Chapter 1 

 

We’ve been through hard things before, all of us, in our family. In the nineties, it felt like every year another loved one was passing away. First my grandfather when I was four, then my father at seven. The loss of him nearly destroyed me. Two years later my brother, my great grandmother, my grandmother and finally, at the age of thirteen, my beloved Uncle Richie passed. I remember waiting for the next funeral, it had become so expected that someone else was bound to die on me. I waited for years for the bottom to fall out again. When my sister Tina was diagnosed with breast cancer the day after my 16th birthday party I sobbed myself right into a case of pink eye thinking she would be the next to go. The cancer didn’t take her like it had our brother, and despite the gaping wound in my chest that expected the worst, my sister is still alive and well today - twenty one years later. The bottom didn’t fall out, and the deaths, at long last, stopped coming.

 

They say time heals all wounds, and though it has taken years of self work and therapy - those old wounds did finally start to heal. Even so, the more time goes on, the sword of Damocles swings above all our heads, the thread holding it becoming thinner and thinner as the people who raised me keep getting older and older. I’ve already lost my beloved Aunt Cheryle. I watch my mom and my other favorite aunt, her sister Minnie, and know that even if they stay in perfect health, the time is coming where I’ll have to face a life without them. That is where my focus has been. 

 

Until this Monday, when life had other plans.

 

My sister Tina and I have been planning a baby sprinkle for my niece Maryssa, who is expecting her second child, a beautiful baby boy. I had been in a full day workshop at work and was exhausted by the time I closed my laptop. My sister is an anxious party planner. Me, not so much - I could throw a party with a day’s notice, be perfectly calm and still pull off a memorable event. SInce my sister is the opposite of me, I tried to pre-empt the barrage of anxious texts that would surely come and asked if she wanted to work on sprinkle things after I was done at work. Tina had been visiting with my mom who was still recovering from knee surgery, and agreed to meet up. Usually, a visit to my mom is like getting caught in a venus fly trap. You’re there for hours. This day - Tina and my brother-in-law Manny only stayed a little while with Mom, and made it home by 5:30pm.

 

As they tell their side of the story, when Tina and Manny got home, my nephew MJ was already upstairs laying down in bed. MJ, who works selling ice cream for Mister Softee, had come home early because of the rain. Tina called up to him to ask if he wanted her to warm up food for him, leftovers from Sunday’s family BBQ. He simply replied, “Nah”, and his parents went on about their day, fully planning to leave him alone and let him sleep. 

 

Tina sent me the text “I’m home” and I hopped into the car, prepared for a night of rehashing menu choices and folding napkins, maybe setting up some crafts we could get done in advance of the party that was only two weeks away. I pulled into the driveway and saw MJ’s car, and my heart lit up with joy like it always does when he’s home. He works seven days a week, sixteen hour days and we rarely see him unless it rains or there’s some family event or emergency - so I light up like a Christmas tree on the days I get to see him. I walked in the house, kissed Tina hello. I walked over to my brother-in-law who was sitting on the couch for a change. I thought that was odd - Manny is never resting on a couch. But today he was. I kissed him hello and asked Tina where MJ was. “He’s upstairs.” she replied. 

 

So, as I always do, I called up to him, “Emmmmy Jayyyy!!” and he replied with a high pitched and weird laugh…and then some gibberish words. To any normal family - that would seem odd, but this is actually not abnormal for us. It’s how we joke. So…my sister and I, we laughed…and we went back and forth with him. It was a bit weirder than normal, so we were both looking at each other like, “what the heck?”. He responded again with an even weirder laugh and then tried to make the gibberish sounds again, but this time it was all gargled as if he were choking on them. 

 

Manny, listening from the couch directly under the stairs immediately said “Something isn’t right” and sprung up the stairs like a lightning bolt on his recently fractured and still healing ankle. Tina and I ran up after him, and when I got up there, Tina was screaming “He’s coughing up blood!” and they had him on his side. 

 

I saw his forehead pebbled with sweat, and when I instinctively went to wipe it away, pushing the sweat into his beautiful dark curls, the same as my sister’s when she was young, he was warm to the touch. Too warm. 

 

I yelled “get that fan on him, right now!” and I don’t know if it was me, or his dad, but we positioned the fan to his head. I was yelling at him “MJ, you need to wake up RIGHT NOW! WAKE UP!!”. 

 

Everything in me was screaming heat stroke - knowing that he spends all day working in hot trucks. 

 

Manny yelled “Call 911” and I immediately flipped my phone out and typed in the numbers. 

 

As the phone rang, he screamed again “Call 911 right now!!”  

 

“I am, I am - it’s ringing”. 

 

When a voice finally came on the line, I cried into the phone their address, 28 year old unresponsive male, and “You need to get here NOW!”. The person on the other end of the phone seemed to scream with me, and then composed herself, hearing the urgency in my voice. At some point she transferred me to a dispatcher who asked if we had turned him to his side, and he tried to keep me calm and ask questions about what was going on, if he took drugs, if he had any kind of medical history or if he was on any meds. Nothing…he was on nothing, took nothing, never did drugs.

 

It felt like time was passing, too much precious time. 

 

His father was screaming “Where are they! Why isn’t the ambulance here yet?!” and Tina was doing her best to try to wake him - and cool him down. We were helpless, totally helpless. The dispatcher wouldn’t tell us how far away the ambulance was, but just said “they’re on the way”. It felt like hours, and hope started to fail. I thought to myself, my nephew is going to die up there before they get here. How is this happening?  

 

I positioned myself between the stairs and the front window of the dining room so I could see when they got there, the door flung open so they could rush right in. The police officer showed up first - and he walked out of his car. 

 

I told him, frantic - “He’s upstairs, to the right. He’s a good boy, he doesn’t do drugs, we don’t know what is happening! But he’s coughing up blood and not responding”.

