Grievously wounded survivor of triple murder and suicide is slowly becoming himself again

11:11 PM MST on Sunday, February 20, 2005

By Stephanie Innes / ARIZONA DAILY STAR

WILLCOX — John Sabia had mixed feelings about meeting his new girlfriend's estranged husband. He was nervous, but he had promised.

As he drove the 70 miles to Tucson that Saturday night, he worried about the possible tension, about Michael Breaux's mood. Yet he stayed hopeful that talking would help.

He met Debra Breaux in the driveway, and she led him into the living room of her family's Southeast Side home.

Debra and John sat on the couch, with Michael in a chair across from them. Michael spoke briefly, explaining they were all in a difficult situation.

He then reached behind his back and pulled out a revolver. He shot John four times, the last bullet going execution-style into the back of his head.

Nearly 17 hours later, Debra's mother, worried because her daughter hadn't shown up for church, opened the door.

At first, she thought they were watching TV. They were lying on the floor and candles burned on the entertainment center.

But as she walked closer, she saw all three were soaked with blood. In the back of the house, she found her two grandchildren - 7-year-old Melissa and 4-year-old Jacob - lying lifeless on a bed. She ran outside screaming for help.

"Everyone is dead," a neighbor told one of the first police officers to arrive.

Inside the home, police found the children. On the carpeted living room floor lay the blue, lifeless bodies of Debra and Michael, a pistol by his side.

John lay against the couch, face-down. His eyes were closed.

But when one officer moved closer, John blinked and stared. The officer saw him breathe.

Went to Sahuaro High together

John and Debra went to Tucson's Sahuaro High School together but didn't meet until their 20-year reunion in 2003.

John was charmed by Debra, a petite, extroverted brunette - a complement to his laid-back, less outgoing personality.

They exchanged phone numbers and Debra began calling John regularly, said Manny Gonzales, 32, who owns PT's Gym in Willcox, where John was a regular. John also helped run the gym while Manny was with the Marines in Iraq in 2003.

John knew Debra was still married and still living with her husband, so at first they were just friends. The relationship developed slowly and he was hopeful it would become serious as her divorce proceeded.

"I will say I was hoping to settle down with her," John said.

The couple went to movies, shopping for Debra's kids, apple-picking in Willcox and to a Brooks & Dunn concert at the Pima County Fairgrounds because Debra loved country music. They also enjoyed dinners out.

"It wasn't a lovey-dovey kind of thing, more of a mature relationship, mutual respect," Manny said.

Debra, a 38-year-old dental hygienist, and Michael, 49, who worked for the county, were in counseling. But she wanted a divorce, according to Tucson Police Department reports and statements from friends and relatives.

Still, she stayed in the home with Michael and their children - Melissa, a bubbly, social second-grader; and Jacob, an active, energetic 4-year-old with an infectious laugh.

John, a 6-foot-2 former Marine embassy guard who had been stationed in Iceland, Russia and Italy and also worked as a doorman and guard at the Westin La Paloma Resort in Tucson, was still looking for the right girl.

He'd graduated from the University of Phoenix in 2001 with a degree in management information systems. In November 2003, he was living with his mother and stepfather and working two jobs in Willcox - at Bob's IGA and at PT's while also looking for a full-time job in Tucson, hoping to move there.

"They had his toe tags ready"

"I had an idea about the husband," Manny said. "She'd told John that one time he'd grabbed and shook her. They were a married couple living in the same household, so I told John to be careful. Jealousy's evil."

An officer from the Cochise County Sheriff's Department knocked on Irene Bendon's Willcox door during the late afternoon of Sunday, Nov. 9, 2003.

"He told me that something had happened to my son, that he was in the hospital," said Irene, now 71. "They said he was in surgery, but we didn't know anything else."

John was at University Medical Center in critical condition. Hospital admission records listed his chances as uncertain.

"They had his toe tags and death certificate ready," Irene said.

When she saw her son, he had black eyes and was wrapped in bandages. A monitoring device poked out of the top of his head.

"You couldn't recognize him. I talked to my other children and we did go through whether he'd had requests on how to be buried. But I didn't dwell on it," Irene said.

The next day, John's siblings flew in. His older sister, Laura McGee, came from Rhode Island with her husband and two children. His brother, Nick, came from Atlanta.

"I didn't know what to think," said Laura, now 40. "It's like the person is in a deep, dark tunnel and you have to shout loudly at them. We would shout and scream to wake him up."

In Willcox, churches put John on their prayer lists. Many in the town of about 4,000 began saying personal prayers.

"I know he was a tough, healthy guy, but I gotta be honest, I didn't think he'd make it just by looking at him," Manny said. "But he started recovering real quick. I'd talk in his ear as close as I could, about memories here and there. He'd squeeze my hand and kind of smile."

