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A few weeks prior to Christmas Day, on December
7, 1996, my family received a call that my grandmother on my
mother’s side was taken to the hospital and it looked
serious. The E.R. doctor later met my mother and me in the conference
room to confirm that Nana had died. My grandmother was 80 years
old and lived a long full life. She had four children and nine
grandchildren. She was a stay-at-home mother in Delaware County,
Pennsylvania, and her family was more important to her than
anything else. Having suffered a stroke a few years prior to
her death, she was confined to a wheel chair and was dependant
on the nursing home staff to provide her care. Prior to that
time, she led a long and relatively healthy life. While the
stroke had affected her speech, she was still able to communicate
with me and other family members that she was ready to die.
She wanted to be with her husband in heaven and did not want
to depend on others for her care. She had lived her life and
had found peace in the fact that she was ready to move on to
another place. Her death made the holidays sad. Nonetheless,
the holidays came and went and we shared many memories of our
beloved grandmother.
Less than a month later, on
Friday January 3, 1997, with the Christmas decorations still
hung and folks winding down from the holiday season, I had just
begun to shop for my first house. I spoke with my sister Colleen
on the phone after dinner. “I have some information about
a house that is for sale and I’m thinking about looking
at it,” I said to her. She told me that she was going
out for the evening with my parents and other friends, but she
invited me to stop by to show her the information. She could
tell I was excited about this house and I wanted to show her
a picture. The house was in the same development as her boyfriend’s
house and she knew the area well.
Colleen and I were both volunteers
at the local fire department. We spent countless hours donating
our time as firefighters and Emergency Medical Technicians (EMTs).
We even taught the local community college EMT course together.
That was just one of many interests that we shared. On the evening
of January 3rd, I was on duty for the firehouse and on my way
to Colleen’s apartment the pager activated for a house
fire. I remember hoping that Colleen would also go on the call
so I could just show her the pictures of the house when we returned
to the station. I later learned, however, that Colleen did not
respond to the call because she had just finished exercising
and was busy getting ready for a fun night out with family and
friends. The house fire was quickly brought under control and
the fire apparatus stayed on scene for less than an hour.
Upon my return to the station
I removed my gear, put on my sneakers, and headed to the phone
to call Colleen. To my disappointment, there was no answer.
“She must have left to go out already,” I said to
myself. “I’ll go over first thing in the morning
to show her pictures of my potential new home.” After
returning home to my parents’ house and working for a
while on the computer, the pager activated for another emergency
call … a brush fire. I was the first to arrive at the
station, followed by the deputy chief. As I made my way into
the firehouse, the pager activated for our station yet again
… a busy night. The tones this time were for an emergency
ambulance call. The dispatcher gave the address and stated that
it was a cardiac arrest. My deputy chief and I quickly decided
to take the ambulance to the cardiac arrest and let the other
responding firefighters handle the brush fire. In route to the
call I was haunted by the familiarity of the apartment number.
“This apartment number sounds familiar,” I said
to the driver, “I think this may be Colleen’s apartment.”
“I hope not,” he said, but he could tell I was nervous
and he drove fast to the scene. The siren sounded in the night,
a scream that help was on the way. With every flash of the lights,
my heart beat stronger. The short ride to the apartment seemed
like a journey, with many thoughts flooding my worried mind.
“I hope she had company,” I thought. I held onto
the hope that an elderly neighbor came over because he had chest
pain and knew Colleen was an EMT. Countless possibilities occurred
to me during the 3-minute response time; all dissolved upon
our arrival when a police officer met me at the scene. His face
was expressionless; his eyes filled with sadness. “It’s
Colleen,” he said.
The local police knew Colleen
well. They had often helped her on fire and ambulance calls
in the township. She was liked. And now, we found ourselves
needing to help one who had volunteered so much of her time
in service to others. Terror filled me. Overwhelmed by disbelief,
my heart sunk and I quickly made my way up the stairs to her
apartment. Colleen’s friends and the paramedic were carrying
her lifeless body into the hallway. As my partner was setting
up the oxygen delivery device, I started mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.
“Come on Colleen”, I shouted with a broken voice,
“Come on Colleen, PLEASE!” “Expedite the paramedic
supervisor and send a fire engine to assist,” I requested
over the radio. Within minutes there were approximately 8-10
EMS personnel working on Colleen, working to save my sister,
THEIR sister. The police officer took me by my arm, emotional
as I was, and led me downstairs so that the team could help
my sister. Two minutes later the paramedic came down, grasped
a strong hold of my arm and said, “She has rigor mortis,
Jack, there is nothing we can do.” My knees buckled beneath
me. “Nothing we can do,” echoed in my mind. How?
Why?
