Zelda Valley

It was one year ago today when one chapter in all our lives had ended and a newer one had begun….

I guess we have to keep in mind that Alex had this sickness on and off for 11 years. He first got it mere months after Jordan had been born  in 1996, and Christmas was overshadowed by his first surgery. Jordan took his first steps while this surgery was happening.

Well, I guess what I’m saying here is that, this very day one year ago could’ve happened 11 years before that, but instead, Alex was given just over a decade of extra years for him to live his life, and more importantly, make an impact on just about everyone who met him.

So it was early morning June 22, 2007. For some odd reason I had not slept, and I was wide awake very early in the morning. The Ducks had won the Stanley Cup just over two weeks ago, and we had taken Alex there to witness it despite his failing health. Five days prior, we had admitted him into a hospital in Santa Monica due to his complaints of excruciating pain just about everywhere in his body, mainly his lungs. However after he was looked at, the doctors were now saying the hopes of him surviving were now grim due to the cancer running wildly in his body, this time simply removing it would further complicate things rather than help it.

So anyway, I was up very early in the morning that day. Even though the grim prediction was in the back of our heads, he was pretty steady to the point where he wasn’t getting worse but not getting any better. Suddenly, I got an instant email from Jordan, who also happened to be on very early in the morning in Montana. We continued to chat via emails (he didn’t download messenger then) and then we decided to go on yahoo games to make it more instant. Finally, the subject came up, “so, how is my dad doing?” and I just said the last news I heard, “well, he’s not getting any worse, but he’s not getting any better.”  The conversation remained pretty comfortable until suddenly my father urgently opened the door and said, “Anthony, we need to get over to Santa Monica now!” “Why?” “Because I’ve just heard he’s starting to fail pretty fast, he could do it any time now.”

As soon as I heard that, I typed to Jordan, “dude, you need to get down here NOW!!!!” and he replied, “I know! My mom just called us!” then he had to ask me possibly the most difficult question he could ever ask and I could ever answer: “My mom didn’t say anything else because I think she’s trying to protect me, but is he going to die?” I had to say, “I’m sorry to say this, but it is possible.” As we rush to Santa Monica from Riverside, numerous phone calls are made to family members, more importantly to {Alex’s wife} Amy’s parents who are watching the kids in Montana, and how they could get the kids down to Santa Monica from Great Falls, Montana as fast as they can.

Ultimately, the kids must be driven down to Salt Lake City from Great Falls Montana (about 8-10 hours of driving) and get on a plane to Los Angeles from Salt Lake City. Thanks to a fateful visit by from Uncle John, whom I only see once every few years and just happened to be in Los Angeles for a couple days coming from London, he was able to play a part in the arrangements to get the kids to the hospital from the airports.

Meanwhile, Alex was really messed up. He had lost most of his ability to speak, and the only sounds he could make were groans of pain. The only thing we could really ask him to do was rest up, but hold on for dear life until he could see his kids one last time. He had almost drifted away until Amy had woken him up and said, “not yet!” The kids finally arrived late at night, and unfortunately, they had to walk into one of the most traumatic experiences they’d ever have to see. They had traveled 12 hours just to walk in and say goodbye to a dieing Alex. Alex, who had been in bed all day, actually used a lot of his strength just to sit up for them to hug them and try to comfort them, which was one of the most amazing sites I had ever seen.

After they said their goodbyes, it was just me, my other brother Andre, and Alex in the room. He glanced in my direction and said, “who’s that?” although it wasn’t me he was looking at, but he was looking at the wall behind me. Could it be that he was first seeing a supernatural being gesturing for him to come towards the light?

The hours had drifted into June 23, and Alex was free to go. It was only a matter of time. We had made beds out of chairs and footrests in a special waiting room and kept the kids company and made the atmosphere around them light again. Finally, I was able to fall asleep on top of two footrests put together. However, at around 2-3 in the morning, I was woken up to the whispering sounds of “Anthony get up, Alex is gone.” My eyes widened to full extent as soon as I deciphered the message: it had happened. When I walked into the room, there was the site of his lifeless body, white as the sheets he was resting on. I’ll never get that image out of my head, as it was one of the few instances I cried heavily.

Soon after, I walked outside into a dark alley that was next to a construction site to get everything straight in my head. It was still dark outside, and as I looked up, it was foggy overcast, and the clouds were pretty low just above the buildings. The city lights made the overcast glow, not yellow, but almost pure white. As I was looking up, I imagined that heaven was just a couple hundred feet above me, and Alex had just arrived after not having to travel too far.

I never like to say the words goodbye, to me it’s too final, too conclusive, and it leaves a pretty negative impression in my mind. So I just said the next best thing, which to me is far more meaningful than “goodbye.” As I looked up into the glowing clouds, I said, “I’ll see you later, Alex!”

That whole day afterward was spent with a constant flow of family members arriving at our house. I don’t remember saying a single word to any of them, probably because I just couldn’t. That whole summer revolved around the buffets of sweets that were given to us.

Alex had two memorial services. The first one in California turned up 300-500 people, and only then did I start really socializing again. After it, we started to heal up, but the scar was ripped open again when we had to do a smaller one in Great Falls several weeks later.

I can’t say the past year has been easy, not for his wife Amy, his two kids Abby and Jordan, not for my parents, my brother Andre, my sister Amanda, or for me. Every one of us has had some form of downside funk after it as a response to this day one year ago. The only thing any one of us can do is continue to heal up. The thought will never go away, but the pain may become lighter as time goes on.

I know I’ll see my brother again, we’ll chat about LA sports. Maybe for his sake the Los Angeles Kings and the Dodgers can have a winning season for a change. Until then, “I’ll see you later!”