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Chapter One
It was seven o'clock on Sunday morning. I couldn't sleep. Something was on my mind, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Then, suddenly, it hit me as I
thought, That's it, Joe! That's what's been bothering you all day! That day was the six-month anniversary of almost losing Frank. Frank Luanturco, my
brother, had almost died exactly six months earlier. It was a traumatic experience for the entire family, and I still believe that a miracle took place that day.
It was a bright, sunny Saturday afternoon. The date was March 15th. Just a normal day in the lives of the Luanturco family. In fact, nothing exciting
usually happens in our family. I always thought we were boring compared to other families I've seen in my twenty-eight years of life.
Things sure did change at about four o'clock that afternoon. Angie, Frank's wife of twelve years, and their two children - Tony, age ten, and Sally, age
seven - were out on errands. They had been gone shopping since seven that morning.
When they arrived home at about four o'clock, Angie beeped the car horn, telling Frank they needed help with the groceries. After there was no
response, the three started to empty the car, while continuing to look for Frank.
Still, there was no response. It was Angie who let out a frantic scream when she finally saw Frank through the sliding patio glass doors. Frank was
lying on the concrete patio, his head all bloodied and the left side of his face resting in a pool of blood on the concrete.
Angie knew the severity of the situation and quickly called 911, frantically begging for an ambulance. Tony and Sally, who were both crying, were told
to wait in their rooms as Angie tried unsuccessfully to revive Frank. Frank's body was ice cold, and as Angie felt him she realized that the tremendous
loss of blood was very serious. By the time the ambulance arrived five minutes later, the situation appeared even grimmer.
The paramedics couldn't find a pulse. And as their faces showed the real concern they felt, Angie sobbed uncontrollably, fearing the worst.
With the two children sent to the neighbors, and following behind the ambulance, Angie called the family members one by one. Within one hour the family
was gathered in the waiting room - praying, hoping, holding and comforting each other.
By the time the doctors reported to us, the prognosis was grim. Frank had lost so much blood, inflaming his brain, that he was in a deep coma. His
pulse was almost non-existent. Dr. Shettley explained their observations to us in the waiting room. The doctors feared there would be severe brain
damage.
Frank, evidently, had been drinking the night before and then resumed drinking once again on Saturday morning while Angie and the kids were
shopping. His blood alcohol level was at a dangerously high level when tested at the hospital. The doctor explained that Frank's body had just shut down.
The poison-alcohol level knocked him out, causing the fall and blow to the head on the concrete. The alcohol, combined with the loss of blood, was just
too much for the heart to handle, causing it to nearly stop.
Doctor Shettley didn't pull any punches. He told the family that there was a seventy-five percent chance that Frank would not survive more than three
days in the state he was in. The family was devastated. We all kept a vigil at the hospital, each of us taking a turn at Frank's bedside. It felt strange
looking at my older brother, who I always looked up to. He looked so helpless. A far cry from the six-foot, one-ninety and muscular thirty-three-year-old
brother I thought of as the Incredible Hulk. I studied his face, looking closely at the brother I loved but never told. I hoped he knew. I prayed he knew, just in
case I never got to tell him. Frank had rugged good looks. Maybe it was the moustache that made him resemble Tom Selleck.
A short time later, my father, Sal, was trying to comfort my mother and said to her, "Mary, it's in God's hands now, try to remain calm."; Both of them
had tears in their eyes. Everyone else's eyes were moist, including mine.
It's strange, but we go through life each day, thinking that everything will be fine, never once imagining that one of our family members will die. My
sister, Tricia, a Catholic nun, was saying prayers over Frank's bed for hours non-stop. Tricia, I remembered, was a real troubled youth, always causing
fights and getting into trouble at school, and she was tough right up until she was twenty-five. Then, she found a special peace, a new life and purpose to
her life by joining the convent. She has been happy ever since. The family was so proud of her. Through Tricia we all felt like we had a special line to God.
