Geelong great Sam Newman has spoken publicly about the tragic passing of his wife, who died aged 50 in the couple’s Docklands home.
A heartbroken Sam Newman has spoken publicly about the tragic passing of his wife, who died aged 50 in the couple’s Melbourne home on the weekend.
The Geelong legend and former AFL Footy Show host found his wife lying on the floor of their luxury Docklands apartment on Saturday night.
Newman and Ms Brown had been together for 20 years before officially tying the knot in November.
It was Newman’s fourth marriage, the ceremony taking place just days after Brown’s 50th birthday.
Newman: ‘I want to do this’
Speaking on his podcast, You Cannot Be Serious, Newman — often on the verge of tears — chose to speak about his late wife, telling his listeners and co-hosts: “I want to do this.”
“I’ve had a pretty tough week so before I start, I don’t want anyone listening to this to feel sorry for me,” Newman said. “There’s plenty of people that suffer adversity everyday of their lives and I’m not singling myself out for sympathy or anything like that.
“I’ve had people reach out to me, you wouldn’t believe the people who’ve reached out to me who’ve suffered similar episodes in their life.
“There’ll be a significant amount of people that don’t have sympathy for me and that’s fine too. They’ll say I got what I deserved and good luck and good riddance and all that, and I understand that and I don’t mind if you have that opinion of me and what happened to me. That’s fine because I’m a polarising influence I suppose.”
Sam gave CPR for 20 minutes
Newman was out with friends getting fish and chips on Saturday night and had tried calling Brown, but became worried when she didn’t answer.
He described on his podcast the moment he came home to find her dead, revealing he gave her CPR for 20 minutes even though he knew it was too late.
“I get home and I walk in the door and the television’s on in the bedroom. So I look down there and lying in her underwear — she’d obviously been in bed or she got out of bed to get something to eat,” Newman said.
“She’s lying there on the tiles outside the laundry and as soon as I saw her I knew she was dead, I just knew it.
“I rang 000 and the very helpful person said you better try and give CPR and she talked me through that.
“I’ve got the phone on speaker and I’m pumping this poor woman who’s lying there looking so peaceful, obviously dead, but the operator said keep doing it in case there’s a spark of life in her, I think she said.
“So for 20 minutes I’m giving CPR to what I knew was a corpse.”
Note Newman had to read
Newman felt compelled to sit down and write about his soulmate after she died, and was in tears as he read out the words paying tribute to the love of his love.
“It’s been 24 hours since I wrote this, it’s been 24 hours since I arrived home and found dear Amanda, lying on her side on the tiles besides the laundry,” he said.
“She was not fully clothed and as the television was on in the bedroom I’d presumed she’d got up to grab a bite or go to the bathroom. She looked so calm and gentle and innocent but somehow, I knew instantly, she was dead.
“It’s difficult to describe the feeling of having the 000 number on speaker while the operator talked me through the CPR technique which I continued for a futile 30 minutes while waiting for the ambulance.
“This is by no means a criticism of the instructions or the time the ambulance took to arrive, but more the desperation of feeling completely helpless as the woman I married … six months ago ceased to be.
“So why am I writing this? Maybe it’s cathartic, or maybe I want to share what a relationship means to me because at 75-years of age, it’s taken three quarters of a century to discover the formula.
“I’ve married and loved a number of women and for extended periods of time have enjoyed a harmonious existence with them all but sadly, not an everlasting one.
“The reasons they did not endure are complex, yet so simple. Restlessness, tension, egos, simmering angst and above all, stubbornness to yield.”