me. Some of these JW chicks are cute, and religious girls and minister's daughters (finish the thought yourself).
I don't want to be alone. I want a wife at my side. A companion with whom to face the world. Someone to grow old with and love and be loved. Someone who will love my kids and whom my kids will love. Someone to take care of me, and whom I can take care of.
Right now, I still feel like shit.
Forgive me but I must vent.
I had back spasms for the past 3 days. Today I could not move. Nothing done. No laundry, messy house, can hardly stand. How can I do this alone? She took care of me. Am I spoiled? I needed her. Who will take care of me now? I have no one.
If one more person says to me "you're not alone, you have the boys", I will slap them into next week. Without going into detail, I made Otilio cry with all the responsibilities and chores I gave him today because I could not move. He was crying and said "Papi, I'm only 12!" A wake up call that really made me feel like shit. I need a companion. I cannot make love to my sons (hold all wise-ass remarks). I cannot converse with them or confide in them on an equal level. Yes, they are my companions, but the are my charges first. How many times can I talk about SpongeBob and Dragonball Z?
With Debbie I felt young. Now I feel so old. Some foxy supermodel types moved down the hall from me. Stunning chicks, partying late into the night. Across the hall from them, some Limey Brit moved in too. I never used to care. Now I am envious and sometimes angry. They are so free. Even married with kids, I felt a degree of freedom. Now I feel shackled and imprisoned.
I'm so crazy for companionship, I'm ready to study with those oh-so-whacky Jehovah's Witnesses. I have no intention of being baptized into their little cult. I have been too open-minded and tolerant of others' beliefs to turn my back on my beliefs and accept their dogma. I have no use for dogma. A man's actions determine his final judgment, not his lip service. No one can ever make me believe otherwise. Besides, If I need a blood transfusion, I don't care if it's lizard blood or horse piss, pump me up!
No man is an island. Solitude can be murder. I stare at the walls and the floor and watch the hours and days slip by. Not fulfilling at all. She found solace in her faith. She found happiness in her religion. But to thine own self be true. I have my own mind. No elder or clergyman who is just as fallible as I, whose farts smell just as rosy, who eats when hungry just like me, will ever control me or convince me he has a direct line to Jehovah God Allah Buddha Jesus Chango or whatever name you want to assign to the Creator and Source of All Things. Besides, if I joined the JWs, they'd disfellow my tolerant ass in about a week.
Think of this irony. I must be the only person on the planet who WANTS a bible study but can't get one! Every one else heads for the hills when the JWs come around on Saturday mornings. I set myself on fire to grab their attention and invite them in, but they're not interested. I'm told to go to my wife's former congregation and ask for a study. My response is, you people hassle strangers at home, you go to crack houses and brothels and prisons, and you plant yourselves by the subway turnstiles. Why cant you drag your magazine-pushing asses my way? I'll tell you why. THEY WANT THE TRUTH, THEY WANT THE TRUTH, BUT THEY CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH! And the truth is, you don't have to be a JW to get God's grace. You just have to be a good person. By their logic, a bad JW can get grace, but a good Santero cannot. Sorry, Charlie. Can't buy that load. Besides, some of the stories Debbie told me leads me to believe that JWs can be just as freaky as the rest of us. But if it will alleviate my solitary confinement, I will study with them. At least for as long as they can handle me. Some of these JW chicks are cute, and religious girls and minister's daughters (finish the thought yourself).
I don't want to be alone. I want a wife at my side. A companion with whom to face the world. Someone to grow old with and love and be loved. Someone who will love my kids and whom my kids will love. Someone to take care of me, and whom I can take care of.
Right now, I still feel like shit.
8. Si Tu Supieras... (If Only You Knew...)
The English will come after the Spanish
3/15/08 3:26 PM
Ay Dacyl. Si tu supieras la angustia, la tortura, los dolores que paso cada minuto de mi vida castigada... No puedo concentrar. No puedo dormir. No puedo reir. No puedo sonreir. No puedo comer. Sufro solo. Si no fuera por mis hijos, me ire con ella. AAYYY dolor.... Y yo aqui solo solo solo. Cada sombra, cada hoja, cada movimiento y veo su cara y me siento culpable por su muerte. Debia yo prevenir esto. Debia yo salvarla. Debia yo construir un palacio en los nubes para ella, en vez de este porqueria de apartamento en NYC. Me falta sus besos, sus sonrisas, su amor. Mi cama esta vacia. 22 años. Maldita soledad. Queria ir a la vejez con ella. No quiero morir solo. Suplico a Dios de los ejercitos que me bendice con otra compañera de mi alma, como hizo para Job. El miedo que tengo es horrible. Temo salir de mi casa. El mundo se pone a virar como un bobine, como un tornado. Me mareo. Y lloro lloro lloro como una nena. Lloro cuando ordeno un cheeseburger. Lloro cuando hablo con mis hijos. Se me salen las lagrimas como la cascada de Niagara. Tengo un puñal en mi corazon el tamaño de un 747. Nervioso. Claustrofobico cuando entro al subway.
Oh, Dacyl. If only you knew the anguish, the torture, the pain I experience every minute of my punished life... I cannot concentrate. I cannot sleep. I cannot laugh. I cannot smile. I cannot eat. I suffer alone. If not for my sons, I would go with her. OHHH, pain... And I am here alone alone alone. Every shadow, every leaf, every movement and I see her face and I feel at fault for her death. I should have been able to prevent this. I should have been able to save her. I should have built a palace in the clouds for her, instead of this piece of crap apartment in NYC. I miss her kisses, her smiles, her love. My bed is empty. 22 years. Damned solitude. I wanted to go into old age with her. I don't want to die alone. I beg God Lord of Hosts to bless me with another companion for my soul, like he did for Job. The fear I have is horrible. I am afraid to leave my house. The world starts to spin like a spool of thread, like a tornado. I get dizzy. And I cry cry cry like a little girl. I cry when I order a cheeseburger. I cry when I talk to my sons. The tears flow from me like the cascade at Niagara. I have a dagger in my heart the size of a 747. Nervous. Claustrophobic when I enter the subway.