Frank's condition remained the same for the next thirty hours. We each took turns going home to sleep for four hours and to wash up. Tricia wouldn't
go home, she would only catch an hour here and there. Totally consumed, she prayed continuously.
It was Tricia who, on Sunday at about 11:30 p.m., got all excited - running out of Frank's room and down the hall to the nurses' station, looking for a
doctor. Tricia claimed that Frank's eye twitched. We were all there, and each rushed into the room to look. No one could see what Tricia saw. The doctor
was summoned and, half an hour later, Dr. Shettley re-examined Frank. To everyone's surprise and joy, Frank's condition was slowly improving. The
respirator he was hooked up to started working less as Frank's body was slowly working more.
The doctor explained that in cases like Frank's, it takes time, patience and a lot of effort to bring someone out of a coma. And if they were fortunate
enough to snap out of it, the patient many times had severe neurological damage, sometimes lasting for life. He instructed us all to continually speak to
Frank about good things from the past and about happier times. This way, it may help to snap him out quicker. Frank's vital signs were slowly returning to
normal, and the doctor didn't even try to hide his enthusiasm and shock, but was still reserved in predicting Frank's long-term prognosis.
It took two hours more before Frank could blink his eyes. He mumbled a word no one could recognize then fell fast asleep. We were all ushered out
of his room as Dr. Shettley explained that Frank needed his rest, and that, with each awakening, he should regain most of the movement in his limbs.
Tricia and my mother claimed it was a miracle, because when Frank woke up again he could speak and move his hands. His speech was slurred
and the left side of his face slightly paralyzed, but he was indeed back with us. He even called me "Squirt," something he used to do years earlier. I
wasn't blessed with Frank's height. I stood five-six and was stocky at one-eighty. But I liked my brown eyes against my sandy hair.
We all said a prayer, with Tricia in the lead. We each thanked God and told Frank that he had been given a special gift, a second chance.
With tears in his eyes, his children by his side, and Angie squeezing his hand, Frank vowed never to drink or use drugs ever again. Frank said, "God
has given me a second chance to prove myself. And with as wonderful a family as I have, I'd have to be an idiot to ever waste that chance. I should be
dead. I know it, but there is evidently some very important business I must do down here."
That was six months ago. Six months since Frank's near death. Since then, Frank underwent intense physical therapy just to walk again. Frank still
has a slight limp. His speech returned to normal and he has no paralysis.
I thought about how perfect my brother had been since that time. How he willingly takes Atabuse - the alcoholic's drug that forces one to get violently
ill if they consume any alcohol. Frank told everyone that he'll continue using the drug, and stay on it as long as it takes.
Frank was fortunate he had disability insurance that paid him an income. Frank used to work in banking, as a mortgage officer for Chase Manhattan
Bank. He worked extra hours without any overtime pay. Officers of Chase didn't get paid for overtime.
Two years earlier, Frank had been fired as an N.Y.P.D. Detective after five years service, when confiscated drugs from a bust mysteriously
disappeared. Frank fought to no avail and maintained his innocence. He was devastated by the dismissal and embarrassment by the internal
investigation.
Frank never liked the job at Chase. After his coma, Uncle Bruno, Dad's brother, got involved. Uncle Bruno was shaken up after Frank's near death.
After all, Frank was the firstborn in our family and he loved Frank very much. He always said, "Frank reminds me so much of myself when I was young."
It was about a month earlier, in the beginning of August. Uncle Bruno invited Frank and me to stay at his Florida home. He told us he needed to
discuss some sort of business with us. My aunt and uncle have a beautiful home in Lauderdale, an exclusive area of well-to-do people, mostly retired.
Uncle Bruno, a wealthy man, has his own construction company that removes asbestos from city- and state-owned buildings. Our Uncle Bruno is good
for at least half a million a year. He spends half his time in Florida and the other half in a penthouse on the East Side of Manhattan. | 