 

The police officer walked in and went up the stairs…no urgency. He asked questions “does he do drugs, did he take anything, has anything like this happened before”. “No, nothing, never” we all said. 

 

Pressing his fist into MJ’s sternum, MJ moaned and moved his arm to push the cop off of him, and with more needling, I saw those beautiful brown eyes open, for just a moment. But they weren’t aware - it was like watching someone in a deep sleep being forced awake. 

 

Finally - it felt like hours had passed before the ambulance arrived, but it was more like 15 minutes. Again, I flung the front door open for them, and I stepped out, watching them. Silently willing them to action. The cop walked out to meet them, and they walked toward the house togetherx, laughing and talking like this was just any day and they were two buddies just  catching up. No urgency. 

 

I sent them up the stairs to where MJ and I stood outside watching the rest of the team of first responders. Two female paramedics stood outside the door near me, and one of the girls exclaimed, “Wow, what a beautiful house!” I said with no emotion, “Thanks. It’s my sister’s house”, but inside I was screaming “WHY ARE YOU LOOKING AT THE FUCKING HOUSE - HELP MY NEPHEW!”. But I didn’t do that…I stayed quiet, because, surely, they must know what they’re doing - and maybe this isn’t so bad if they’re all acting so calm. 

 

I went into the house with the two girls, and again they looked around and one of them said “Oh my God, this house is so beautiful” and again I had to fight my inner beast from going off on them. I knew it wouldn’t help the situation and the focus needed to stay on my MJ. 

 

I listened at the bottom of the stairs as they annoyed him back to consciousness. I heard my sister asking him,  “What’s your name? Do you know where you are?” and he was answering…barely coherent, but answering.

 

The ambulance guy for the chair gurney had been standing there with me waiting for the longest time, but then at some point stepped outside. One of the ambulance people upstairs called down, “John, we’re ready for the gurney”. 

 

John wasn’t there. 

 

I went to the front door and yelled out “Are any of you named John? They’re ready for you for the chair gurney”. John came running in and brought the gurney up. They got MJ to sit in it by some miracle, put the oxygen tank in his lap and told him to hold it as they carried him down. His hand fell away from it, and the girl that was helping guide them down said “Hold it like a puppy!” and giggled - “No one will drop a puppy”.

 

Making an attempt at humor, I said, “Better off calling it a thing of sopra sada, he wouldn’t let go of that”...but the joke fell flat as it left my lips. I called up to him, “Hold it like it’s Maryssa’s baby!”. And he did. 

 

He looked at me as he was coming down and I said “Hi Emmy”, cautious relief flooding my features that he was up and alert, but eyes still full of fear. He looked at me and said “Hey Grace”. 

 

They got him down, pivoted him up the one step into the dining room and then out the front door. He asked them to let him stand, and he did. He got up on his own and put himself on the gurney. My heart felt a little less tight…but I was watching with caution. “What hospital are you taking him to?” I asked the officer. The ambulance person responded, “Brookhaven”. 

 

Everything moved in slow motion. They got him into the ambulance and I watched as my brother-in-law rushed to cram his injured foot into a shoe, and ran out to go with MJ into the ambulance. 

 

I ran over to the kitchen table and grabbed whatever I saw they might need - my sister’s glasses, her phone - some water and keys. My sister ran to change her clothes. 

 

We ran out there and hopped in my car. The ambulance still wasn’t moving. My brother-in-law was in the front seat - which I assumed was just because there isn’t much space in the back. I waited at the end of the driveway, ready to fly. When the ambulance finally started to move, they were going the speed limit. Stopping at every stop sign. No lights. No sirens. 

 

At first, me and Tina looked at each other, like, why no lights? Why no urgency?

 

So we talked a little, and we started to feel safe. We started to feel like, ok, maybe this isn’t so bad. If anything was wrong - the sirens would be on. 

 

We followed them through the back roads of Mastic, to William Floyd Parkway. They went exactly the speed limit. Stopped full stop at every stop sign, every red light. I stayed right behind them the whole way down Sunrise highway. Max speed was 80, and I was breathing a little better that at least on Sunrise they were pushing the speedometer a little. 

 

As we turned into the parking lot of the hospital, Tina and I had actually started to breathe much better and were starting to try to laugh it off. We got out of the car to find my brother-in-law Manny standing there, veins popping out of his neck yelling at Tina to get there now. I yelled at her from behind, “Run Tina, RUN!” 

 

As we approached the ambulance, I thought I heard them say cardiac arrest, and if I tilted my head just slightly to the left I feared I would see the worst thing imaginable. Like a coward, I didn’t look. 

 

The paramedics were yelling inside the cabin, and I knew the best thing I could do was to just stay there…paralyzed with uselessness.

 

The doors to the back of the ambulance flew open, MJ’s arm hanging limp from the stretcher. As they went to lower him down, Manny started screaming “HIS WIRES, HIS WIRES” - the IVs attached to MJ were still connected inside the truck and they were ripping out of him, making him bleed. They had to maneuver back up, precious seconds ticking away, and then lower him out, the wires dragging along the pavement, and Manny. Manny, with his fractured ankle, kept pace with them as they rushed him in through the hospital doors, picking up the wires and handing them to one of the guys. Wires picked up, Manny grabbed onto his son’s limp hand and held it all the way into the building, running with the team. 

 

They yelled at him, “Sir, you need to leave. You can’t go in here.” 

 

Manny yelled, “He’s my son, I’m staying with him. That’s my boy! I'm not leaving my boy!”

 

I was screaming from behind, “Manny, you need to leave him. You need to let them do what they need to do”. Tina was screaming too, but I couldn’t hear her. I only watched as the whole scene played out and they ushered us through a doorway to the security desk in the ER. 