¿Que vio ella en mi? No tenia nada, y ella me acepto. Solo tengo mi amor, mi dovocion, para ofrecer. No tenia riquezas, ni carros, ni Tommy Hilfiger. Ni lo tengo. Miro al espejo y veo basura. ¿Que vio ella? ¿Que ven ustedes cuando me miren, y ven algo de valor? Yo veo un cobarde, un vago, un arrogante. Estoy hecho al fondo.
What did she see in me? I had nothing, and she accepted me. All I had was my love, my devotion to offer. I had not riches, not cars, not even Tommy Hilfiger. And I don't have these things. I look in the mirror and I see garbage. What did she see? What do all of you see when you look at me, and see something of value? I see a coward, a lazy man, an arrogant man. I am cast to the depths.
¿Que vio ella en mi?
What did she see in me?
3/22/08 9:58 PM
Gracias por tener fé en mi. Debbie tenía fé en mi. Pero yo nunca tenía fe en mi.
Thank you for having faith in me. Debbie had faith in me. But I never had faith in myself.
Es dificil. Me hace falta el olor de café por la mañana. De verdad, ella no podia hacer café en el estilo latino. Cada taza era diferente en sabor; a veces tolerable, a veces horrible, a veces rico. Yo decia que su café era como huelles digitales: cada taza unica y sin igual (I used to call it "fingerprint coffee"!). A veces su café era tan mala que por poco vomito. Me hace falta su café mala.
It is difficult. I miss the smell of coffee in the morning. To tell the truth, she could not make coffee in the Latino style. Each cup was different in flavor; sometimes tolerable, sometimes horrible, sometimes delicious. I used to say that her coffee was like fingerprints; each cup unique and without equal (I used to call it "fingerprint coffee"!). At times her coffee was so bad I almost threw up. I miss her bad coffee.
Algun día me gusteria conocer a otra amor. Ella deseaba eso. No quiero ir a la vejez solo.
One day I would like to meet another love. She would have wanted that. I don't want to go into old age alone.
Oren para nosotros. Estoy tratando den seguir pa'lante, pero todavia lucho con hecharme la culpa por su fallecimiento. Pero si contabas cada granito de arena en toda la tierra, y lo sumabas con cada hoja en todos los bosques, y lo multiplacabas por cada gota de agua en los mares, no acercabas el amor que yo tenia para Mi Cielo.
Pray for us. I am trying to go forward, but I still wrestle with blaming myself for her death. But if you counted every grain of sand on the earth, and you added every leaf in all the forests, and multiplied it by every drop of water in all the seas, it would not even approach the love I had for My Heaven.
3/15/08 3:26 PM
Ay Dacyl. Si tu supieras la angustia, la tortura, los dolores que paso cada minuto de mi vida castigada... No puedo concentrar. No puedo dormir. No puedo reir. No puedo sonreir. No puedo comer. Sufro solo. Si no fuera por mis hijos, me ire con ella. AAYYY dolor.... Y yo aqui solo solo solo. Cada sombra, cada hoja, cada movimiento y veo su cara y me siento culpable por su muerte. Debia yo prevenir esto. Debia yo salvarla. Debia yo construir un palacio en los nubes para ella, en vez de este porqueria de apartamento en NYC. Me falta sus besos, sus sonrisas, su amor. Mi cama esta vacia. 22 años. Maldita soledad. Queria ir a la vejez con ella. No quiero morir solo. Suplico a Dios de los ejercitos que me bendice con otra compañera de mi alma, como hizo para Job. El miedo que tengo es horrible. Temo salir de mi casa. El mundo se pone a virar como un bobine, como un tornado. Me mareo. Y lloro lloro lloro como una nena. Lloro cuando ordeno un cheeseburger. Lloro cuando hablo con mis hijos. Se me salen las lagrimas como la cascada de Niagara. Tengo un puñal en mi corazon el tamaño de un 747. Nervioso. Claustrofobico cuando entro al subway.
Oh, Dacyl. If only you knew the anguish, the torture, the pain I experience every minute of my punished life... I cannot concentrate. I cannot sleep. I cannot laugh. I cannot smile. I cannot eat. I suffer alone. If not for my sons, I would go with her. OHHH, pain... And I am here alone alone alone. Every shadow, every leaf, every movement and I see her face and I feel at fault for her death. I should have been able to prevent this. I should have been able to save her. I should have built a palace in the clouds for her, instead of this piece of crap apartment in NYC. I miss her kisses, her smiles, her love. My bed is empty. 22 years. Damned solitude. I wanted to go into old age with her. I don't want to die alone. I beg God Lord of Hosts to bless me with another companion for my soul, like he did for Job. The fear I have is horrible. I am afraid to leave my house. The world starts to spin like a spool of thread, like a tornado. I get dizzy. And I cry cry cry like a little girl. I cry when I order a cheeseburger. I cry when I talk to my sons. The tears flow from me like the cascade at Niagara. I have a dagger in my heart the size of a 747. Nervous. Claustrophobic when I enter the subway.
¿Que vio ella en mi? No tenia nada, y ella me acepto. Solo tengo mi amor, mi dovocion, para ofrecer. No tenia riquezas, ni carros, ni Tommy Hilfiger. Ni lo tengo. Miro al espejo y veo basura. ¿Que vio ella? ¿Que ven ustedes cuando me miren, y ven algo de valor? Yo veo un cobarde, un vago, un arrogante. Estoy hecho al fondo.
What did she see in me? I had nothing, and she accepted me. All I had was my love, my devotion to offer. I had not riches, not cars, not even Tommy Hilfiger. And I don't have these things. I look in the mirror and I see garbage. What did she see? What do all of you see when you look at me, and see something of value? I see a coward, a lazy man, an arrogant man. I am cast to the depths.
¿Que vio ella en mi?
What did she see in me?
