At 6 a.m., nurses rushed into the hospital room.
“We have to go now,” one said as she unlocked the bed and started pushing it toward the door.
The other nurse handed me a set of scrubs. “Put these on and meet us in the OR.”
They were small. I was not. I grabbed a pair that fit and hurried down the hall.
When I got to the operating room, I saw my wife on the table. A nurse was straddling her, pushing down on her abdomen while the doctor stood at her feet barking instructions.
“Keep pushing!”
After a long, quiet night, something had changed. The baby had to come out now.
And just as suddenly as it began, everything stopped.
“She’s out,” the doctor said.
Alexandra Marie Lebovic had arrived.
That was life with Alex. Never a dull moment.
Shortly before her first birthday, Alex took her first steps with the help of a little cart she could push.
She started down the sidewalk slowly, a little unsure.
Then her eyes lit up—as if she had just discovered something. Freedom.
And she took off.
She kept going like she wanted to see the whole world that day, until her legs finally gave out. Then she turned around, looked up at me, raised her arms—and I carried both her and the cart all the way home.
Alex never stopped running after that. As she got older, it turned out Alex was fast.
During her middle school years, she casually mentioned that she could beat me in a race. I laughed.
“Let’s go,” she said.
We went to the field behind our house. My son stood at the starting line. My wife was at the finish. Roxy and Blitz were there, ready for the show.
“Ready, set, go!”
All I saw was Alex’s back the rest of the way.
Three times in a row.
Alex was fiercely determined.
In high school, she wanted to be part of a team. She tried out for soccer and was cut, so she picked up a field hockey stick for the first time and went to those tryouts instead.
She made the JV team, but was told she would need to put in the work to make varsity. So she did. Indoor leagues. Summer leagues. Camps.
The next year, she made varsity. By her senior year, she was a starter.
As a freshman, Alex joined the track team. When it came time to choose an event, she considered the hurdles.
Her coach told her she was too short.
So she ran hurdles for the next four years.
From the time she was a little girl, Alex wanted to be a veterinarian. I assumed it was a phase. What little kid doesn’t love animals?
But it didn’t go away.
In high school, she started figuring out exactly what it would take to get into vet school. She got a job at a veterinary clinic, starting with the basics—cleaning cages, taking care of boarding animals—whatever they needed.
From that point on, everything she did was aimed at becoming a veterinarian. Every class, every job, every internship, every volunteer opportunity—it all pointed in the same direction.
Even when she got in trouble for underage drinking, she did her community service at an animal shelter so she could add it to her resume.
But the moment it became clear to me was the day she shadowed a veterinary surgeon in Annapolis. I dropped her off in the morning and went about my day. Around the time I was supposed to pick her up, I got a text.
“Can you come later? She’s doing a brain surgery at 5 p.m. and I really want to see it.”
That’s when I knew this wasn’t a phase.
Alex was brilliant.
It’s not easy to get into vet school. She applied to eight programs, hoping to get into one or two. She was accepted by seven.
She made the Dean’s List at the University of Maryland and finished 18th in her class at the University of Florida College of Veterinary Medicine.
She did all of that while undergoing chemotherapy, taking time off to have a tumor the size of a grapefruit removed from her leg, enduring radiation treatments, and, right before exams, spending a week in the hospital in so much pain she could barely move.
Alex was beautiful. I know every father says that, but she truly was.
I was in Blacksburg to pick her up after an interview at Virginia Tech. A woman walked toward me, and I remember thinking, “Wow, who is that?”
As she got closer, I realized it was Alex—dressed for her interview, looking completely at ease and completely confident.
Alex was fearless.
From the time she was a toddler, she was always moving ahead—running down the sidewalk, stepping onto the school bus, heading off to college, then to Florida to start her life.
She never hesitated. She just went.
At midnight, nearly 24 years later, we were in a hospital room again.
Alex was in the bed. Her mother and Dakota were beside her. I was asleep on the couch.
A nurse gently touched my shoulder. “It’s time,” she said.
I went to Alex and took her hand. The nurse muted the monitors.
Alex took her last breath.
“She’s gone,” the nurse whispered.
And Alex had run on ahead of us again.
These are the stories that shaped the pack. They still matter.
Alex lived her life fully. She didn’t wait. She didn’t hold back.
If there’s something you’ve been meaning to do, do it.
If you’d like to see how these stories come together, you can learn more about The Great Dog Pack here.
I guess I’ll never understand why it took so long to meet you.
Mitch our memories will continue near or far and I am so blessed to have had some crazy years with you.
I look forward to read more if what you put together.
Stay Blessed my friend
Cheers 🍻
If Alex and Alexis were the same age, we’d have met a lot sooner.