Twice Dead: The True Death and Life Story of Roman
Gutierrez
David J. Drum
Paperback, 5x8 in, 108 pages
Wheatmark, March 2008
ISBN: 9781604940107
Endorsements
“David Drum captures this spellbinding story from cover to
cover. I couldn’t put it down!”
— Chaplain Thomas Cunningham, PhD, Central
Arizona Correctional Facility
Description
When Roman Gutierrez was eleven years old, his father died from a
heroin overdose. Roman resolved, in his anger and his pain, that
someday God would take him the same way. He became an addict, went
to juvenile detention for stealing a year later, and attempted
suicide the year after that. At fifteen he got into a fight and was
pronounced dead for six minutes. At nineteen he was stabbed by his
best friend and pronounced dead for five minutes.
When Roman was twenty-five, he shot up all the heroin he had so
his torment would end . . . and realized he didn’t want to
die.
That’s when a miracle occurred . . .
About the Author
David J. Drum has over twenty years of ministry experience with
the Christian Fellowship Ministries, where he has served as pastor
and international evangelist. He spent five years as a missionary
in Soweto, South Africa. David resides with his daughter, Dayna,
and his wife, Hilda, in El Paso, Texas.
Excerpt
Roman Gutierrez was dying. Death did not bother him, but the way
he was dying was so pathetic. He looked at the syringe still in his
hand and wondered how many times had he used it through the years.
The drug crept up his arm and spread throughout his body. It was
hot. He had been too impatient to let the drug cool properly before
injecting it. The dose was so strong that it dripped out of his
nose and mouth, and he felt like throwing up.
Heroin is an analgesic. Once addicted, a person’s body no
longer produces natural painkillers and depends on a fix to keep it
going. From the age of eleven, heroin had been Roman’s
escape. It made him numb and seemed to quiet the anger that he felt
inside. However, it was only a temporary high, thus the
addiction.
His father had been a junkie. Roman’s mind drifted back to
when he was a young boy. He remembered vividly the day his dad died
of an overdose. The memory brought back the pain that Roman felt,
the abandonment.
Roman’s mother always cursed his father for being such a
loser. What she said may have been true, but to Roman, his dad was
a hero. His time spent with his dad, which was not often, was an
escape from his drunken mother. At least his dad did not hit him
and call him names as she did.
Roman pushed the thought of his mother out of his head. He did
not want her to be his dying memory. He tried to picture his dad.
Roman’s aunt had found him dead in the bathroom with a needle
still in his arm. Roman did not see it, but he had a mental image
of it that he carried his whole life. When he got the news of his
father’s death, Roman made a promise to God. He vowed that he
would die the same way his father did. Now it was coming true. It
was strange, but he felt vindicated. Perhaps his death would repay
some of the hurt that people caused him. Maybe they would feel
guilty for mistreating him.
It was a pitiful end to a pitiful life. Here he was, twenty-five
years old, homeless, jobless, and dying of an overdose. A friend
had allowed Roman to stay in his house while he was out of town.
What will he think when he finds my body, Roman wondered.
Some house sitter I turned out to be!
Nobody else even knew where he was, except for Roman’s
mother. She had become a Christian four years previously; it seemed
as if she was trying to make up for all the past wrongs. She
constantly told Roman she loved him and was praying for him. Who
did she think she was, preaching to me? It just made Roman
angrier.
He had not eaten or slept during four days of partying. There
was nothing festive about this party, though. It had been a dark,
lonely haze of reliving and rehashing the past. He started Thursday
night with an ounce of cocaine, a bag of marijuana, two ice chests
filled with beer, and a brand new pack of syringes. He had been
speedballing heroin and cocaine. Finally, Roman decided to take all
the heroin at once and end the torment going around in his head. He
had filled the syringe all the way to the top and injected it into
his arm.
Now, he was burning up all over, and his muscles were
tightening. Suddenly, his ears popped loud like a cap gun. The
intense pain shot through his head and knocked him to his knees.
That has never happened before. Perhaps blood vessels are
exploding in my brain, he thought. On his knees, he stared at
the soiled, carpeted floor. It was spinning around, moving closer
and then farther away. He was breathing heavy, as if he had just
run a mile, his heart was pounding, and he was dripping sweat.