3/22/08 9:58 PM
Gracias por tener fé en mi. Debbie tenía fé en mi. Pero yo nunca tenía fe en mi.
Thank you for having faith in me. Debbie had faith in me. But I never had faith in myself.
Es dificil. Me hace falta el olor de café por la mañana. De verdad, ella no podia hacer café en el estilo latino. Cada taza era diferente en sabor; a veces tolerable, a veces horrible, a veces rico. Yo decia que su café era como huelles digitales: cada taza unica y sin igual (I used to call it "fingerprint coffee"!). A veces su café era tan mala que por poco vomito. Me hace falta su café mala.
It is difficult. I miss the smell of coffee in the morning. To tell the truth, she could not make coffee in the Latino style. Each cup was different in flavor; sometimes tolerable, sometimes horrible, sometimes delicious. I used to say that her coffee was like fingerprints; each cup unique and without equal (I used to call it "fingerprint coffee"!). At times her coffee was so bad I almost threw up. I miss her bad coffee.
Algun día me gusteria conocer a otra amor. Ella deseaba eso. No quiero ir a la vejez solo.
One day I would like to meet another love. She would have wanted that. I don't want to go into old age alone.
Oren para nosotros. Estoy tratando den seguir pa'lante, pero todavia lucho con hecharme la culpa por su fallecimiento. Pero si contabas cada granito de arena en toda la tierra, y lo sumabas con cada hoja en todos los bosques, y lo multiplacabas por cada gota de agua en los mares, no acercabas el amor que yo tenia para Mi Cielo.
Pray for us. I am trying to go forward, but I still wrestle with blaming myself for her death. But if you counted every grain of sand on the earth, and you added every leaf in all the forests, and multiplied it by every drop of water in all the seas, it would not even approach the love I had for My Heaven.
7. The Sound of Rain
3/08/08 3:51 PM
First, the "pit-pat" of the first few drops. Then, as the mist forms and the rain pick ups, the "pit-pats" run closer together and form a sort of "datatatadatatada". But then it forms a fine "hisssssss" as the mist shrouds the sky and the trees and the street. The tires make a "fwwiiiiiish-splash" as the cars make their way down 6th Avenue. But always the hissssss.
All is grey. The future is blocked by the mist. One day at a time. I hated that show. I thought Schneider was funny, though. One day at a time. No dreams. No hopes. Just be home by 3.
Music is meaningless. Music is painful. To see others in love burns my eyes. To see others with newborns tears my soul. To watch others hold hands makes my fingers ache and fall off. To see them kiss...
Everything means nothing. My life is over. I live only for the boys. I am dead already. Be home by 3. Don't dream, don't hope. Their lives begin. Mine is ended.
I can hear the fine hisssss of the rain. And I am so very goddamn motherfuckin' lonely. I miss her and love her forever.
May you never know the anguish I know. Nobody should know this.
3/13/08 10:22 PM
I want to thank you all.
Especially the Lawrinson Crew. I think God had me go to that reunion for a reason. If it had not been for your support, material, spiritual, emotional, I don't know how (or if) I could get through this. 3 months. Feels like 3 minutes. I hope the next reunion is in Boston. I would love for you to see both my boys. I truly regret not bringing Debbie to June's house for the first reunion. We both thought at the time that it would be best for Ramiro. I could not have been more wrong. I've been wrong about a lot of things.
I hope and pray to one day love again. She would have wanted that for me. Let me tell you something about this wonderful selfless woman. Shortly after Ramiro was born, Debbie was taking birth control shots. I was concerned with all those chemicals in her system. I told her I would get a vasectomy; 2 kids was enough. She said "absolutely not!" I asked why. She said "If something happens to me, I want you to get remarried, and that woman might want a child by you." "Deb, what woman would have me?" She said "I chose you!"
Who else would say that? I told her "the day you die is the day I die." It sure feels like it.
The boys are well. Doing good in school.
Thank you all again. God bless you. Keep us in your prayers.
I hope to live again. I hope to laugh again. I hope to love again.
3/14/08 3:42 PM
I am where I was; in agony. It hurts to smile. Can't even try. Panic attacks. Endless crying. And I mean serious bawling and weeping. Wishing I was dead, not her. Can't eat. Need work. Need money. Clean house. Wash clothes. Don't forget to bathe. Dammit to fucking hell I want my wife! I want A wife. I have no vision. I only see my slow march to death. I am smothered by thoughts I want to share. We had an active sex life; now I am suddenly celibate after 22 years. I hate myself. I am dead inside. She was the only one foolish enough to have me. Look at me. What woman would have me? I have nothing but my love to give. Love, devotion, caring. These things have no value for most women. No one would ever choose me. It's over.
6. Every Leaf, Every Shadow...
3/4/08 10:08 PM
People say I am strong. I sure don't feel it. I feel like I'm gonna lose it any second. People say I'm doing a good job. I make so many mistakes, I forget to do things like laundry or proper grocery shopping. So tired. How do you fight the god-forsaken loneliness? God I wish I could burn out certain portions of my brain. I walk around, and everything is her. To go to the library, I have to pass the kiddie park where she and I took our babies for their first steps. Go to West 4th and pass the McDonalds we always took the kids to. I wish I could leave this place. Every leaf, every shadow. I am so weak. My oldest tries so hard to cheer me up, to make me stronger. He's something special. Even little guy is trying to pull his wieght as best he can.
I started therapy last week.
I hope to laugh again. I hope to live again. I hope to love again
3/7/08 10:32 PM
(Kim had lost her beloved husband to illness. She helped me a great deal.)
You really loved him.
To have a true soulmate is a wonderful thing. So many have so much, yet not love. They marry or pair up for empty reasons, then wonder why it's not working and get divorced. True love; a gift from God.
There was no "romance" in the Gilmore Girl sense. We loved each other. When she gave me the "old tomato" (ultimatum, just a couple of months before we found out she was pregnant), I realized I could not live without her. It would have been like cutting off my own leg. I needed her.
Was it the same for you?
