October 11, 2015
I woke up early that morning, got dressed and headed downstairs for breakfast. It was a Saturday morning, and I was preparing to leave for my good friend’s, Phillip’s, Eagle Project.
I walked into the kitchen and saw my mom; she looked a little distressed. I asked what was wrong, to which I got the response, “Oh nothing.” I grabbed a small breakfast and got in the car with her to go to leave.
About 2 minutes into the ride, she received a phone call. I grabbed her phone from her bag for her and looked at the Caller ID; my aunt’s name came up.
My dad was in Pittsburgh at the time, helping my grandmother move from her apartment to an assisted living facility. It was a regular trip for him; at the time, he was going up to Pittsburgh somewhat regularly. The fact that my Aunt was calling, not him, caused me to question things; it seemed strange.
Once my mom hung up, I asked again. “So what is really going on?” After a bit of deliberation, she responded. “Dad was taken to the hospital last night. It sounds like he pulled a muscle in his left arm.”
I was born into a Christian home, and baptized at the age of one. I attended church every Sunday, participated in my church’s youth group, prayed every night before meals and bed and became acquainted with a basic understanding of my Bible.
In September of 2004, I enrolled in St. Mary’s of the Mills School, and began my progression through grade school. The beginning years were great! I loved the school!
I entered into the school with a few kids that I knew before, and eventually got to know many more. I quickly made many friends, many of whom continued on in that school with me.
I do not remember much from the early years of education except for the significance placed upon church. We were taken at least once every week to a service at the adjoining church. It was more of a church-going habit I believe they were trying to instill in us, as there is not much about religion I understood at that age.
In Second Grade, we all went through the process of receiving our First Holy Communion. We first had to go through the motion of reconciliation, so that our souls were clean before receiving the Body of Christ. We sat through teachings from our teacher about the sacrament, nodding our heads and giving the right answers. I can honestly say I do not think I understood what I was going through at that point. I had no real concept of this sacrament.
In Sixth Grade, I decided to get confirmed in the Presbyterian Church, as opposed to the Catholic Church. During that year, I was offered a class by my Pastor, Pastor Margee. She loved the youth group and wanted to come teach us to prepare us for this sacrament. I made the decision that that was what I wanted to do. So I did, and I got confirmed in May of 2011. Looking back, I do not know that I knew what I was confirming. Did I have the capacity to really think about and understand the faith I was affirming as Truth? Probably not.
The Eagle Project was over. Phillip’s dad offered to give me a ride home; Mom was at a Baby shower up the street from our house. After conversation in the car had slowed down, I called Mom. ??“So, what do we think happened? Have there been any updates on Dad’s condition?”
There was a pause. It was an uncomfortable moment, I think for the both of us.
“Yes.” she replied. “There is a very high chance that he had a Heart Attack.”
“Well…” I did not know how to respond. This was not expected. “How bad is it?”
“I don’t know.” she said. “But we have to go to Pittsburgh as soon as you get home.”
The people I started at the school with generally stayed together. A few left the school, a few joined later on, but it was generally the same group of kids moving from grade to grade. Most everyone had a mutual respect for each other, or so it seemed. Of course there was some drama or conflict at different points in time. But it never seemed awful. It usually got resolved. Then Sixth Grade came around.
Sixth Grade started off fine. The people I had grown with over all these years were still the same. Then something changed, almost overnight. School became miserable.
Almost daily, a few other kids and I were targeted by those seen as the popular crowd. We were all verbally abused, sometimes physically. I can recall a particular instance in which I stood up for myself. A comment was made that really irritated me and I basically responded by telling them that they were an extremely disrespectful person. They got right up in my face and started screaming at me, dropping F-bomb after F-bomb and shouting physical threats. I was embarrassed and distraught, but I said nothing to anyone. I kept it all in.
I can remember another instance in which a girl I thought I was friends with verbally attacked me. I am not quite sure what made her dislike me so much, but her words echoed inside my head for years.
“You are worthless, loved by no one, and will die old and alone.”
The year carried on, each day seemingly worse than the previous. But I told no one. It was all dealt with internally.
It all peaked at the end of the year. We were at a full-school event at a field down the street. I was standing, talking to someone, when a kid jumped on my back and took me to the ground. All I remember is that I somehow picked him up, slammed him against a tree and punched him as hard as I could in the face. I would never do this. That was not me. But it happened, and I am not proud of it.
My self worth began to deteriorate. My decline had begun.
I got home from the project, quickly showered and packed and hopped in the car. I hated the feeling of it. The uncertainty of the situation was killing me.
A heart attack? Really? How?
I remembered a conversation with Dad from a few years prior. He had started seeing a cardiologist after a neighbor of ours was found to have a life-threatening heart condition. One day he came home from his appointment and I followed him to his room.
