A single mother has a dying child and can't work. A disabled man is living without electricity and water. Most clients have lost jobs or signed up for risky mortgages they now can't afford. They're all losing their homes. They're all desperate.

And they're all depending on Colon to help them stop foreclosure on their houses and turn their lives around.

Just talking about the pressure brings her to tears fast. But she shoves the thoughts aside just as quickly. She has work to do.

"Some days, my job seems as stressful as a hospital emergency room," said Colon, 29, a foreclosure specialist with Catholic Charities of the Diocese of St. Petersburg. "I do a lot of handholding. I pass out a lot of tissues."

The charity has few resources to help struggling homeowners financially, but its staff has deep community connections and years of experience negotiating with lenders.

Colon spends her days trying to persuade lenders to modify loans or give the owners more time to make payments. As a last resort, she tries to work out a short sale, which allows the homeowner to sell for less than he owes and avoid foreclosure.

Colon is part of a small army of people trying to find solutions to the foreclosure crisis sweeping the nation, one case at a time. Unlike the many companies that assist investors in finding deals or charge worried homeowners for advice, Colon just wants people to stay in their homes.

The pressure to help is enormous: She started her job in November 2006 and had about six cases in the first year, but since the Bay area housing bubble burst, she has been getting calls from about 12 new clients a day.

That's on top of the 206 active cases she has already. She has 97 clients who face foreclosure.

Colon has only one staff member. That person works primarily in Pinellas County, and Colon works in Hillsborough and Pasco. She knows she's stretched too thin. She has a problem saying no.

"I just can't turn people away," she said, sorting through large metal filing cabinets full of the stories of those she's trying to help. "If I can't take on more clients, I at least try to tell them what they need to do to help themselves."

Colon is full of energy and mostly soft-spoken, but she means business. Her tone snaps into that of a drill sergeant when she deems it necessary.

"You're going to go home, type up a resume and bring it back to me," she recently told a woman rife with excuses for why she hasn't found employment for two years. "Then, you will get a job."

Colon travels from office to office, from Dover to Tampa to St. Petersburg. She gets so many cell phone messages that her voicemail is almost always full. She often sits up in bed going through paperwork, coming up with strategies to negotiate with lenders, long after her husband and four young children are asleep.

Her husband works nights, so she often carts at least one of her sons with her as she visits clients or works in the office. She brings snacks and cartoon DVDs.

Her husband sees how hard she works and worries about her well-being, she said. He and her boys urge her to take a vacation, which she plans to do soon.

She thrives on her clients' success stories, and takes it to heart when she can't help.

Sometimes, the plea just comes too late.

On a recent Thursday afternoon, for example, a hysterical woman called the office. Her home was to be sold on the courthouse steps on Monday.

"There was nothing I could do," Colon said. "Now I can't stop thinking about her."

Another day, her phone rang as she crossed the Howard Frankland Bridge. She was already stressed. The charity is seeking more money to hire additional staff, and a computer had crashed, erasing part of the charities' grant proposal. It had to be post-marked the next day.

It was her lone employee on the phone. One of her clients had called to say he had a gun to his head. He had lost his job, his wife had left him, and now he was losing his home.

"I told her to call 911," Colon said. "When I finish with the grant work, I'll have to check on him."

As tough as the work is, Colon thrives on her success rate. In all the cases she has negotiated with lenders, only twice was she unable to stop the foreclosure.

"When I close my eyes, I can still see their faces," she said. "I won't forget."

As one of the worst foreclosure waves in history stretches across Florida, Colon expects her workload to increase.

But this week, she plans to take a much-needed break. She'll turn off the cell phone and spend time with her kids and husband.

She'll re-energize.

She knows there will be new clients waiting when she returns.

Reporter Shannon Behnken can be reached at  (813) 259-7804  or sbehnken@tampatrib.com.