I did something today I hadn't done in years. I went to church.
I walk around reciting the Our Father for strength. On the way to the supermarket I passed by Our Lady of Pompeii. I was a little shaky and went in to calm down. It was the 12 o'clock mass, and as I walked in, the priest was leading the people in reciting the Our Father. Wow.
I can't tell you how uplifted I feel when I get an e-mail from you.
People say I am strong. I sure don't feel it. I feel like I'm gonna lose it any second. People say I'm doing a good job. I make so many mistakes, I forget to do things like laundry or proper grocery shopping. So tired. How do you fight the god-forsaken loneliness? God I wish I could burn out certain portions of my brain. I walk around, and everything is her. To go to the library, I have to pass the kiddie park where she and I took our babies for their first steps. Go to West 4th and pass the McDonalds we always took the kids to. I wish I could leave this place. Every leaf, every shadow. I am so weak. My oldest tries so hard to cheer me up, to make me stronger. He's something special. Even little guy is trying to pull his wieght as best he can.
I started therapy last week.
I hope to laugh again. I hope to live again. I hope to love again
3/7/08 10:32 PM
(Kim had lost her beloved husband to illness. She helped me a great deal.)
You really loved him.
To have a true soulmate is a wonderful thing. So many have so much, yet not love. They marry or pair up for empty reasons, then wonder why it's not working and get divorced. True love; a gift from God.
There was no "romance" in the Gilmore Girl sense. We loved each other. When she gave me the "old tomato" (ultimatum, just a couple of months before we found out she was pregnant), I realized I could not live without her. It would have been like cutting off my own leg. I needed her.
Was it the same for you?
I did something today I hadn't done in years. I went to church.
I walk around reciting the Our Father for strength. On the way to the supermarket I passed by Our Lady of Pompeii. I was a little shaky and went in to calm down. It was the 12 o'clock mass, and as I walked in, the priest was leading the people in reciting the Our Father. Wow.
I can't tell you how uplifted I feel when I get an e-mail from you.
5. Peace is A Dream
1/29/08 12:41 AM
I don't like being referred to as single. I was with the same woman for 22 years. Half my life. The days go by, and the pain gets worse, not better. The pain is so great, I feel like I am going to be consumed. I am paranoid; I feel like people are watching me, waiting for me to mess up. I'm so tired. Weeping, weeping, weeping. Be strong for the boys. Who will be strong for me? I am alone. No equal to hug and hold. Who will laugh at my stupid jokes? Playing handball against the ocean. Fear and terror. One day at a time? What about our dreams and hopes? Should I give those up, or try to build the life she would have wanted for us? We made decisions together; we'd bounce things off each other, listen to each other, hear something from the one that the other hadn't thought of. Me alone? Everything could blow sky high.
Kim, tell me those books again? I am so lost. I'm so tired. So tired. And tortured. Haunted. Full of fear and regret. So much regret. Killing me from the inside. 4 hours not enough sleep. What happened? Where's my wife? Why Lord did she have to go? Why didn't you take me instead of my sweetie? I would trade my soul for her life. How ca n I go forward. Forgiveness. Penance. Atonement. These things elude me. Peace is a dream. Endless tears. Pure anguish. Suffer suffer suffer. Sleep only delays the pain. Free me from this.
2/27/08 12:45 AM
I wish I could say I was doing better. I feel dead inside. I have no more dreams, no more hopes. My life is over. I live only for my sons. I'm like a robot. Get home by 3. Obey primary programming.
Not enough time to sleep or eat. Got some freelance work, but have to fight with Ramiro for the computer. Then gotta cook, clean, laundry, go to appointments, shop get what they need come home do homework cook feed them get to bed. Have no time for laundry. Have no time for me.
Everything that used to make me laugh now makes me cry. It hurts to smile. Sometimes I want to die. I know, the boys. I want to laugh again, I want to live again, I want to love again! We had a wonderful sex life. I don't want to shut down!
So tired. So lonely!
2/27/08 6:08 PM
I am so fucking lonely, I am going nuts!
There, I said it! I'm tired of trying to be strong. I'm exhausted. I can't keep up this pace. I'm tired of being admired and told I'm doing a good job under the circumstances. I miss her kisses. I ache for her hugs. I scream for her smiles. I long for her scent. I feel like I'm in solitary confinement. No equal to talk to, no companion to debate with, no lover to share intimacy with. I'm dyin' over here. Trying to hold it together is like trying to hug an inflatable raft to keep it from expanding. I see nothing. I feel dead inside, slowly. Terrible loneliness. I know Kim, read the books. Sorry to let ya down, but even Superman had Kryptonite.
I started therapy last week. Everything that used to make me laugh makes me cry. Everything that made her laugh makes me cry more. I loved her so deeply. My angel. God, you did it for Job. Do it for me.
So tired; can't sleep. So hungry; can't eat. This is some ride.
I don't like being referred to as single. I was with the same woman for 22 years. Half my life. The days go by, and the pain gets worse, not better. The pain is so great, I feel like I am going to be consumed. I am paranoid; I feel like people are watching me, waiting for me to mess up. I'm so tired. Weeping, weeping, weeping. Be strong for the boys. Who will be strong for me? I am alone. No equal to hug and hold. Who will laugh at my stupid jokes? Playing handball against the ocean. Fear and terror. One day at a time? What about our dreams and hopes? Should I give those up, or try to build the life she would have wanted for us? We made decisions together; we'd bounce things off each other, listen to each other, hear something from the one that the other hadn't thought of. Me alone? Everything could blow sky high.
Kim, tell me those books again? I am so lost. I'm so tired. So tired. And tortured. Haunted. Full of fear and regret. So much regret. Killing me from the inside. 4 hours not enough sleep. What happened? Where's my wife? Why Lord did she have to go? Why didn't you take me instead of my sweetie? I would trade my soul for her life. How ca n I go forward. Forgiveness. Penance. Atonement. These things elude me. Peace is a dream. Endless tears. Pure anguish. Suffer suffer suffer. Sleep only delays the pain. Free me from this.
