Deborah Collado Obituary

Debbie was born on March 18, 1958, in Brooklyn, New York, and grew up in Sunset Park. Some of her fondest childhood memories came from the apartment upstairs, where her grandfather lived. He made homemade wine and fresh pasta, rolling the noodles out on the bed and hanging them to dry. That memory became part of her DNA: simple joys, family togetherness, and the beauty of everyday moments.
She was creative and crafty-painting on shirts, crocheting homemade gifts, and making beauty out of simplicity. She was also, with pride and humor, a beauty school dropout, which became a well-loved joke amongst her family. She never took herself too seriously-one of the many reasons people were so drawn to her.
Her mother, Ann, was also a pillar of strength. She fought lung cancer with courage and dignity, and it was a heartbreaking parallel that Debbie would face the same disease years later. But if you knew Debbie, you know she didn't let it change her spirit. Even in her illness, she kept her smile, her humor, and her faith in better days.
Debbie inherited her determination from her father, John, a WWII veteran. He was a custodial engineer, and Debbie proudly followed in his footsteps, building a strong career in the cleaning industry as a project manager. She expected results because she believed in hard work, just like her father had taught her. She earned respect the old-fashioned way-by showing up, doing the work, and taking care of her people.
Debbie wasn't just good at her job. She was a boss, in every sense of the word. At work, she was respected for her standards, her leadership, and her loyalty. And at home, well-she was just as much in charge, whether she was raising her children, managing a household, or keeping everyone on track
She was no stranger to challenge, and no stranger to survival.
Tuesday, September 11, 2001. It was a crisp fall day. The skies were crystal clear, and the sun was shining. It's a day we all remember-where we were, what we were doing, even what we were wearing. It was a day that America stood still-and a day that shook the Collado family to their core.
The World Trade Center was more than just a pair of buildings to Debbie's family-it was a part of their lives. It was a playground for Chris and Jennifer, who would ride the elevators, visit the Windows of the World, and explore behind-the-scenes. Gerri, Debbie's sister, also worked there, and after long days at work, they would meet up for happy hour, soaking in the city they loved.
Debbie had survived the 1993 bombing at the World Trade Center. And in 2001, she was still working downtown.
However on the morning of 9/11, by the grace of God, Debbie was running late. Her son Chris, also working downtown that day, was able to reach her. He crossed the Brooklyn Bridge on foot amidst the chaos to find her, where they were reunited in a small restaurant. The hug Chris received once he was safe in his mother's arms is one he will never forget. It was the kind of moment that strips away everything unimportant and leaves only what matters: family, love, and the blessing of one more day together.
Now, if you were close to Debbie, you know she had an optimistic spirit. She genuinely believed in the power of positive energy and that if you put good out into the world, good would come back to you. One of her favorite sayings was:
"Don't put that in the atmosphere." And no one heard that phrase more than Jennifer, who had a special role in Debbie's life: she was the one who lovingly popped her mom's bubbles.
Debbie loved her dog Marley, who was more than just a pet-he was her loyal little snack buddy too. Whatever Debbie was eating, you could bet Marley was getting a bite. They were two peas in a pod, often sharing more than just food, but quiet moments of companionship and comfort.
She also cherished the simple joys of spending time with her children. One of her favorite trips was a recent one to Sarasota, to visit Chris and his girlfriend Jessica, whom she absolutely adored. They didn't do anything extravagant-no grand excursions or fancy plans-but for Debbie, it was perfect. She was beaming with pride to see the life Chris had built, and being with him in that peaceful slice of Florida meant the world to her.
And oh, how she loved Christmas. The decorations came out the day after Thanksgiving, like clockwork, transforming her home into a winter wonderland. She had a giant Miracle on 34th Street sign, because Debbie believed in miracles. She believed in joy. She believed in making people feel special. Christmas wasn't just a holiday to her-it was her love language. It was how she brought everyone together, wrapped in warmth, light, and tradition.
There's a quote that says: "A mother is she who can take the place of all others, but whose place no one else can take."
At her core, Debbie was family first. She was a nurturing mother and a proud grandmother. In her final months, she lived with Jennifer and the kids, and her home remained filled with love, laughter, and life-even during the hardest days. She faced her diagnosis with the same quiet strength that had carried her through so many storms. She never let cancer define her. She was still the one cracking jokes, still the one putting others at ease, still Debbie through and through.
Her strength didn't come from force-it came from love. Her kindness wasn't performative-it was instinctive. Her presence wasn't loud-but it was deeply felt.
So this Christmas, when the lights twinkle and the music plays, pause. Remember the woman who danced in the kitchen, who made you feel like everything was going to be okay, who worked hard, played hard, and gave her whole heart to the people she loved. Carry on her legacy in your actions, in your laughter, and in the way you care for one another.
Because Debbie believed that life is about showing up, loving hard, dancing often, and keeping family at the center of it all.
Debbie leaves behind her children, Christopher and Jennifer, and her beloved grandchildren, Adrian and Alex. She is also survived by her sister, Gerri, her nieces Donna and Erica, her great-nephews Steven and Gavin, her great-nieces Christine and Allison, and many other dear friends and colleagues.
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