Well, Here it is - My Final Entry, February 10th

Wow.  My last blog.  I have no idea what I'm going to write, but it just seems like there needs to be a final edition.  Where to start?

This has been one helluva rollercoaster ride, these here past few months (apparently I'm channeling a southerner).  I know exactly where I was when I got the phone call that Dad was in the hospital.  I don't remember the date, but I know I had just left the veterinarian's office with my 22 pound wunderkitty, Chevy (AKA Big Block).  Little did I know the path I was going to be led down.  At the time it was no big deal...Dad was just having trouble with that annoying cough and his blood oxygen saturation was too low.  Probably pneumonia and we can fix that.  I wasn't worried.  Dad sounded great, if not just a little inconvenienced.  I figured if he can beat cancer, he sure as shootin' wasn't going to be taken out by pneumonia.

The days stretched into weeks.  I kept asking if he needed me to come down there.  His answer was always the same, "Not yet."  As it was nearing Christmas, he wanted me to stay with my family in Alaska.  It wasn't necessary for me to be in Edmonds.  A few days passed and I asked again.  This time there was a little hesitation in his voice.  I could tell that he was getting worried.  Of course, he wasn't worrying about himself, but worrying about Mom.  You see, he had taken such close care (even closer than usual) of Mom since her strokes 10 years or so ago.  She really didn't have to do much for herself.  It was his honor and privilege to take care of her.  He saw that she got her daily medicines, and that she ate well.  He was worried that if he wasn't there, how would she do on her own?  I told him I would come down and he did sound a little relieved.  BUT I could only come down on one condition, he said.  He made me promise to wait until after Christmas.  I made that promise and then made reservations for the day after (ha!).  I couldn't find a loophole this time (dammit!) so I had to do what he said, therefore I waited until a few hours past midnight and I was on my way. 

That conversation took place about a week and a half before Christmas.  I have to say that was probably one of the hardest times of this whole journey for me.  I didn't really know what was going on with him, and as it turns out, neither did the doctors.  This simple pneumonia (or what I thought was pneumonia) wasn't turning out to be so simple.  They really didn't know what it was or what was causing it, therefore they didn't quite know how to treat it.  In essence, they didn't know what "it" was.  After several different medications, they concluded that his lungs were probably damaged from the years of chemo.  Made sense, I supposed.  They finally figured out the meds to deal with it and I thought we were good to go - on our way to getting home.

The docs deemed him well enough to be discharged to a rehabilitation facility.  You all know what happened from there on out.

Why am I telling you all this?  I don't know.  I guess it's just important that you know how this journey began.  Dad was optimistic, of course.  He knew he'd beat this slight nuisance.  Hell, he'd beaten three different kinds of cancer, this was a walk in the park!  Of course, he was constantly asking how we were doing.  He put more importance on everybody else than on himself.  Ed was being Ed.

Two months later we buried my father.  He beat the bilateral pneumonitis that initially hospitalized him.  He beat the VRE blood infection.  He beat pancreatic cancer.  What a fighter!  I know I've said that before, but it can't be said enough.  What this man went through on what was ultimately the last journey of his life, I can't even begin to fathom.  The uncertainty of finding the original infection.  The uncertainty of being able to walk again.  The uncertainty of not knowing when you are going to go home.  The uncertainty of his hair growing back (hey, we all have different concerns *wink*).   All this while sleeping in a strange bed that made a crinkly sound when you moved and using pillows that wouldn't hold a good plumpin.'  Yet that indomitable spirit never faltered.  Ed was being Ed.

His memorial service was beautiful.  I can't even begin to describe the feeling that overcame me when I saw all those familiar faces there to pay their respects to my Dad.  I have never, ever felt so much pride, coupled with so much pain.  The thought of never seeing my father on this earth again still hasn't quite sunk in.  The world without Ed Aliverti?  Incomprehensible. 

I look back and in retrospect, everything was how it was supposed to be.  Great grandson Dylan Edward arrived early.  If he had waited until his due date (Feb. 12th), Dad would never have 'met' him.  He was born beautifully healthy and not a tiny baby by any stretch of the imagination (6 lbs. 3.6 oz, 19 1/2" long).  He was supposed to be born when he was, no matter what the calendar (and the doctors!) said.  Meeting Dylan was one of Dad's long term goals.  He made it, just not in the way we thought it would be.  Ed was being Ed.

We had three extra years with my Dad.  Of course, there is never enough time, but I'm so thankful to have held onto him for just a little while longer.  The things we were able to do, the memories we were able to make.  For this, I will be eternally grateful.  I saw him officiate at my daughter's wedding (yes, we had to call him The Very Reverend Ed Aliverti - his words, not mine!), ride the train to Whittier and then board a glacier cruise to see 26 different glaciers.  Of course, the latter was during a torrential rainstorm where the rain was falling from left to right, but bless their hearts, Mom and Dad bundled up and had a blast!  This trip was in honor of Caitlin's (my youngest) 21st birthday.  We still laugh at the fact that she was less than perky on this excursion.  You see, in spite of our warnings, she stayed out a little, um, late the night before.  I believe the glaciers looked suspiciously like the inside of her eyelids, to her.  But I'm veering off subject (not unusual, if you know me)...

Now I've come to the part of our program where I thank you, the many friends that cared so very much.  Not only for Dad, but for my Mom, my sisters and I, and our entire family.  It was said in my Uncle's beautiful eulogy that Dad had many families.  Truer words were never spoken.  Each and every one of you was so important to Dad.  Your stories were his stories.  He revelled in every single one of them and was so proud to be associated with you.  He taught, announced, sang and danced.  Every one of those aspects were part of what made him who he was.  For that, I am eternally grateful.  I was raised by one of the best men you will ever hope to find.  I can only aspire to be half the person Dad was.  Thank you all of you.  You lifted us up when we needed it, and continue to do so.  The words 'thank you' just don't seem adequate.  Just know that they come from the heart.

What I've learned from this journey is hard to put into words (so far, that doesn't seem to be an issue).  Grace, hope, faith and love.  That's all Dad needed.  He taught me up until the very end.  Ed was being Ed.

God bless all of you.  You've made this journey a little easier.  I now close my final blog with a slightly melancholy heart.  I'm going to miss you.  You take care, and drop me a line now and again to let me know how you are doing.  I will continue to use the alivertiblog@hotmail.com address.  You use it, too! 

"I.  Have.  Spoken!"

There it is...Leslie is being Ed.

Good night.