2/27/08 12:45 AM
I wish I could say I was doing better. I feel dead inside. I have no more dreams, no more hopes. My life is over. I live only for my sons. I'm like a robot. Get home by 3. Obey primary programming.
Not enough time to sleep or eat. Got some freelance work, but have to fight with Ramiro for the computer. Then gotta cook, clean, laundry, go to appointments, shop get what they need come home do homework cook feed them get to bed. Have no time for laundry. Have no time for me.
Everything that used to make me laugh now makes me cry. It hurts to smile. Sometimes I want to die. I know, the boys. I want to laugh again, I want to live again, I want to love again! We had a wonderful sex life. I don't want to shut down!
So tired. So lonely!
2/27/08 6:08 PM
I am so fucking lonely, I am going nuts!
There, I said it! I'm tired of trying to be strong. I'm exhausted. I can't keep up this pace. I'm tired of being admired and told I'm doing a good job under the circumstances. I miss her kisses. I ache for her hugs. I scream for her smiles. I long for her scent. I feel like I'm in solitary confinement. No equal to talk to, no companion to debate with, no lover to share intimacy with. I'm dyin' over here. Trying to hold it together is like trying to hug an inflatable raft to keep it from expanding. I see nothing. I feel dead inside, slowly. Terrible loneliness. I know Kim, read the books. Sorry to let ya down, but even Superman had Kryptonite.
I started therapy last week. Everything that used to make me laugh makes me cry. Everything that made her laugh makes me cry more. I loved her so deeply. My angel. God, you did it for Job. Do it for me.
So tired; can't sleep. So hungry; can't eat. This is some ride.
4. I wish I could forgive myself...
1/12/08 10:12 AM
You all have been so kind to me and my boys. This is a horrible time for us. The boys are strong, but I don't know if I will ever get over this. I loved my wife Debbie more than sunshine itself. But when I look back on our life together, all I can see are my screw-ups, my selfishness, my ego. I try to think of the good happy things, but what comes to mind is remorse. Remorse for not being a better man, a better husband, a better father. I took the worries of the world onto my shoulders, and lost sight of the bigger picture. I let the frustrations and problems and fears get to me, and I would get cross and angry. When I vented my angers to her, she took it. Later, I'd come back on my knees, begging her forgiveness. She'd hug me and kiss me, and say "I forgive you, stupid!" She was the greatest treasure ever bestowed, and I squandered it. She was Marge to my Homer, Alice to my Ralph Kramden. She stood with me through thick and thin, good and bad, better and worse. Any other woman would have left me long ago. And I told her that. She would say "Do you hear me complaining? I'm not going anywhere." Or "I'm still here, ain't I?"
And now she's gone. Lord forgive me for waisting the greatest gift in the universe.
And you. Old college friends I haven't seen in 25 years. Former employers. New friends. How ironic. You gave me and my boys support. You reached into your pockets for us. The irony? Nobody in my own family sent us even a single dime! When I asked, I was turned down. Wowzers. A guy I worked for for 6 months shows up to the funeral and gives us $200. Not one blood relative of mine showed up. I have 3 sisters, and I have yet to hear from 2 of them. I have grown nieces in New Jersey, but everyone is "too busy" to visit me or let me bring the boys to visit. I have no real family to speak of. She and the boys were my family. With her at my side, I was ready to take on Satan Himself. Now, I'm terrified to go outside. Shadows frighten me.
And I weep and weep and weep. My soul is split asunder. There is a dagger the size of an oak tree in my heart. Everywhere I walk I see her face. Oh I wish I could give myself 100 lashes for every snippy cross moment. She was love incarnate upon the earth, and for some bizarre insane unfathomable reason she chose to love ME! A piece of shit like me. She was a pearl, and I was a swine. I did not deserve her. I did not earn her. I was not worthy of her. And she chose me. I prayed Jehovah to make me worthy of her. I am still not worthy. She made the world OK. Without her, I am lost, and the world is a very scary place.
The Colón Family thanks you all.
1/13/08 9:45 AM
Oh June, you are so wonderful. I wish I could forgive myself. It's just too easy. I need someone to forgive me. I'm a wreck. I have to make time to see someone, but I have to get back to work. The boys come first.
June she was so sweet. I feel like I just let her die. I should have forced her to go to the hospital. Ohhhhhhh this is all my fault! God please forgive me! I fear for my immortal soul because I have offended God. And yet it is not fear for my eternal fate that makes me remoresful. No. I feel true remorse for not making her life better. I can't move forward. I need forgiveness, and it's just too easy to forgive myself. I KNOW she would forgive me. That makes it even harder. My greatest love. I howl at the moon for her. My tears fill the Hudson River for her. My anguish rips the earth like the Grand Canyon. I wish I could FEEL in my heart that I was forgiven. I LOVED HER SO MUCH! And I sooo dreaded this scenario. I always knew one day this might happen. Maybe that was part of my problem. The stress of KNOWING that each second with her could be my last. It was killing me knowing what MIGHT happen. Now it really happened. Oh June... please "hug" me. Hold my hand. I have no partner. I am incomplete. I told her I feared dying alone if something happened to her. She said "don't worry, if something happens to me, I know you'll find someone. I know you will." I'm so scared. Who would have me, with my boys? I got too cozy after 22 years. Now I feel like dust in the wind. With her I could see the future. Now I look forward and see nothing. I wish I knew why you all care about me so much. I love you for it. You see something in me that I don't see. So did she. Ohhh I'm so scared. I'm so alone. Oh why did I not see how happy I truly was? I was happy and thought I wasn't. My heart is ripped to pieces. What a fool I am. Oh God please give me peace. Give my boys peace.
I could sure use some of those self-esteem pills....