 

Manny was trying to check in with his license as a nurse came through the door we’d just come through. “Who are you all in relation to him? We need information”. Manny responded that they told him he needs to check in, but that he would be the one giving the information. I screamed “No, you go with them, they need you more. Forget checking in - just go. GO!”. With that, he rushed through the doors and Tina and I checked ourselves in so if we could see him, we could take turns. 

 

A minute later, someone came out for Tina, and asked that I stay in the waiting room. I sat in the farthest corner with the best view of those doors, and prayed. It was more of a chant really…”Please God, be with MJ. Let him be ok. Please God, be with MJ. Let him be ok”. Over and over again…for what seemed like eons. 

 

Maybe ten minutes into sitting there, Tina texted me and said to share what was going on with our family - and to ask for their prayers. Before I could send a message like that, I knew I needed to make one call first. To my niece, Maryssa - the one we had been planning the baby sprinkle for, who was also seven months pregnant and already had two miscarriages prior.

 

The phone rang and rang, and she didn’t answer. I texted her - Please pick up. 

 

I called a second time, and she answered “What’s up - are you ok?”

 

“Whatever I say next, you need to remain calm”

 

“I am calm. Just tell me.” Without knowing a thing, the fear was already in her voice. 

 

“I need you to promise me you will be calm, because I need you to protect that baby in your belly.”

 

“I am calm, just tell me - what happened?!”

 

“We’re at the hospital with MJ right now - it looks like he might have had a seizure, they think it might be heat stroke or hypoxia right now, but we don’t know what happened.”

 

I listened as my niece broke down in tears and I did my best to reassure her in an impossible situation. I told her that he had woken up at one point and he even recognized me and knew who I was, but that he had another episode in the ambulance and they’re back there working on him now.

 

I listened as she struggled to compose herself and promised her I’d let her know what’s happening as I learned more. 

 

No sooner did I hang up with her than a nurse came up from behind me. “Vanessa?”

 

“That’s me”.

 

 “Come this way”. 

 

My heart sank…

 

MJ was in the opposite direction - so where was she taking me and what was she about to tell me?

She brought me into a room with a sign “Family Waiting Room”. To my surprise, both Manny and Tina were already in there, my brother-in-law slouched in the chair, dejected. 

 

My heart froze.

Chapter 2

 

“What happened?!” I asked, fear leaching through my body. 

 

“They sent us in here. I caused a little bit of a scene” My brother-in-law said, shaking his head. “I asked them why they didn’t turn on the lights, and that was it - they sent me in here”

 

Relief replaced some of the fear. MJ wasn’t dead - but that also means no one was back there with him making sure he was safe. My mind flashed to them pulling him out of the ambulance with his wires still attached inside the rig. 

 

I leaned into Manny, with my mask on. At some point - someone must have given me a mask. I looked him in the eye and whispered, ”Save those comments for after this is all over, then you can ask them that and sue their asses, if need be”. 

 

He said, “I know, I know”, shaking his head in dismay.

 

My big strong, protector of a brother-in-law, who wanted to be there for his son, was trapped in this little room, full of unknowing and beating himself up for screwing up his chances of staying with his son. 

 

“You acted just as any good father would, Manny - this is not your fault. They acted the way they had to act, to be able to help MJ. We just need to pray”.

 

The minutes passed like hours. Family kept texting and calling, asking for updates we didn’t have to give. I watched my sister and my brother-in-law lean on each other for support, and taking turns praying in their own way. 

Manny cast his gaze to the ceiling, calling on God’s faithfulness, his faith never wavering, even in this darkest moment.

 

We all took turns bickering about what it could have been that caused this, searching for answers when there were too many unknowns. 

 

My mom called, hysterical crying - wailing, as if MJ had died. “Put Tina on,” she begged.

 

 “You need to calm down if you want to talk to her - if she hears you like this it’s going to go right through her”. 

 

In that moment, I realized Tina was holding my hand or I was holding hers, and it was shaking. 

 

“Take a deep breath and calm down, and I’ll put her on.” I said. When I heard her settle a little, I passed the phone to Tina, and although I could still hear the crying on the other end, I knew my mom had done her best to tone it down. 

As we sat there, MJ’s phone was in Manny’s pocket, pinging with notifications from Northwell Health for all the tests they were running. The answers were just beyond that lock screen, and no matter what sequence he tried, Manny just couldn’t get into it to see. It was the cruelest form of torture. 

 

The fear and worry turned to anxiousness and frustration. Why weren’t they telling us anything? 

 

Finally, God sent us an angel. A nurse, we later learned was named Tye, came in and gave us the update that we were all praying for. “He’s still alive,” she said. 

 

Apparently, as I learned later, Tina, before they banished them to the waiting room had said to her, “You better not tell me my son is dead. You better not tell me my son is dead.”

 

Whatever relief we felt from that statement was only momentary. In the next sentence, Tye told us that they had intubated him because he was having back to back seizures and it was the best course of action in case the seizures eventually impacted his airway. They were sending him for a catscan and that’s all she knew, or could say. 

 

I shared the update in the family chat, and immediately got a text from my niece. She was on her way over with her husband. 

 

At some point - they let his parents in to see him again. They switched off and let me go in and see him. What I saw was something that will be seared into my memory for all the rest of my life. 

 

My nephew, in a hospital bed in a remote cove of the emergency room, tubes coming out of him, a respirator breathing for him, and his belly heaving up and down as if he were fighting for his life, struggling to stay alive. I think my sister was with me, or I could have been in there alone - I can’t remember. This is the part where time slowed down for me - and I knew that this was going to be bad…and all along the thought…How did this happen? Why?

 

Maryssa and her husband Brian got there shortly after I saw him, and just as they walked through the doors, Manny and Tina came out from where MJ was and said they need to work on him and won’t let us see him right now. 

 

We all went back to the waiting room, to pace, to pray, to answer calls and questions we had no answers for. The doctor finally came in to give an update, and the update was - we know nothing. 

 

They were running all the tests…but everything kept coming back negative. 

