18 May 2016

The 911 Call

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Ambulance Pic from NG


I lost my cell phone at some point during the scuffle.  I needed it desperately to call for help.  My immediate thought was to get to it so I could shield the kids from the carnage that surrounded me.  I raised my body up with my elbows and tried to crawl forward. I couldn’t move.  Now I was really scared, as I was gravely aware of the fact that I was in trouble.


I couldn’t afford to panic.  I remember making deliberate efforts at breathing slowly and deeply.  If I could keep my heart rate down and if I could remain calm, then I might be able to somehow reduce the amount of blood loss.  I of course, didn’t have any idea of the extent of my injuries . . . I just knew that I was in bad shape.


After a few seconds I came to the realization that I might die in that closet and that’s when I started to scream for help.   Read more

15 May 2016

Oh My God . . . You Just Fucking Shot Me!

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The first bullet hit my left foot entering just below my pinkie toe and exiting in the arch of my foot, leaving a wound the size of a quarter.  I remember seeing a bit of blood before I realized what had just happened.  My immediate reaction was “Oh My God . . . You Just Fucking Shot Me!”


As I was trying to shield my body with one of the closet doors, I was struck by another bullet.  I collapsed before I realized that I had been shot again.  My right leg was shattered.  It crumpled first with my body following, involuntarily crashing to the ground.  I found myself face down on the floor of our walk-in closet.  This was so surreal and it took a couple of minutes before my mind could process what had just happened.  That bullet was nearly fatal as it went through my thigh, shattering my femur and grazing my femoral artery.


A few seconds passed and a third shot hit me in the right hip and traveled through my groin.


And, Why!!!


I always referred to that as the “Fuck You” shot because after the last two, what was the point!  There wasn’t any purpose for this other than to inflict additional pain and increase the odds that I might actually die.


I recall hearing Gabe fiddle with the gun, clicking noises as he made sure that another bullet was loaded in the chamber.  I was face down, trying desperately to remain perfectly still and I didn’t dare raise my head to see what he was doing.  I was terrified of what was going to happen next.


I heard a 4th shot and Gabe’s body fell to the floor. He fell in such a way that I could only see his legs, one of which was bent at the knee.  I recall seeing the gun land on the floor just under his bended leg. God spared me the sight of his face while he lay dying as he had put the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

I heard him die . . . I heard him gurgle as he took his last breath and then,

I prayed, and prayed, and prayed . . .