You all have been so kind to me and my boys. This is a horrible time for us. The boys are strong, but I don't know if I will ever get over this. I loved my wife Debbie more than sunshine itself. But when I look back on our life together, all I can see are my screw-ups, my selfishness, my ego. I try to think of the good happy things, but what comes to mind is remorse. Remorse for not being a better man, a better husband, a better father. I took the worries of the world onto my shoulders, and lost sight of the bigger picture. I let the frustrations and problems and fears get to me, and I would get cross and angry. When I vented my angers to her, she took it. Later, I'd come back on my knees, begging her forgiveness. She'd hug me and kiss me, and say "I forgive you, stupid!" She was the greatest treasure ever bestowed, and I squandered it. She was Marge to my Homer, Alice to my Ralph Kramden. She stood with me through thick and thin, good and bad, better and worse. Any other woman would have left me long ago. And I told her that. She would say "Do you hear me complaining? I'm not going anywhere." Or "I'm still here, ain't I?"
And now she's gone. Lord forgive me for waisting the greatest gift in the universe.
And you. Old college friends I haven't seen in 25 years. Former employers. New friends. How ironic. You gave me and my boys support. You reached into your pockets for us. The irony? Nobody in my own family sent us even a single dime! When I asked, I was turned down. Wowzers. A guy I worked for for 6 months shows up to the funeral and gives us $200. Not one blood relative of mine showed up. I have 3 sisters, and I have yet to hear from 2 of them. I have grown nieces in New Jersey, but everyone is "too busy" to visit me or let me bring the boys to visit. I have no real family to speak of. She and the boys were my family. With her at my side, I was ready to take on Satan Himself. Now, I'm terrified to go outside. Shadows frighten me.
And I weep and weep and weep. My soul is split asunder. There is a dagger the size of an oak tree in my heart. Everywhere I walk I see her face. Oh I wish I could give myself 100 lashes for every snippy cross moment. She was love incarnate upon the earth, and for some bizarre insane unfathomable reason she chose to love ME! A piece of shit like me. She was a pearl, and I was a swine. I did not deserve her. I did not earn her. I was not worthy of her. And she chose me. I prayed Jehovah to make me worthy of her. I am still not worthy. She made the world OK. Without her, I am lost, and the world is a very scary place.
The Colón Family thanks you all.
1/13/08 9:45 AM
Oh June, you are so wonderful. I wish I could forgive myself. It's just too easy. I need someone to forgive me. I'm a wreck. I have to make time to see someone, but I have to get back to work. The boys come first.
June she was so sweet. I feel like I just let her die. I should have forced her to go to the hospital. Ohhhhhhh this is all my fault! God please forgive me! I fear for my immortal soul because I have offended God. And yet it is not fear for my eternal fate that makes me remoresful. No. I feel true remorse for not making her life better. I can't move forward. I need forgiveness, and it's just too easy to forgive myself. I KNOW she would forgive me. That makes it even harder. My greatest love. I howl at the moon for her. My tears fill the Hudson River for her. My anguish rips the earth like the Grand Canyon. I wish I could FEEL in my heart that I was forgiven. I LOVED HER SO MUCH! And I sooo dreaded this scenario. I always knew one day this might happen. Maybe that was part of my problem. The stress of KNOWING that each second with her could be my last. It was killing me knowing what MIGHT happen. Now it really happened. Oh June... please "hug" me. Hold my hand. I have no partner. I am incomplete. I told her I feared dying alone if something happened to her. She said "don't worry, if something happens to me, I know you'll find someone. I know you will." I'm so scared. Who would have me, with my boys? I got too cozy after 22 years. Now I feel like dust in the wind. With her I could see the future. Now I look forward and see nothing. I wish I knew why you all care about me so much. I love you for it. You see something in me that I don't see. So did she. Ohhh I'm so scared. I'm so alone. Oh why did I not see how happy I truly was? I was happy and thought I wasn't. My heart is ripped to pieces. What a fool I am. Oh God please give me peace. Give my boys peace.
I could sure use some of those self-esteem pills....
3. The Horror... The Horror...
1/1/08 6:03 PM
Night is the hardest part. Knowing I have no one to lay down with. Knowing that I have no one to awaken with. I put a good face for the boys, but when I go in the hall, my soul splits and peels! Oh God, she died at 5:45am, in the dark, in my hands. I can't shut my eyes. I'm afraid to take a sleeping pill in case the guys need me. I'm like something out of Shakespeare; I keep getting up at The Appointed Hour, and just stand in the darkness, looking at my boys, weeping uncontrollably. The SU crew remembers me with some "notoriety". You have to understand, that for several years after my father died, I had "re-evaluated" what I wanted out of life... and could not find it. Until she walked in. I swear, I thought I would die alone, that no woman would want me, that I'd never have children. 2 out of 3. She wanted me. She gave me children. Yet, I shall still die alone. I know, I have the boys, but without my partner, my soul mate, my gift from God, I am incomplete. I am alone in my thoughts and in my heart. Oh God, I wish I was better to her. Oh God, I wish I had done more for her. She did so much for me. Oh God, forgive me! The greatest sin in my life was not appreciating her enough. Oh how can I forgive myself when I hurt and disappointed so many people, especially her. I want my booby back! I can't believe I watched her die. I froze; mouth to mouth or CPR? I just couldn't clear her airways fast enough. I should've called 911 sooner. Something! Good Lord, there’s a dagger the size of an oak tree in my heart, slowly twisting.
1/5/08 2:16 PM
Dacyl, we've not seen each other for so long. For you to do this thing for me is greatly appreciated. Oh cherish each moment with your love. Remember when you fight over stupid things that they are stupid things. Regret is a horrible thing to live with.
Kim... when we met at the barbecue, I pitied you (not the word I wanted to use) for your loss, and I admired your strength. Look at me now... I don't want to hold a pity party; I know the boys need me and come above all else. But I have to think about me, too. I'm scared. I was incomplete and she made me whole. She shared my thoughts; she shared my pillow. We agreed and disagreed. We laughed and we fought. We loved the simple moments. The four of us lying in bed together, like a pride of lions, watching the Simpsons or Spongebob (She loved that little gay sponge). A walk along the river; a drive to nowhere. Oh God, I am Yin without Yang. I am afraid to grow old alone, without a companion.