 

Worse - MJ was still seizing despite the anti-seizure medications and sedation. 

 

Hours passed in that waiting room with us pacing and praying, pacing and praying. My sister was freezing, my niece was shivering from the air condition in the room. My brother-in-law was calling on God to be there with his son, praying for God’s faithfulness in the situation.

 

Eventually my brother and his wife also showed up and sat with us as we waited. He brought food - but no one could eat. 

 

Tye came back in - our resident angel. She gave us the “no update” update. Although the exact details of the conversation have since left me, I remember at some point saying,  “We have his sister here who is seven months pregnant, and we’re worried for her too that the stress of this will God forbid cause her to go into early labor”. 

 

Tye gave us some more words of comfort, as much as anyone could give in the situation. Maryssa, who is not one to skirt around an issue, but who had otherwise been reigning in her anxiety up until this moment said, 

 

“I know it’s not your fault, and I’m not blaming you - but I’m getting really frustrated. We can’t see him, we can’t get any updates and we have no answers as to why this is happening. Can we at least see him? It’s been hours.”

 

That seemed to strike something in Tye, who herself is a mother and could feel the stress Maryssa had, both for her brother, whose life was on the line, and for the baby growing inside of her, whose life in that very moment was also on the line.

 

“Let me see what I can do,” Tye said. “No promises, though, but I will try my best.”

 

You could almost hear wings flutter as she left the room. 

 

A few minutes later, she came back with her phone in hand and said,  “They’re gonna let you in to see him in ten minutes.” She looked to Maryssa, and walked over. “You need to promise me, though, you need to stay calm. I'm not saying anything is happening, nothing has changed - it’s just not a pleasant sight to see and you need to keep yourself calm for that baby. You also need to promise me you’ll let me bring you a wheelchair.” 

 

Maryssa looked suspiciously at Tye for a long few moments, trying to suss out if she should prepare herself to find her brother dead or…God only knows.

 

Tye seemed to understand what the look was all about and she reassured Maryssa, “MJ is still alive - he’s just critical and it’s not something you want to see, so I just want you to be prepared. It’s a lot for anyone to see, even me. But especially if it’s someone you love.”

 

With that, Maryssa agreed to the terms, and ten minutes later, like clockwork, Tina, Manny, Maryssa and Brian went to go see MJ. 

 

Their absence filled the room with silence as me, my brother Danny and his wife Shirley were left behind. We talked about a lot of things to fill the time, our brother Anthony - the family curse we thought had been broken (the deaths of the 28 year old males in our family - something a fortune teller cursed my great grandmother with back in the 20’s). We broke the curse, we thought - but the fear was real that we were going to lose another one of our men to this. I prayed against it, I prayed against it all night long, and visions of my cancer ridden brother kept flashing through my mind. 

 

We talked about Shirley’s brother who recently passed, and we talked just to talk and try to make the minutes pass faster…but our hearts and minds were in that ER. 

 

Maryssa kept me updated with texts, saying they’re trying to transfer him. Suddenly Brian was in front of us telling us they’re air lifting him to Mineola and asking if I could take him to their house to get Tina and Manny’s car, since I drove her here. We grabbed our stuff, kissed Danny and Shirley goodbye, and rushed off to complete our mission. I drove the extra three minutes to my house to take care of my dog and cat, and then flew back as quickly as I could - stopping for supplies along the way. Four bottles of water, and an assortment of quick treats.

 

When I got back to Brookhaven, the situation had changed yet again. They let me go back there to see him. This time, he was heavily sedated - but his breathing was much better than before. There were vials of clear fluids on one table, a urine specimen on the other. Manny warned me not to go over to that side…those clear vials were the spinal tap they had done, and he had a million tubes on that side.

 

The helicopter to Mineola was no longer an option due to bad weather. Now the plan was to transfer him to Southside Hospital in Bayshore, which was better, since it was closer. 

 

It was too crammed in the ER for us all to be there, so I went back to the waiting room. Shortly after, everyone was back in the room grabbing their stuff, and ready to follow him over to Southside. 

 

Maryssa and Brian went home. Because it might be meningitis, they thought it best that she stay away since it’s highly contagious and dangerous for the baby. 

 

I asked my sister if she wanted me to come, and she gave a typical Libra answer of “Well, if you want to, if it’s not too much” and I said - “I want to be there, so if you’re not against it, then yes I’m coming”. 

 

I followed behind them, the roads wide open on our way there, being it was already 3am.

 

When we pulled up to the hospital, we were met with an older gentleman guard named Cesar. Cesar told us MJ wasn’t checked in yet, that we had to wait for his name to pop up in the system. We explained that Brookhaven had told us they already had a room for him and he’s critical - if we could just go up, or at the very least, send his mom. 

 

“Well, you know - if they caught me doing that, we have to do things a certain way or I could be fired. I’m gonna keep calling these numbers, but you know how it is at night, they don’t answer, and it just rings and rings. It could be a half an hour before they answer.”

 

I could tell my sister and brother-in-law were exercising their patience, pleading with him gently, thanking him for trying. Cesar kept giving the same answer, as he called different numbers, looking at a little spreadsheet of hospital extensions. 

 

He did another search of MJ’s name, and it came up. “I still need to call to check with the desk”

 

I said to Cesar, “I appreciate all you’re doing, but he’s critical. These are his parents and they’re afraid their son is going to die and they’re not going to be able to be with him. Is there anything you can do, can we just send his mom at least?”

 

With the phone pressed to his ear, he replied, “I’m about to be relieved soon, we’re gonna have a changing of the guard. When I go on my meal break, I’ll go up there myself and see”. 

 

No sooner did he say that than a woman stepped out from Admitting down the hall.

 

“Cesar, who are you calling?”

 

“They’re trying to get up to see a patient and I’m calling the desk.”

 

“No Cesar, you’re calling me.”