So, this is what it is like to overdose. He wondered if
his dad had felt this same way. The pain in his chest was growing
stronger. It felt like the drug was melting his insides and his
heart was going to explode. He had to cool off. A bottle of beer
was barely within reach, but as he stretched for it, he tipped it
over and it spilled. Roman collapsed on the floor from the effort.
He was burning all over.
A cold shower is what he needed. They’ll find my body
in the bathroom, like my father, he thought. As he crawled, the
hallway seemed to grow before him. He imagined the carpet smoking
as he touched it with his hands and knees. He felt like a hot coal.
Surely, his heart was on fire, the flames crawling up his throat
and burning the back of his mouth.
The thought of his mother telling him about hell shot through
his mind. Mockingly, he had told her that the devil was scared of
him taking over down there. But now, Roman was scared. He was
scared of dying, but he was also scared of living. He had been
incarcerated many times, declared dead twice, and was addicted,
violent, and hated by many enemies. Death had seemed the best
option, but now the thought terrified him.
Roman pulled himself into the tub and turned on the cold shower.
His clothes soaked quickly and became heavy on his body, but the
heat continued. His insides were on fire, and there was a
tremendous pressure on his chest. He thought perhaps his lungs were
going to collapse.
“Oh God, I don’t want to die,” he
whispered.
Surprisingly, there was a desperate will to live rising within
him.
“I’m tired of my life, but I don’t want to
die.”
The tears flowed down his face. Will God even listen to
me? Roman had spoken to God lots of times in the past. He
accused God of killing his father. He cussed at God and blamed him
for his miserable life. He even preached sermons to his friends
about how God hated him and tormented him. His mother kept telling
him that God loved him, but he laughed at her.
Will God help me now?
“Oh God, if you forgave my mom for what she use to be, you
can forgive me. If she can change, maybe you can change me too.
Show me you are real. I need a miracle.”
The sobs came deep from within. It made his chest hurt even
more, but it was uncontrollable. He could not remember ever crying
before. He always tried to act tough, but now he thought he must
look like a baby.
His stomach started to heave up bile mixed with beer. It burned
the back of his throat. It seemed to go on for several minutes,
even though not much came up. It shook his whole body and made his
head feel like it was going to burst.
Finally, the convulsions subsided. He reached up and turned off
the shower. Remaining on his knees, he watched the tub water swirl
down the drain. He shook himself like a wet dog, and then he
grabbed a towel. Sitting on the edge of the tub, he buried his face
in the towel. There was a ringing in his ears, and he was still
hot, even though he was soaking wet. The pounding of his heart felt
slower and more intense, like a chugging engine about to quit.
The ringing noise continued. It was the phone. It must be one
or two in the morning, he thought. Who would be calling?
His legs felt weak and uncooperative as he staggered to the phone
in the bedroom. He felt for it in the dark and knocked it off the
table. The numbers on the phone lit up so he could see it. As he
lay down on the floor, he put the phone to his face.
“Roman, this is your mother,” the voice in the
receiver said.
He wanted to answer, but the words would not come out. Every
breath hurt.
“Roman, I don’t know why I’m calling you so
late, but I just woke up and felt like I needed to invite you to
come to church in the morning,” she said.
She had invited him to church hundreds of times, but why now?
Is this the answer to my prayer? Could this be? Did God hear
me? The tears began to flow again.
“Yes, Mom. I’ll go with you,” Roman managed to
whisper.
Now she was silent. I probably just gave her a heart
attack, he thought.
“Do you remember the church they just built that we passed
by the other day?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Roman said.
“They are having a visiting speaker tomorrow, and I was
going to attend. Will you come?” she asked hesitatingly.
There was an awkward silence.
“Yeah,” Roman said finally, barely getting the word
out.
“The service starts at eleven in the morning. I’ll
meet you there,” she said.
She hung up, not wanting to give him a chance to change his
mind. She probably doesn’t believe me, Roman thought.
But he was serious. It felt like God had answered a prayer, though
it seemed surreal. He put the phone back on the hook.
The pain was more intense, if anything. The hum of the air
conditioner was the only sound. It’s not working very
well, that’s for sure.
“God, if I live until the morning, I’ll go to
church,” he promised.
He wondered if he would still be alive by then.