I intend to move to Brooklyn by June. I'll put away the Debbie's benefits for the boys until then and buy a used car. I am in the apartment where I was born and raised (hey, a rent control apt. in Soho? Where am I gonna go?). But now this place feels like a coffin. Every time I get a cup of OJ I have to step on the place where she died. I gotta get the fuck outa here.
Night is the hardest part. Knowing I have no one to lay down with. Knowing that I have no one to awaken with. I put a good face for the boys, but when I go in the hall, my soul splits and peels! Oh God, she died at 5:45am, in the dark, in my hands. I can't shut my eyes. I'm afraid to take a sleeping pill in case the guys need me. I'm like something out of Shakespeare; I keep getting up at The Appointed Hour, and just stand in the darkness, looking at my boys, weeping uncontrollably. The SU crew remembers me with some "notoriety". You have to understand, that for several years after my father died, I had "re-evaluated" what I wanted out of life... and could not find it. Until she walked in. I swear, I thought I would die alone, that no woman would want me, that I'd never have children. 2 out of 3. She wanted me. She gave me children. Yet, I shall still die alone. I know, I have the boys, but without my partner, my soul mate, my gift from God, I am incomplete. I am alone in my thoughts and in my heart. Oh God, I wish I was better to her. Oh God, I wish I had done more for her. She did so much for me. Oh God, forgive me! The greatest sin in my life was not appreciating her enough. Oh how can I forgive myself when I hurt and disappointed so many people, especially her. I want my booby back! I can't believe I watched her die. I froze; mouth to mouth or CPR? I just couldn't clear her airways fast enough. I should've called 911 sooner. Something! Good Lord, there’s a dagger the size of an oak tree in my heart, slowly twisting.
1/5/08 2:16 PM
Dacyl, we've not seen each other for so long. For you to do this thing for me is greatly appreciated. Oh cherish each moment with your love. Remember when you fight over stupid things that they are stupid things. Regret is a horrible thing to live with.
Kim... when we met at the barbecue, I pitied you (not the word I wanted to use) for your loss, and I admired your strength. Look at me now... I don't want to hold a pity party; I know the boys need me and come above all else. But I have to think about me, too. I'm scared. I was incomplete and she made me whole. She shared my thoughts; she shared my pillow. We agreed and disagreed. We laughed and we fought. We loved the simple moments. The four of us lying in bed together, like a pride of lions, watching the Simpsons or Spongebob (She loved that little gay sponge). A walk along the river; a drive to nowhere. Oh God, I am Yin without Yang. I am afraid to grow old alone, without a companion.
I intend to move to Brooklyn by June. I'll put away the Debbie's benefits for the boys until then and buy a used car. I am in the apartment where I was born and raised (hey, a rent control apt. in Soho? Where am I gonna go?). But now this place feels like a coffin. Every time I get a cup of OJ I have to step on the place where she died. I gotta get the fuck outa here.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
2. In the Beginning...
You ever hear a story in the news about a woman who gave birth in the bath tub or ladies room, and claimed she didn't know she was pregnant? Well, gather 'round, children, and let me tell ya a tale...
Debbie and I were together for ten years before we got married. So what brought about the change after so many years? I finally knocked her up.
I was working as a systems manager for an advertising company called RY&P Moss. It was April 1, 1995. How appropriate. For some weeks now, Debbie had been getting comments about how she might be in the family way. But she never looked obviously pregnant. Now, she was a "Reubenesque" woman (I like it like that!) and this may have been a factor too. But just ride this pony with me...
Debbie had been under treatment for epilepsy for quite some time. She had had several seizures at Continental Insurance where she worked, and actually lost her job because of it. Anyhoooo, the medicine she was being treated with was Dilantin. Now, we did not think she was pregnant. We thought she was suffering from side effects of the medication. So she goes on WebMD and she gets a list of Dilantin side effects that can mimic pregnancy. Lets go down the list:
Pregnancy: Morning Sickness — Dilantin: Nausea. Check
Pregnancy: Bloating — Dilantin: Retention of Water. Check
Pregnancy: Missing Period — Dilantin: Interference with the Menstrual Cycle. Check
Et Cetera, Ad Infinitum.
So we go on thinking she's not pregnant, that it's the medicine screwing with her. One day she feels a rumbly in her belly. She's thinking it's an ulcer. One of the side effects of Dilantin could be GI problems. So she makes an appointment for an endoscopy, where they insert a camera down your throat to view the inside of your stomach. When she gets there, she is given some preliminary tests. One of the tests is a pregnancy test. She comes up positive. No worries mate; one of the side effects of Dilantin is a false positive on a pregnancy test! So the GI guy tells her, "Look, you're obviously not pregnant. Just take this form to the Sonogram office, they'll check you and certify you're not pregnant, and we can do the procedure." So the sonogram guys checks her out, and says to her, "Okay. You're pregnant!"
I'm blissfully ignorant of all this while I'm at work trying to convince Harvey to work off the server so that all files would be backed up and updated. I get a phone call from Debbie.
"Hi, Sweetie! How'd it go?"
"Nori, I'm pregnant."
"Hummana-hummana-hummana... OK, how far along are you?"
Now keep this in mind. I'm a hippie. I had no money at the time, my tiny apartment in Soho, and no plans to marry, have child or anything close to that! So when asked how far along she was, I was expecting to hear 2, 3, maybe 6 months, TOPS! Let's get back to the action:
"OK, how far along are you?"
"Eight months."
EIGHT MONTHS!!! WHAT THE FUCK!? ¿¡QUE CARAJO COMO VA' SER!? You're gonna be a daddy! When? Tuesday! HOLY SHIT!
Now I'm standing there trembling, crying and laughing like a madman. I am in great joy and abject terror at the same time. My knees turn to jelly, and I almost collapse. Hilda, the receptionist, actually has to catch me and hold me steady.