 

Cesar seemed to mumble in response, and the lady went back from whence she came, in a huff. 

Manny and Tina kept trying to plead with him. 

 

Manny looked over to the bench in the corner and said, “We’ll wait right here, we’ll sit on that bench and not move - if you can please go find someone or another guard who can check”.

 

Cesar spiraled into a diatribe about how he can’t leave his post, when suddenly a tall gentleman appeared from down the lobby, “Hey, come here.”

 

“Let them through?” Cesar responded.

 

“No - you come here, Cesar.” Reluctantly, Cesar left his post. 

 

The tall gentleman walked over and assumed Cesar’s place behind the front desk. As he settled into his chair he explained to us that it takes a little bit for them to get patients set up, so it might be a few minutes before we’d see MJ. He checked us in with our ids and sent us up - and we thanked him. Another angel with wings fluttering. 

 

When we got up to the room, MJ was still not in the ICU, so we were escorted to a cold empty waiting room. They were sending him for another catscan, the nurse explained.

 

His father sat at his post - eyes wide open. Waiting. 

 

His mother tried to curl up and bundle up with whatever sweaters she had brought - and a pair of sweatpants Brian had brought from his and Maryssa’s house. Shivering and sleep deprived. 

 

I went to set up in my own corner and asked Manny if he wanted a sweatshirt or if I could prop his leg up on the comfy chair so he can try to sleep a little. 

 

He looked at me with a face of sheer determination. “These eyes don’t close, until those eyes open.”

Knowing my brother-in-law, I knew it was a battle I wouldn’t win, and did my best to close my own eyes…but no matter how the hours passed, none of our eyes would close.

 

It was hours before we were able to see MJ again. When we did, he had his own private room, with his own nurse to care for him and one other patient. He was heavily sedated, the respirator still in place, and now a cooling pad beneath him, trying to bring down his temperature. 

 

The nurse explained that because his body had been fighting so hard through the seizures, it caused a temperature to spike. 

 

Manny took point directly in front of the bed and assumed his watch for the night. Tina stood over him, praying, and making sure his face was clean, making sure his wires all looked right. 

 

They shifted seats, at some point. Manny sat next to MJ, at his side. 

 

Tina put her head on my shoulder and tried to sleep a little. 

 

Then they started talking about how I’d need to drive, and take Tina home to get some things….so I propped a sweatshirt against the glass door and let myself sleep for the first time since it all happened. It was 6am and we had been nearly 12 hours into the saga.

 

Around 8am, I awoke to nurses zooming in and out around me - they were bringing in a giant x-ray machine to go over the bed, and I jolted from my sleep, grabbed my backpack and keys and followed Manny and Tina out the door, calling to MJ that I’d be right back and I loved him.

 

I took Tina home - and took another cat nap that only lasted an hour. Tina didn’t sleep at all - she just showered and grabbed supplies.

Chapter 3

 

We were back at the hospital at 11:30am to begin the long process of watching him breathe, hoping he would wake and praying that when he did, he would still be MJ. Manny never stopped watching that chest going up and down. He watched every nurse that came in, questioned every move that was made and made sure that his son was taken care of every second we were there. His eyes never closed. 

 

The longer his eyes didn’t close, the more I worried, but there was no swaying him. He was determined.

 

Tina hovered over MJ, refusing to sit. Keeping her hand on his chest, praying, checking, praying. Hoping for answers, and with every test result that came through, getting none.

 

Maryssa came, despite the possible Meningitis, and sat there away from her brother, but like a pitbull - asking questions, seeking answers and trying to keep her parents calm.

 

Manny, Maryssa and I all gathered whatever numbers we had for his friends, and in tears, Manny told them all what was going on and invited them to come see him. 

 

I left the room at some point when the first friend came, Jamel. There were too many people and we didn’t want to get kicked out. My sister tells me he cried when he saw him. 

 

Another friend came, brokenhearted. HIs friend, Joe. 

 

Then Bishop came with Pastor Trish. They walked into the room, no hellos or other niceties, impervious to our pleas to put on a mask. Bishop reached out and put his hands on MJ and started to pray over him. We all gathered around the hospital bed, touching his arm, his chest, his toes, praying. Maryssa, still keeping her distance because of the possible meningitis, held onto Brian. As they prayed, I tried to have faith. I know where the faith lives inside of me, but my heart was too broken and fearful to access it. I prayed anyway and trusted that God was hearing me despite my pathetic lack of faith.

 

After the prayer was over, Bishop spoke directly to MJ. He told him that he would wake up from this and that God would have the glory, to call on Jesus. 

 

After the prayer, Pastor Trish was talking and said, “I was so worried about Vanessa”. 

 

“Worried about me?” I asked. “Why would you worry about me, I’m fine” I said, the last word coming out in a sob. 

 

Suddenly, just like that, the dam broke. I sobbed, for the first time since it happened and it all came pouring out. Pastor Trish said, “I was worried, because I know how close you are to your family, and for you to be there with him when this happened…” 

 

The words that came out from me, in a wail of tears and sorrow, “He was answering me!” and that moment in the kitchen flashed again in my mind, me looking up to where MJ was sleeping and calling up to him - and that laugh he gave in response. Pastor Trish told me how much she loves me, and was saying other beautiful things I can’t remember, and I replied, looking over her shoulder to my MJ in the hospital bed, “I love this fricken kid so much”, through tears and more sobbing. 

 

I composed myself, and then looked to my niece who was sitting in the chair, her pregnant belly shaking as sobs took over. “I only let myself cry for thirty seconds at a time” she said, tears pouring down her face, her sobs turning to laughter. We all laughed with her. We still have another nephew of mine to protect, I thought, looking at her very pregnant belly.

 

With the dam burst and the tears pouring, I finally realized how much I had been holding in, and what was at stake. My heart was shattered but beating, and I was standing on the precipice ready for the bottom to fall out beneath me one more time.