"He just started to cry"

After 11 days at UMC, John was transferred to the Southern Arizona Veterans Affairs Medical Center, 3601 S. Sixth Ave., where he spent two weeks.

Several times he thought he saw Michael Breaux and became terrified. And he wondered about Debra and why she hadn't called. But he couldn't articulate what he felt.

"He first started talking about two weeks after the shooting," Irene said. "He would just say a few words."

On Dec. 3, John moved into long-term rehabilitation at the Defense and Veterans Brain Injury Center in Palo Alto, Calif., and began asking questions. Irene had to tell him what had happened.

"He just started to cry and said, 'Oh,' " Irene said. "And I don't know that he really comprehended everything."

John began thinking about the shooting daily, fantasizing Debra ran and got help when the first shots were fired.

His speech was halting, his memory vague. The bullet that went through the back of his head had fragmented as it traveled through his brain and lodged near the left front of his skull, leaving him with neurological problems, including a partially paralyzed right side. His wrist had a bullet hole. Two bullets were lodged in his shoulder.

"We brought him his first burger in Palo Alto about one and half months after the shooting - his first solid food," Irene said. "He was in diapers for two months. Just to get out of bed to get into his wheelchair he had to be lifted, like you'd carry a baby in a hoist."

Medical records list John's communication and cognitive deficits as "severe."

"He was dependent in every aspect of his daily living," said Stephanie Alvarez, a nurse manager for rehabilitation at the Palo Alto hospital. "He would just look at you and his attention span was 30 seconds."

When asked to make his bed, he recoiled from the physical strain. But slowly he began initiating conversations and saying hello to the medical staff.

"He is very positive," Alvarez said. "There were a lot of tears when he left."

Nov. 5 seizure is a setback

John went home to Willcox on Aug. 24, moving back into a trailer behind the home of Irene and his stepfather, Bernard.

Since then, his days have consisted of therapy, massages, counseling and reflexology. He takes daily pain medicine and spends most of his free time with his dog, Dante, watching movies on TV and going to the gym.

His biggest setback since he returned was a seizure Nov. 5 - three days before the anniversary of the shooting.

"Subconsciously, maybe he was thinking about it," Irene said. "At that time he was anxious, short. Something was bothering him."

After the seizure, John visited the Tucson grave sites of Debra and her children. He has recovered full memory of the day - up until the shooting began.

"There's not a day goes by that I don't think of it," he said. "I'd given Debra my word that I'd meet this guy. I knew he was still living in the house, but I sure didn't think he was going to shoot me."

Depression and pain

Though he tries not to talk about it, John's demeanor belies the depression and pain he confesses to feeling.

He greets a visitor to his home by extending his hand, catching his balance on a walker. He wears a brace on his right leg and is making progress regaining the use of his right side. On good days, he uses a cane.

Lately, he's been reading Lance Armstrong's book, "It's Not About the Bike" - two pages each morning - and thinking about becoming a personal trainer. Sometimes when he speaks he pauses, then defers to his mother. When he's talking on the phone, he occasionally hands it over to Irene.

He is happiest in the gym.

"This is the place where I walk around unaided. I feel more comfortable," he said one recent morning, setting down his cane by the front door of PT's, limping across the floor and stopping at the free weights to pull a 10-pounder off the shelf, placing it on the floor.

"I don't feel comfortable picking these up and carrying them over to the bench, so I roll them. You know, adapting and overcoming," he said with a grin.

His favorite workout is doing bench presses. Before the shooting, he could press nearly 300 pounds. Now he aims for 90 and has to use a barbell on pulleys.

What John, now 39, would love most is to be able to drive his 1992 Chevy Suburban again, to regain his independence.

"My mom takes me everywhere," he said. "I don't want to be a burden to her, but I need to go places."

His medical bills already total $400,000, paid for by the federal government because he's a former Marine. His family hopes other costs, particularly for long-term care, will be recouped through a pending lawsuit.

Laura, his sister, has decided to move her family back to Arizona in a few years. They are prepared to care for John when her mother and stepfather no longer can.

"I think we all appreciate the fact that we are still together," she said.

Recovery for brain-injury patients mostly occurs in the first year after the trauma, but John's progress can continue if he keeps working at it, said Dr. Henry Lew, one of John's Palo Alto doctors. If John doesn't continue trying to learn, his brain will deteriorate.

But he also must be careful not to overdo it - too much stimulation will cause more stress.

John has periods of frustration when he can't find things, or when he can't think of the right way to answer a question.

But he's optimistic.

"Several people have told me I'll never be the same," he said. "But I think I can come back in time. I'm just glad I survived."

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