"¿Que pasó?"
"Debbie's pregnant!"
"Congratulations! When is the baby due?"
"FOUR WEEKS!"
"¡Ay, Dios, mio!"
I'm a quivering mess as Hilda carefully guides me through the office to the back conference room for privacy. I'm babbling, crying, laughing like a nut as people ask what's wrong. "SHH! He just found out he's going to be a father!" I barely make it to a chair. What am I going to do? I have no money to raise a family, no crib, nothing! People come in to congratulate me as I'm trying to fight off a stroke. FOUR WEEKS! Frogs take more time to reproduce! The vice president of the company hears the news, and comes into the conference room. He says, "I was saving this for a special occasion, but it looks like you need this more than I do!" He puts a bottle of 12-year-old Swedish Vodka and a dixie cup in front of me, and I proceed to completely polish that thing off. We always kept that bottle as a keepsake remembrance; I'm looking at it right now.
I called my mother in Puerto Rico. "Mami, your gonna be a grandmother!" "Really? When?" "What time you got?"
We got married on April 14, 1995. Otilio Elías William Colón Lomax, a.k.a. Tito, was born April 20, 1995, one week early.
Two years later, I get a phone call from Debbie.
"Nori, I'm pregnant!"
"Deb, I need more than four weeks notice!"
"I'm two months pregnant."
"HALLELUJAH! THIS, I CAN HANDLE!"
"You're not angry?"
"Angry? I'm ecstatic! I got months instead of hours to get ready!"
So entered Ramiro Norberto Andrés Colón Lomax, a.k.a. Miro.
Debbie and I were together for ten years before we got married. So what brought about the change after so many years? I finally knocked her up.
I was working as a systems manager for an advertising company called RY&P Moss. It was April 1, 1995. How appropriate. For some weeks now, Debbie had been getting comments about how she might be in the family way. But she never looked obviously pregnant. Now, she was a "Reubenesque" woman (I like it like that!) and this may have been a factor too. But just ride this pony with me...
Debbie had been under treatment for epilepsy for quite some time. She had had several seizures at Continental Insurance where she worked, and actually lost her job because of it. Anyhoooo, the medicine she was being treated with was Dilantin. Now, we did not think she was pregnant. We thought she was suffering from side effects of the medication. So she goes on WebMD and she gets a list of Dilantin side effects that can mimic pregnancy. Lets go down the list:
Pregnancy: Morning Sickness — Dilantin: Nausea. Check
Pregnancy: Bloating — Dilantin: Retention of Water. Check
Pregnancy: Missing Period — Dilantin: Interference with the Menstrual Cycle. Check
Et Cetera, Ad Infinitum.
So we go on thinking she's not pregnant, that it's the medicine screwing with her. One day she feels a rumbly in her belly. She's thinking it's an ulcer. One of the side effects of Dilantin could be GI problems. So she makes an appointment for an endoscopy, where they insert a camera down your throat to view the inside of your stomach. When she gets there, she is given some preliminary tests. One of the tests is a pregnancy test. She comes up positive. No worries mate; one of the side effects of Dilantin is a false positive on a pregnancy test! So the GI guy tells her, "Look, you're obviously not pregnant. Just take this form to the Sonogram office, they'll check you and certify you're not pregnant, and we can do the procedure." So the sonogram guys checks her out, and says to her, "Okay. You're pregnant!"
I'm blissfully ignorant of all this while I'm at work trying to convince Harvey to work off the server so that all files would be backed up and updated. I get a phone call from Debbie.
"Hi, Sweetie! How'd it go?"
"Nori, I'm pregnant."
"Hummana-hummana-hummana... OK, how far along are you?"
Now keep this in mind. I'm a hippie. I had no money at the time, my tiny apartment in Soho, and no plans to marry, have child or anything close to that! So when asked how far along she was, I was expecting to hear 2, 3, maybe 6 months, TOPS! Let's get back to the action:
"OK, how far along are you?"
"Eight months."
EIGHT MONTHS!!! WHAT THE FUCK!? ¿¡QUE CARAJO COMO VA' SER!? You're gonna be a daddy! When? Tuesday! HOLY SHIT!
Now I'm standing there trembling, crying and laughing like a madman. I am in great joy and abject terror at the same time. My knees turn to jelly, and I almost collapse. Hilda, the receptionist, actually has to catch me and hold me steady.
"¿Que pasó?"
"Debbie's pregnant!"
"Congratulations! When is the baby due?"
"FOUR WEEKS!"
"¡Ay, Dios, mio!"
I'm a quivering mess as Hilda carefully guides me through the office to the back conference room for privacy. I'm babbling, crying, laughing like a nut as people ask what's wrong. "SHH! He just found out he's going to be a father!" I barely make it to a chair. What am I going to do? I have no money to raise a family, no crib, nothing! People come in to congratulate me as I'm trying to fight off a stroke. FOUR WEEKS! Frogs take more time to reproduce! The vice president of the company hears the news, and comes into the conference room. He says, "I was saving this for a special occasion, but it looks like you need this more than I do!" He puts a bottle of 12-year-old Swedish Vodka and a dixie cup in front of me, and I proceed to completely polish that thing off. We always kept that bottle as a keepsake remembrance; I'm looking at it right now.
I called my mother in Puerto Rico. "Mami, your gonna be a grandmother!" "Really? When?" "What time you got?"
We got married on April 14, 1995. Otilio Elías William Colón Lomax, a.k.a. Tito, was born April 20, 1995, one week early.
Two years later, I get a phone call from Debbie.
"Nori, I'm pregnant!"
"Deb, I need more than four weeks notice!"
"I'm two months pregnant."
"HALLELUJAH! THIS, I CAN HANDLE!"
"You're not angry?"
"Angry? I'm ecstatic! I got months instead of hours to get ready!"
So entered Ramiro Norberto Andrés Colón Lomax, a.k.a. Miro.
Friday, October 10, 2008
1. The Most Painful Duty of My Life
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...
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