Chapter 5

 

The next day came, and I sent an early morning text, letting them know I was ready for marching orders.

 

Maryssa said she needed me to babysit my youngest nephew, Presley. So I went over there and prepped myself for a day of breakfast and play, at least until 11:30 when Brian would be done with his last meeting for work. Then I planned to go to the hospital to see MJ. 

 

Presley came running to the door when I got there, and joy tried to force its way through the shards of my heart. As that little boy rushed to hug me, my heart ached and tears poured down my face. Maryssa was mouthing in the background “don’t cry!” and I mouthed back, through tears “I know!”. Presley backed off and I put on a smile. 

 

A little while into me getting there, Tina called that she wanted to run home and refresh herself before he woke up since they were starting to wean him off the sedation. As she danced between indecision of whether to drive herself, or me to come get her, I hopped in the car and drove, knowing, in true Libra form, by the time she would come to a decision I could already be there - and that she shouldn’t be driving sleep deprived.

 

After the adrenaline of getting her picked up - I resumed my post at Presley headquarters, and put on my best smile for him. As the hours passed and the day went on, my broken heart started to feel a little reprieve, but still, I wanted to be there with my Emmy. 

 

Presley kept begging me to go fishing with him and Brian - and the hospital was being sticklers about the two person to the room rule. I knew it was more important for Manny and Tina to be there, the people who watched him come into this world, to watch him open his eyes for the first time, so I reluctantly and yet happily accepted going fishing with Presley and Brian.

 

Hearing Presley laugh, and squeal with joy and excitement as Brian reeled up the castnet full of bunker fish made my heart feel a little lighter. 

 

After a while I gave up on the fishing part and let the father and son enjoy the time together, and thanked God that my Smush (my nickname for Presley) was having such a beautiful childhood, and that he had such a good daddy. It goes without saying he has an incredible mommy. She is my niece after all. 

 

I sat on the dock, looking out over the water, at the boats passing, and the beautiful grassy marsh to the right. For a moment, after all that happened, I felt peace. Peace I didn’t want to feel, because my Emmy wasn’t out of the woods yet. He was still in that hospital room, we still didn’t have any answers, and he was still fighting for his life. While I was sitting there, peaceful, having a playdate with my little nephew, I knew my sister and brother-in-law were still in that room, bleary eyed, with knives piercing their hearts, waiting for answers, waiting for him to wake up, and there was nothing I could do to help. 

 

When we were done fishing, I sent one last text to see if Tina and Manny needed anything from me, and they said no…so I went home, ate something quick and laid down on the couch. 

 

All I could see when I closed my eyes was MJ in that bed, sweating profusely, unconscious and not waking up. It played in my mind over and over, until sleep finally found me.

 

When I woke a few hours later, I had texts from Maryssa and Tina checking in on me to see if I was ok that I hadn’t been allowed up there that day. 

 

I could care less about me - all I wanted was for my Emmy to wake up and be ok.

Chapter 6

 

I called out from work again the next day. Even if I wouldn’t be allowed back at the hospital, I was in no shape to work. It’s like all the adrenaline I had been feeling came crashing down and I felt like I had been hit by a truck. The worst hangover I ever felt. 

 

My mom kept calling incessantly, asking for updates, asking for me to pick her up and bring her there. 

 

“What is it?” I answered on the thousandth ring, my head aching and my body just limp. 

 

“What’s the matter?” 

 

“My nephew is in the hospital right now, that’s what’s the matter”. 

 

I knew I was being nasty and she didn't deserve it, but there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t bring her there.

 

She begged me to come see her and have dinner with her, that she was lonely after surgery, and even if she couldn’t see MJ, she could at least see me. I told her I’d go for dinner, around 5pm because of the way I was feeling.

 

No sooner did I hang up the phone, a Facetime call came through from Tina. I picked it up, a piece of an egg sandwich still rolling around in my mouth, my hair a mess, and my nightgown all disheveled. 

 

“I’m ugly right now, so please ignore me.”

 

“MJ wants to say hello to you”

 

“I thought you said he wasn’t ready?”

 

“He’s saying that he is.”

 

Tina pivoted the phone to my Emmy Jay, who was very drugged up and still had droopy eyes that weren’t really making contact with the phone.

 

 “Hello Grace” he said - and my heart nearly burst with joy. 

 

“Hello my Emmy Jayyyy” I said through tears. 

 

“How are ya?” he mumbled. 

 

I don’t remember all that I said, or that he said, but he ended it with “I love ya”, and I cried and I thanked Jesus that my baby Emmy was ok and talking. That was what I had been waiting to hear - his voice, and to know that he still was in there. 

 

I fell back to sleep after that, still sad that I couldn’t go up there, but that ache in my chest was so much better. 

 

A little while later I got a text from Tina: 

 

We just left with the car finally to go home shower n poop. If you want to go up to be with Maryssa you can. Call her she’s with him. TY

 

Without hesitation I responded: 

 

Ok, I’m coming

 

I let the dog out, threw on some clothes and raced over, not sure of how long I’d be able to stay once I got there, assuming the narcs would kick me out once Tina and Manny got back. 

 

I walked into the ICU and saw Maryssa first, in her little black dress with her big pregnant belly and her hair in a bun on top of her head. 

 

Then I walked into the room, and there was my Emmy. Alive. Awake. And talking. 

 

I still wanted to cry, but I didn’t want my Emmy to see it - so I put on the biggest smile I could muster. There were two nurses working on him, I can’t honestly remember what they were doing. 

 

I walked over to him and said it in person, “Hi my Emmy, I love you” and he said “Hello Grace”. That’s all I needed to hear. 

 

I turned to Maryssa and whispered, “I’m so glad they let me see him today.”

 

She whispered back, “We knew you needed to see him”. 

 

My heart flickered a little, with love and appreciation.

