By Robert Jenkins
It has been 365 days since I received the call which changed my life forever. My beautiful Hawaiian princess, Fallen, had collapsed at her home. Her neighbor, Pierre, an Iraqi veteran who had always kept a watchful eye on her since her separation from her husband, was the one to inform me. He explained that while working in his backyard, paramedics approached him and asked if he knew the young lady next door. He said yes, and as they moved toward her house, he saw them performing CPR on her.
The neighbor across the street had seen Fallen fall from her porch earlier and immediately called 911. Two passersby stopped but only confirmed that help was on the way—NO ONE attempted CPR. To this day, I cannot understand why no one stepped in to help before the paramedics arrived. Pierre called me that dreadful afternoon as they worked to save my daughter’s life. He told me she had suffered a cardiac arrest and handed the phone to a paramedic for more details.
The paramedic explained that they arrived six minutes after the call and that Fallen had already coded twice during CPR. I was driving home from Oceanside when his words hit me harder than anything I had ever experienced. I pulled over to the side of the highway, overcome with grief, screaming her name into the void. Barely able to speak, I managed to ask a few questions. The paramedic assured me they were doing everything possible and informed me they were transporting her to Riverside Hospital.
Before ending the call, Pierre passed the phone to a Hampton police officer who needed information about Fallen. He asked about her age, height, marital status, and whether she had children. Through tears, I answered his questions as best as I could. He gave me his name, and a case number, and expressed his condolences.
I sat on the side of that road for what felt like hours, trying to process what had just happened. Memories of Fallen’s infectious laugh replayed in my mind—just the night before, we had laughed together over the phone. My thoughts turned to her miracle children, Hokulani and Keanu—blessings doctors once said she would never have.
I tried calling her estranged husband to inform him and check if he had the kids, but he didn’t answer. Dorothy didn’t answer either. Finally, I called my sister Cynthia. She reassured me that Hokulani and Keanu were safe with Cam but was devastated when I told her about Fallen’s condition. She tried to console me with words of hope as she ran out the door to go to Fallen.
Once I was able to collect myself I drove home. Dorothy was sound asleep after working a night shift. I woke her gently and shared what had happened. We hugged tightly and cried together before she helped me book a flight to Virginia for the next morning. All the while keeping communication with Fallen’s doctors.
That night, I leaned on my support system—calling my mom, Cecilio, Clarence, and Mike for strength. Cecilio and Mike came over immediately to comfort me and helped me focus on trusting God for healing.
The next morning, I flew into Norfolk where my niece Teanu picked me up from the airport. On our way to Riverside Hospital, she shared heartbreaking news: Fallen had coded again during transport but was revived by paramedics.
At the hospital waiting room, my mom, sisters Janice and Cynthia, cousin Debra, and numerous friends were already there. The neurologist met with us and explained that Fallen had been without oxygen for 20 minutes before being revived again—resulting in severe brain damage. She was now in an induced coma on a respirator following surgery to check for blockages.
The doctor warned us of a grim prognosis: Fallen would likely succumb to her injuries or live in a vegetative state for the rest of her life. But I refused to give up hope or consent to removing life support. “Do everything you can,” I told him firmly. “Her life is in God’s hands now.” Despite coding three times and undergoing risky surgery, she was still fighting—a miracle in itself.
My mom and I went in to see Fallen together. The sight of her lifeless body sustained only by machines will haunt me forever. Holding her warm hand while my mom clutched mine was a far cry from seeing her just 30 days earlier at Keanu’s birthday party—so full of life and joy as we planned our father-daughter trip to Hawaii this summer.
Hours later, Dorothy and Hasani arrived at the hospital where we all stayed vigilant by Fallen’s bedside for 30 days as she fought valiantly. When she grew stronger, she was transferred to Select Specialty Hospital in Richmond for another 24 days of care.
But just four days after Mother’s Day, our beautiful princess succumbed to an infection her weakened heart, liver, and lungs could no longer fight.
I am grateful for so much amidst this tragedy:
• That she didn’t suffer cardiac arrest alone at home.
• That it didn’t happen while she was driving with her children.
• For the neighbor who called 911 and for the paramedics who fought tirelessly.
• For 54 precious days we spent by her side.
• For family and friends who surrounded us with love.
• For Dorothy’s unwavering support.
• For Hasani’s unconditional love.
This year has been unbearably hard—everything reminds me of Fallen: songs she sang with her beautiful voice, butterflies, clouds shaped like Hawaiian flowers, hospital scenes on TV—especially Hokulani’s face which mirrors hers so perfectly.
Though it brings some peace knowing she is reunited with her mother (who also passed at age 36 from cardiac arrest), selfishly I wish she were still here with us.
We will take our trip to Hawaii this summer as planned—not for vacation but to spread Fallen’s ashes where her mother’s were laid to rest.
Fallen Tiare Jenkins—you will forever be my princess and remain in my heart until we meet again.
I Love You, Princess
Daddy (aka DaDa)
I know it’s cliche to say “It was her time to go” but I feel if one of those 3 people had performed CPR, she would be with us today.
Please get CPR certified, it may save someone’s life.
