Solomon's Cry

I will never forget what I heard. It was the worst sound I will ever hear. Anguish. I will never forget what I saw. It was the worst thing I will ever see. My sons. We called them, the twins. He will never forget what he saw. Horror. His baby brother. His best friend.

When Solomon cried out, "MANNY, NOOOOOO!!!," it signaled the end of our lives as we knew it. The worst day of our lives. It was the beginning of our end. My beautiful family was gone. There would be no coming back from this for us.

At the sound of his voice, my brain registered immediate fear. I was there in a second, and was instantly consumed by a terror I never knew was possible. When I entered the room, Manny's room, I screamed. I leaped to Solomon's aid. We got him to the floor and I began to administer aid to my baby.

Frantic, I told Solomon to call 911. I was in shock, but didn't know it, as I began to administer CPR. I didn't stop until they arrived and took over. Everything was surreal and I lost all sense of time. It moved in hyperspeed and slow motion at the same time.

Police were there, asking me questions. I sat on the edge of my bed hysterical, as I recalled the moments since my alarm went off that morning. My daughter, Justina appeared in my room. She said she saw them taking him out of the house on a stretcher to the ambulance outside. Through tears, I asked her if there was a sheet over him? She said no. That's what I needed to hear, what I needed to know.

The police asked me if we wanted to go to the hospital. I threw on clothes and Solomon and I jumped in her car and we raced to the emergency room. I ran to the receptionist at the window and desperately asked her for the state of my son who was just brought in. She didn't have any answer for me and told me to wait. WAIT??

As the three of us waited, I rationalized to them that he had to be alive because he wasn't covered with a sheet. I clung to that for dear life. Then someone came to get us to take us to the family room. I had been in a hospital many times over the course of my life and never knew of a family room. We were told the doctors would be in shortly to speak to us.

Two doctors entered the room and told us the worst thing anyone has ever said to me in my life. He was brought in about 45 minutes ago and they have been working on him all that time. In that time, he showed no signs of life. Blood rushed to my head as my brain broke and I fell to my knees. I felt like I couldn't breathe. This can't be real. This can't be happening. They asked if we wanted to see him. Of course I wanted to see him, because this couldn't be real. They had to be wrong.

I got off the floor somehow and followed them. We were lead to a room where I saw my beautiful boy attached to a monitor with a tube down his throat and a doctor still on top of him continuing CPR. When we entered, they stopped. My youngest son, laid there motionless.

My life came to a sudden end. I died. I was already dead when I woke up that morning. I was dead when I heard Solomon yell out. I was dead as I rendered life saving measures. I was dead while the police questioned me. I was dead as we drove to the hospital. I was dead while I waited. I was dead when I walked in that room. I'm dead as I write this.

I wept as I sat by him, staring in shock, touching him. I gave my phone to my daugther and asked her to begin making phone calls. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. Solomon sat completely silent, motionless. Slowly, people began to show up. Our long time friends, Mikel and Ike were first. Mikel took over making the phone calls. My friend Delores arrived. Over the course of seven hours, people showed up. My best friend Martine and her husband Steve. Church people I didn't know.

The only ones I was waiting for were my other sons, Josh and Anthony. They had a long way to travel. Josh was in Atlantic City and Anthony was in New York. They arrived several hours later. I cried as I held them when they entered the room. All of my children were present. We cried. Our family was broken, shattered beyond repair.

Those hours in the hospital are a blur. I sat by his side the entire time. Soon we were told it was time to go. I didn't want to leave. I didn't want to leave him there alone. I didn't want to go home without him. That would make it real and I still couldn't believe it was real.

It was then that Solomon cried. He didn't just cry, he fell to his knees and wailed inconsolably. I had never seen him cry like that. He was being hugged and held while on the floor. They allowed him to just cry. Seeing him broken like that caused me to weep harder. Some people held me, some held him. When they finally got him to his feet, he punched holes in the hospital wall. I will never forget that. I had never seen anyone punch an actual hole in a wall with their bare fist.

We slowly walked out of the hospital in shock and tears, knowing nothing would ever be the same. Nothing would ever matter. Life would never truly be happy again.