 

From there, the male nurse was giving him the water test, asking him his name, if he knew where he was. MJ was on point, he jumped the gun before the nurse could even ask the questions. 

 

He looked at me, “That’s Vanessa.” He looked at Maryssa. “That’s Maryssa”. 

 

He answered every question perfectly, and even knew the date. “August 1st, 2024”. He was still drugged up and loopy from all the sedation, his head rolling around, the EEG machine wrapped to his head like a doo rag, with wires coming out of him from everywhere.

 

“I wanna go home. I wanna go home” he kept saying.

 

“You’re gonna go home, Emmy - soon! You just gotta let them make sure you’re alright first.”

 

My heart was overjoyed, watching him bicker with his sister who needled the real MJ right out of him. “Maryssa, I’m telling you, that’s not what he said. He said it’s the sleep apnea!”

 

My heart soared watching the feistiness in him. He was in there, and the more time passed, the more MJ was coming back to us.

 

I watched as his face lit up when his friend, Jamel, showed up with a box of snacks and sparkling water for him. I watched with a smile on my face, a real one, as Jamel Facetimed all their other friends and MJ laughed and made jokes, even though he was still high as a kite from all the drugs he’d been on the past few days.

 

I laughed as MJ tried to throw up gang signs, his hands still heavy with sedation, making it look more like he was flailing than anything else. All with a big cheesy grin on his face. 

 

When his parents got there, the constant bickering continued - he wanted to leave the hospital immediately, he wanted to walk, he wanted to use the bathroom by himself - and he didn’t understand why he couldn’t. Even though he felt fine, he was still reeling from all the drugs they had given him. 

 

The night nurse came in and explained to us that they had given him a year's worth of sedation to keep him under, and that that amount of sedation was enough to knock out every person in the room (MJ, her, Manny, Tina, Maryssa and me). 

 

MJ grew restless and nasty as the night went on. Determined to get into his phone, out of the bed, out of the hospital. 

 

“What do I need to do to get out of here sooner?” he kept saying to every doctor or nurse that came in. 

 

“We need you to be able to squeeze this towel, lift this cup, write”. 

 

Whatever they asked, he did it. 

 

I watched as he had his first sip of apple juice, after four days of not eating or drinking - and how he slurped it all up.

 

Then he progressed to apple sauce, and then a few hours later, I watched him dunk an oreo and eat it. 

 

With each little bit of progress, my heart felt more and more whole. The joy of seeing him awake and talking was tinged with fear that he wasn’t understanding how serious this was. He wanted to go right back to work and life as normal.

 

He fought his parents, Maryssa, me, the doctors and nurses. “Not happening. Not gonna happen.” When they told him he needed to stay until Monday he uttered an emphatic “Hell no”. 

 

For hours, I watched him roll around on the bed in angst. At one point he flailed his arms. “This is torture!” 

 

The nurse explained to us the anxiousness and restlessness were all byproducts of the sedation. 

 

MJ let us know he needed to use the bathroom so we called in the nurse and left the room.  He was demanding to use the toilet, and the nurse was patiently trying to explain why he couldn’t and needed to use a bedpan.

 

I stood outside the curtain listening as she bickered with him, the bed going up and down, him going back and forth with her over the possible outcomes. At one point she scolded him, “How long have you been holding your pee?”

 

“Probably since I woke up, I don’t know” he said with attitude.

 

“You just filled 1200 cc’s of urine. Do you know the average person feels the urgency to pee at 400 cc’s? That means you’re four times over the point of needing to pee”.

 

Manny, who had settled into one of the chairs in the nursing unit outside the room, looked over at me, shaking his head and held up three fingers, silently correcting the nurse’s poor math. 

 

I heard some more shuffling, before the curtain pulled open. The nurse appeared and said “I just need two more minutes.”

 

She came shuffling back with fresh bed sheets a few minutes later and drew the curtains closed again. 

“You need to let me know a lot sooner next time that you need to pee.”

 

“Well if you let me use the toilet next time I won’t fucking piss all over the bed” MJ heckled back to her. 

 

I giggled, and his parents gaped with shock that their son had said such a thing.

 

“I never knew he could talk like that,” Tina said to me. 

 

“We all have sides, and this is one of his. It’s the meds. I curse, we all curse. Especially you, Sister Mother Fucker.”

 

I was referencing the time we were driving back from MJ’s college graduation where Tina had let a rare one slip, and yelled, “LIsten, motherfucker!” because I had turned the radio back on rather than continue talking about the bridal shower we were planning for Maryssa at the time.

 

Tina laughed when I said that - but shook her head, worry working its way across her brow.

 

“I don’t know what to do with him. He's so restless and anxious.” 

 

I tried to reassure her that it would take a few days for the meds to be out of his system, and that he’ll eventually go back to our normal MJ. 

 

We were all worried though. Worried that he’d rush home instead of letting them take care of him. Worried that he didn’t understand the severity of what his body had gone through and that he would go back to work and risk something horrible happening again, but next time with no one around to find him. 

 

Worried that he would go to sleep at night and there was no way to check him. Did they make Owlet bracelets for adults? Could that be a thing?

 

If things hadn’t happened in just the way they had, if Tina and Manny hadn’t come home early from Mom’s house,  if MJ hadn’t come home from the yard when he did, if I hadn’t walked in the door precisely when I did and called up to him, it may all have ended in tragedy. The bottom would have fallen out.

 

We still don’t know what caused this to happen to him - and while the doctor’s best guess is that it was loss of oxygen from not using the CPAP machine - there’s no way to know for sure. 

 

So we’re living with a sword of Damocles hanging over our heads once again, not knowing when or if this will ever happen again - and MJ just wants to keep pushing the way he always has, working seven days a week, sixteen hours a day on a sweltering hot truck. 

 

That’s where the worry is - and the fear. 