“How did it go? Healthy?” I asked.
Everything seemed to be fine. There seemed to be a small problem with his heart, but that was it. Nothing major. Nothing that would need attention for about 10 years or so. And even then, it would just be a touch up.
So how could he have had a heart attack? Everything seemed to check out. We would just have to wait and see how everything turned out.
After Sixth Grade, I changed schools. It was noticeable that I was not happy where I was, so my parents pulled me. It was not until the summer in between that they found out about all the issues that arose during Sixth Grade.
So I started with new peers, new teachers, new carpools, a new building… new everything. I hated it at first, but eventually found my rhythm. Seventh Grade went well. I made a lot of new friends, built good relationships with teachers and really excelled in my subjects.
Eighth Grade changed a lot. I switched classes a few weeks into the year and was essentially cast into a brand new group of people… again. I ended up hanging out with the wrong kids and started getting in a lot of trouble in school. I was able to maintain my subjects, but my actions outside of the classroom were just stupid.
In my English Class, I got into a lot of disagreements with my teacher, so much so that she grew to really dislike me. I was not rude about things, but our ways of thinking conflicted. One day I forgot my homework. She got to my desk to collect the work, and I had nothing to give her. She looked at me for a moment before she turned to the class.
“Matthew Collman – you think you are so smart. You switched into this class because you wanted a more rigorous course load. But you do not, by any means, deserve to be here. You are not smart. You are an idiot.”
Thus my disdain for school began. This carried through most of High School as well. I took her words to heart. This just piled on top of my lack of self worth. So I gave up. I did not try in school. I just cruised through. I did not care anymore.
It was nearly 10 at night when we arrived at the Hospital in Pittsburgh. We went to go in when we were stopped at the door by a security guard.
“Ma’am, you may not enter the ICU at this time.”
My mom stood in disbelief for a moment before responding with, “I just drove four hours from Maryland to see my husband who had a random heart attack. I have to get in tonight. PLEASE.”
How can you say know to her face? The guard looked like he even felt a little bad. He was just doing his job, we understand. And we are very appreciative of him letting us in.
We got up to Dad’s floor soon after. We had to sign in before we went in. A woman walked up to us.
“Collman? You are here for Paul Collman?”
“Yes,” we responded. “Which room is he in?”
“He’s right over here. I am his nurse, so I will be working with him this evening. You would think a man that just had a heart attack would ask less questions!”
Great, he’s asking questions! Things must not be so bad after all.
We saw him, and they were not. He was definitely ill, but he was able to talk to us and hold a small conversation. It was good to see him. It was good that things seemed alright.
My attitude about school got worse and worse. The people around me began to think I was a very dumb individual. I never talked in class, I was very much on the outside of the crowd and people just thought of me as a weird, obscure kid.
The first two years did not go well; I just was not very happy. Things happened to me during these years that really irritated me. I felt like life was against me. God was against me. Why would I be so miserable if God really cared about me?
Looking back, I think it is fair to consider myself as agnostic. Throughout high school, I found it so hard to see God. So I stopped trying. I still went to church, still went to youth group. But it did not mean anything. It became “God on Sunday, and never else.”
I never prayed. I never read my Bible. I never did anything to pursue God. Because I was tired of the way God had treated me.
Through Dad’s heart attack, a condition with his heart was diagnosed that could have been fatal, had it been left unattended. He was eventually able to receive treatment to fix the issue and is healthy to this day.
“Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself, except it abide in the vine; no more can ye, except ye abide in me.” (John 15:4)
God provides and God protects. I had grown tired of how I perceived God, and never actually realized how good He is. I thought he let all these bad things happen to me and just walked away. But God was with me through all the bad. And He was guiding me the whole time. He was trying to comfort me, trying to help me but I had cast him out. I became miserable without God. I needed God most when I completely turned away from Him.
It took my Dad’s heart attack to realize this. The heart attack did very little damage, if any at all. But it helped diagnose a condition that could have done lots of damage and maybe even caused death. But God looked out for him. He protected him. He took a bad thing and made it good.
Look for the God in the bad. I had failed to do that for so long, but He made it so clear. He is ALWAYS present in the bad, no matter what.
So from this scary experience, I grew. I grew much closer to my Dad, forming an extremely close bond. And I grew closer to God.
The journey back to God was long and tough, but it happened. It is not meant to be easy. So it took a very long time. My walk back to God began October 11, 2015, and is still going. I can never complete a walk towards God.
This day changed my whole perspective, and is one of the main reasons I am here today. God speaks in weird ways, and I really hope He does not speak through a heart attack again. But He was there that day. And He was there every other bad day of my life. He is always there.
I will never turn away from Him again.
