This is a hard one to write.
Yesterday, I called my friend, Ed Silva, on my drive in to work to check on him. Ed's 83 and a couple of months ago, he was diagnosed with Mantle Cell Lymphoma. He's been in and out of the hospital - Williamson County and Vanderbilt - a few times, initially for extended stays. He's lost a lot of weight, too, which isn't great. His doctor recently changed his treatment from a chemotherapy pill to an infusion, apparently because the chemotherapy pill wasn't as effective as had been hoped.
I was a little concerned because I had called Ed on Monday but gotten no answer, and he hadn't returned my call or texted me, which was odd. He answered the phone yesterday morning when I called, though, but it didn't even sound like Ed that I was talking to. In a high pitched, almost shrill voice, Ed told me he was back at Williamson County Medical Center, had a lot of pain in his right leg or foot, and wasn't sure how long he had been there.
I called a mutual friend and learned that Ed had been admitted to the hospital Tuesday night due to a blood infection that was causing cellulitis, accompanied with redness, swelling, and pain, in his right leg. Not good. He was on medication for the pain and a heavy dose of antibiotics.
I drove straight to the hospital and tracked Ed down on the fourth floor, where he had just been moved to the critical care unit. A nurse I talked to wasn't able to tell me why he had been moved since I am not family. Ed and I probably see that a little bit differently, as he's been a surrogate father to me in many ways over the past three decades that I've practiced law in Franklin.
When I finally found Ed's room - # 467 - I was taken aback by how diminished he looked, lying in the hospital bed, connected to an IV drip and various other machines. He's lost 30 + pounds which, truthfully, he could afford to lose, but still . . . physically, he's far from the lion he's always been. The raw physicality, the girth, the strength, that's all gone, which is to be expected. Still, it's hard to see it firsthand.
More troubling, at least yesterday, was how different his personality was because of the pain medication he is taking. Ed was emotional when I walked in, near tears at times, which is a side of him I've rarely, if ever, seen in the past. A healthy Ed Silva is gruff, profane, gregarious, confident, and loud, in all of the best ways. That's not who Ed is now and it's not who he was yesterday. It may not be who he ever is again, and that's very, very difficult for me to accept.
I realize, of course, that where Ed is now, physically, is a part of life. Still, it's a very difficult part of life, most difficult, I know, for Ed and his family.
What I think, too, is that true friendship is what I experienced yesterday at the hospital with Ed. Sitting for a while with my one remaining professional mentor and holding his hand, helping him take and swallow at least a dozen different pills, asking a nurse to give him something for his pain, and telling old stories to distract him - that is friendship, plain and simple. In truth, it's probably the purest form of friendship, and it was a blessing for me to experience it with Ed in his hospital room.
In my legal career, certainly since I've been in Franklin, there is no one upon whom I have relied so much for advice, perspective, and support. Over the years, I've called Ed or stopped in to see him when I've had a problem with a judge, a client, or another attorney. I sought him out for advice 20 + years ago when we bought and renovated our building in downtown Franklin. His advice always has been on point and what I needed to hear. When I've needed Ed, he's always been there.
We've laughed together, a lot. And we've argued when we had cases against each other. Ed has mediated for me and I've mediated for him, too. We've talked on the phone countless times to discuss cases when one of us called the other to get an opinion on a case or a novel legal issue.
For years, my partner, Chas, and I have affectionately called Ed "the Godfather." He loved the nickname, and loved it even more when Chas and I had business cards made for him, on heavy card stock. On the front, it said "Ed P. Silva" and underneath that his name, centered, "The Godfather." On the back, it said, "It's not personal. It's strictly business."
Like Steve Cox and Don Smith before him, Ed Silva has been one of my lions. It's so hard to see him sick, to see him struggling, even though I know what he is experiencing is part of life. The hard part of life, to be sure, but a part of life nonetheless. And to the extent I can, I'm going to be be there for him in the same way he has been there for me.