 

We came so close to losing him, and we are so incredibly lucky that he is back totally unscathed, a perfectly healthy brain and body.  He is our living, breathing miracle.

 

He could have woken up a vegetable - his brain fried. He could have not woken up at all. 

 

So while our hearts are filled with joy, we’re all equally full of worry. Except for MJ, who seems to have latched onto the doctor’s best guess, rather than the million other reasons it could have happened.

 

When we walked back into the room, the nurse flustered as she shuffled out with the soiled sheets. I could see he was becoming more and more agitated as the minutes passed. Eventually the nurse muffled him by putting the CPAP machine over his face, which stopped him from talking. Not from wiggling and wriggling all over the bed. With that, it was time for bed. Tina and I both kissed him and Manny goodnight, even though I knew Manny still would not take his eyes off of his son. He would be watching that chest going up and down the entire night - and making sure his boy stayed in that bed. 

 

I thought, as I left that room, he will probably stare at that chest going up and down for every night after this as well. As if by sheer will alone he will keep it going up and down, up and down.

 

As I walked out the door, I blew my Emmy a kiss goodnight, and said I love you, and whispered a silent prayer of thanks to God that they had let me see him that day. 

Chapter 7

 

Friday came, and the doctors agreed that if MJ could walk, he could go home. He got the clearance he needed, and by the afternoon he was home. 

 

Tina had let me know early in the morning I wouldn’t be seeing him, so left again with the helpless feeling of not being able to do anything, it occurred to me that there’s one thing I could do. I could write. If I write about what happened, albeit through my own perspective, MJ can read it and feel what I felt, and understand what he went through, what we all went through, and how scared we are for what happened and what could happen if he doesn’t take care of himself and listen to reason.

 

For those three days while he was sleeping, our family was shattered and broken. I will never forget finding him up in that attic, limp and unresponsive. I’ll never forget the image of my strong like a rock brother-in-law running with the gurney, holding his son’s limp hand as they rushed him into the ER. Or my sister and the worn look on her face as she stood over his bedside, praying and grasping for answers that never came, going days on end with scattered sleep and poor nutrition.

 

The only saving grace was the miracle of him waking. He’s awake, he’s alive. My Emmy Jay. 

 

There’s one other memory that played over and over while all this was happening. When MJ was a little boy, maybe nine years old, we were having a sleepover at my house. MJ was sleeping to my right, Maryssa on my left, and in the early morning, MJ was having a bad dream and crying in his sleep. I remember holding him and reassuring him as he slept, “Don’t worry, my Emmy, I’ll never let anything bad happen to you. I’ll always protect you.”

 

I would do anything to keep my Emmy in this world, alive and safe, even if it meant giving my own life. I have loved that boy since the moment he was born and there is nothing I wouldn’t ever do for him. 

 

I fought with God these last few days…”You’re all about getting all the credit for things, God, so if you want all the credit, then you’re gonna need to give us a miracle!”

 

Then I begged…”Please God, be with my MJ, heal him from the inside out, protect his brain.”

 

Then I bartered, “Take me instead, God”.

 

The truth is, in this situation, only God could protect our MJ - and it’s because of God that he’s alive, walking and talking right now, perfect and unscathed by what has happened. He’s been given a second chance at life, and something like that should never be taken for granted. It puts life into perspective, or it should. 

 

The bottom didn’t fall out, and we all got a second chance at life. What will we make of it?

 

If we died today, did we leave the mark we wanted to leave? Are we spending time making memories, or building empires? What matters most? 

 

It is God that got us through this, and God that will get us through all that is to come. I didn’t write this for me, I wrote this for MJ - so he would know the miracle that we all got when God gave him back to us, and how loved and cherished he is. 

 

There’s a funny story, I didn’t share because it wasn’t my story to tell, but I’ve been asked to share it. 

 

So many people were praying for MJ. There were angels around every corner in that hospital, and the night before MJ woke up, a nurse’s aide who had been taking MJ’s temperature looked to his parents and said, “This isn’t right, this boy doesn’t belong here. Can I pray for him.”

 

Manny and Tina gave their approval and the man went to prayer over MJ.

 

The next morning, he passed by the room, peeked in and saw MJ alert, awake and talking. Shock filled his features as he exclaimed, “You’re AWAKE?!”. 

 

Never doubt the power of prayer, the power of love, and the power of God in your life. We may not be perfect. We may shake through the storm and rail at the sky, but even when our own faith is lacking, God sends angels and carries us through the storm.

The Rainbow After The Storm

 

After the storm, comes the rainbow. Here is MJ at his "He's alive again" celebration, the rainbow behind him a symbol of the storm we went through, and the beauty that comes after.

My prayer for MJ

 

Father God, 

 

I thank you for my MJ, for every moment of his life. For the little bug eyed baby I used to make giggle and take naps with while feeding him his baba, to the kid who used to pretend to be a preacher and shout around Minnie’s yard, preaching, and getting filled with the spirit. Thank you for giving us MJ who makes us laugh when we want to cry, who even when he comes out of the sedation from the worst fight of his life, comes out cracking jokes and trying to make us all laugh. 

 

Thank you for giving me a nephew who loves his family, who helps his parents, his aunt, and whoever in our family needs helping. Who runs a mile from the yard after a long hot summer’s day on an ice cream truck to rescue his aunt from another gas station mishap on Mister Softee.

 

Thank you for my MJ and the future you have planned for him. Every good and perfect thing is from above, and in my eyes, my MJ is good and perfect. You brought him into this world for a purpose, Father, and I trust and believe that you will bring him through the rest of his life to fulfill his purpose and live a full and happy life, always.

 

I pray that you would bless him beyond measure, and I trust in you that everything he is worried or stressed about will have a divine solution that is already on the way, and that you would bring him peace beyond comprehension for whatever comes next.

 

In Jesus’ name, I pray. 

 

Amen.