Colleen, 25, a type-one insulin
dependant diabetic since college, was always on the minds of
her family and friends. When friends arrived at the apartment
that evening, their knocks on the door went unanswered. Since
the apartment lights were still on, they grew concerned and
called my mom to see if Colleen had already arrived at the restaurant.
My mother immediately instructed them to find a key and get
inside to see if Colleen’s sugar was low. We had all witnessed
that before. In fact, I had gotten somewhat use to Colleen needing
EMS when her sugar was low. But nothing could have prepared
me for this day. Colleen’s friend Kathy, who she had known
all her life, stood with me and we hugged as the EMS crew brought
Colleen down on the stretcher to go to the hospital. Just minutes
before, we called my parents and told them that Colleen was
sick. We asked them to meet us at the Emergency Room. The police
officer drove Kathy and me to the hospital. We followed behind
the ambulance that held the most precious of cargos --- my sister
and friend. As we pulled up to the emergency room, I noticed
that my mother and father had already arrived and were standing
near the ambulance. I knew they wanted to greet Colleen and
let her know they were there. Before the ambulance doors opened,
I ran over to my mom and grabbed her arm. I didn’t say
a word and I’m sure she was wondering why I wasn’t
in the back of the ambulance with the other EMT’s taking
care of Colleen. With tearful eyes, I shook my head and her
eyes met mine. Her face changed. She grew horrified. “No!”
she yelled back at me, “No!”. I held her up as my
father moved to embrace us both. Together, the three of us shook
in sadness, a family affected by tragedy. “She didn’t
make it this time,” I said to them, “She didn’t
make it.” My mother’s screams filled the night air,
screams of disbelief, screams of sadness, screams of shock and
of horror.
When we finally made our way
into the family conference room, the physician came in to tell
us what we already knew. “I’m sorry but we could
not save her,” he said. As the news of Colleen spread,
friends and family inundated the emergency room. The hospital
filled with people who knew Colleen and who wanted to make sure
she was OK. When my younger sister Pat arrived, I met her at
the entrance. She knew by the tears in my eyes that something
terrible had happened. As I walked inside with my arm around
her, I told her “Colleen died”. Her face indicated
a familiar response; a feeling of disbelief, followed by profound
sadness. “Jack - NO, “ she screamed, “Not
our Colleen! How can this be?”
Colleen was the perfect older sister, beautiful in so many ways.
She was intelligent, pretty, and was personable with everyone
she met. She loved helping people and always met life’s
challenges with courage and determination. When she was diagnosed
with type-one diabetes in 1992, she changed her major in college
to become a dietician. She wanted to understand her disease
so that she could live a long and healthy life and also help
others with her condition. Unfortunately for many diabetics,
the task of planning a healthy life is a difficult one in which
compromises must be made. Colleen knew too much. She knew if
her sugar level was constantly high she would have difficulty
with childbearing in the future. She didn’t want to lose
her limbs or suffer any medical problems from the underlying
diabetes when she grew old. She ate the right foods and exercised
daily. Her sugar level was never higher than it should be, often
causing hypoglycemic (low sugar) episodes. On the night of her
death, Colleen had exercised, thereby depleting her sugar supply.
Before restoring her sugar levels, she decided to take a bath
rather than shower. The cause of her death was aspiration of
bathtub water, secondary to low blood sugar.
Anyone who as ever lost a loved
one at a young age understands the grief and anger my family
went through and continues to endure. I am told that losing
a parent diminishes the past, losing a spouse or sibling diminishes
the present, and losing a child diminishes the future. Again
and again I’ve heard that parents should never outlive
their children. As much as I try to understand death, my inability
to understand the reason for Colleen’s death is frustrating
and painful.
“You will always remember
Colleen as a young and vibrant person,” Kathy said to
me the day before the funeral. As genuine as Kathy’s kindness
was, I find little comfort in her words. I want to live my life
with Colleen in it, I want to see her get married and have kids,
I want to see her continue to live her wonderful life. I didn’t
want Colleen to die at the young age of 25. But, I have finally
stopped asking why; I’ll never know why. And, while everyday
that passes is supposed to get easier, the reality is that everyday
is yet another day without Colleen. For anyone who has lost
a loved one, especially someone young, I am truly sorry for
your loss. Loss like that is the saddest thing in the world.
Life has continued without Colleen,
but she will always be with me in my heart. I will always have
dear and tender memories of her and her sweet, kind voice will
forever echo in my mind. While she was only 11 months older
than me, her advice to me on so many subjects continues to help
me make decisions, to live as a good person, and to strive to
do the right thing. I carry her with me wherever I go and her
spirit brings me comfort and strength. Thanks for everything
you ever did for me, Colleen. I miss you!
Colleen Marie Betzal, February
25, 1971 – January 3, 1997.
Jack M. Betzal, Jr.
August 2002
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