One by one, the Valaika brothers walked their sister, Briana, down the aisle, a relay team in formal wear, delivering the bride.

They went from youngest to oldest, Nick, then Matt, then Chris. The only brother missing was Pat, whose team, the Colorado Rockies, was on the verge of clinching a National League wild card. But it was not Pat’s absence last Sept. 30 that created such an emotional void for the family and approximately 135 guests in attendance at Bella Vista Groves, an outdoor venue in Fillmore, Calif.

An even bigger presence was missing — Jeff Valaika, the driving force in the professional baseball careers of all four of his sons, and a man who loved his wife, Ilona, and daughter, Briana, just as deeply.

Jeff had coached the boys in baseball youth leagues and travel ball and also in soccer and basketball. He was so demanding that after a bad game, the boys sometimes would ask to ride home with Ilona rather than face his questioning. But Jeff and Ilona had an agreement — once home, Jeff immediately transformed back into a dad. He loved talking to his kids. He loved talking about his kids. He was gregarious with his friends and grew so lighthearted with his children as they grew older that Briana calls him, “the funniest person ever.”

Jeff always wore blue Adidas tracksuits to his boys’ games. For the wedding, Ilona cut a small heart out of one of those suits and sewed it underneath Briana’s dress, making it her “something blue.” Ilona also gave Briana a small charm with a photo of Jeff to attach to her bouquet. Still, Briana needed a physical replacement for the man who was supposed to walk her down the aisle. When Ilona proposed to her sons that they take turns, each immediately said yes.

Pat participated in the rehearsal two days before the wedding, on an off-day for the Rockies, but had to fly back to Denver the next morning to rejoin the team, which ended up clinching the wild card the next night, capping Briana’s wedding day. “It didn’t feel right leaving the team when it was that close,” says Pat, who was completing his first full season in the majors. Briana understood — she knew the date she had picked was perilously close to the postseason. She also was accustomed to such disruptions after growing up in a house with four brothers who played shortstop, almost in succession, for Hart High in Santa Clarita, Calif.

Chris, 32, a member of the Cincinnati Reds in 2010-11, the Miami Marlins in ‘13 and the Chicago Cubs in ‘14, is now an assistant coach with the Cubs at Triple A. Matt, 30, spent one season in the St. Louis Cardinals’ organization before an aortic aneurysm ended his career; he now works in construction. Pat, 25, hit 13 home runs in 195 at-bats as a utility man for the Rockies last season. Nick, 22, was the Pittsburgh Pirates’ 24th-round pick last season out of UCLA, which also is Pat’s alma mater.

If only Jeff could see them now. If only he could have seen Briana, whose academic achievements brought him as much pleasure as the boys’ baseball accomplishments, on her wedding day. Nick says walking Briana down the aisle without their father present was a difficult, painful moment. Ilona says watching her sons escort their sister was “beautiful but so bittersweet.” When it came time for the father/daughter dance, Briana stepped out with Ilona first, then each of her brothers who were present. The song she chose for her dance with her brothers — “My Girl,” by the Temptations — was one of her father’s favorites.

“It was one of the happiest days of my life,” Briana says, “but everyone was thinking the same thing: There is this big person who is not here.”

Jeff Valaika is not actually gone, at least not physically. But in separate conversations, Chris and Nick use the same word to describe him, saying their father is a “shell” of what he once was.

Jeff, 66, has been in a coma since January 2015.

Photo of Pat Valaika: Ron Chenoy/USA TODAY Sports

As Pat recalls, he and his mother were asleep on the floor in a lounge at Providence St. John’s Health Center in Santa Monica, Calif., when they heard the chilling words — “Code Blue” — with Jeff’s room number.

One week earlier, doctors had operated on Jeff to repair an aortic aneurysm and also performed a triple bypass. Everything went well with the surgery, Ilona says, but Jeff quickly faced complications. His lungs were not properly saturating oxygen.

Doctors put him on Propofol, a sedation medication, to render him unconscious, calm him down, let his body relax. Every day they would give him a “sedation vacation” to reassess his condition, then return him to his previous state. But the “Code Blue,” coming in the middle of the night, marked a dramatic turn for the worse.

The Valaikas live in Valencia, nearly 40 miles northwest of Santa Monica. All five children were home for Jeff’s surgery, and one of them camped out with Ilona each night at the hospital. On this night it was Pat’s turn, and he sprinted to his father’s room, with Ilona not far behind. They arrived to find an assemblage of medical personnel gathered around Jeff, trying to revive him.

Jeff had suffered a heart attack — and that was the least of it. A blood clot formed in his lung, then spread to his brain, causing extensive swelling and putting him into a coma from which he has yet to emerge.

The date was January 22, 2015. Since then, Jeff has missed the weddings of three of his children — Matt, Briana, and Pat. Sixteen months ago, he missed the birth of his first grandchild, Tristan Jeffrey (the son of Matt and his wife, Amanda), whose middle name matches his grandfather’s. Another son, Nick, is engaged to be married in December.

Jeff had been a property manager for a real estate company in Santa Monica. As the Valaika children drove on the crowded 405 freeway every day from Valencia to the hospital, they gained a better appreciation for the sacrifices their father had made for them, driving through traffic to work and then back for practices and games.

Eventually, though, the children had to resume their lives. Chris and Pat would head to spring training. Nick would continue his freshman year at UCLA. Matt and Amanda, not yet married, would move into the family’s home to provide Ilona with support.

Briana was the first to depart, just days after her father went into his coma. She had to return to the University of Wisconsin-Green Bay, where she was working on her teaching credential.

Pat drove her to the airport, and Ilona instructed him, “Push her out of the car if you have to.” Difficult as it was seeing his sister so distraught, Pat obliged. “I remember being so mad at him,” Briana says. “He was like, ‘Mom told me to do this. She said I can’t let you back in the car.’ He just shut the door on me.”

Ilona gave each of her children the same message, leaving no room for self-pity.

“There is no better way to honor your dad than to go out and do what you’re meant to do the best way that you can,” Ilona said.

Understanding their mother’s words was one thing. Living them was another.

As the 2015 season approached, the three Valaikas playing baseball had to face an unsettling new reality — the emptiness created by their father’s condition, the anguish of moving on without their lifelong coach.

Chris knew ‘15 probably would be his last season as a player. He had accomplished his dream of reaching the majors. He had even played for the Cubs in ‘14, a particular thrill given that his father’s family — Jeff is the sixth of eight children, with five brothers and two sisters — is from Stockton, Illinois.

The way the ‘15 season played out helped convince Chris it was time to retire — he spent the entire season at Triple A and never got a call-up. All season, he ached to speak with Jeff. All season, he lived with the frustration that no conversation was possible. “It was hard going about it in my last year, having had him coach me and watch me my whole life, not really having him on my farewell,” Chris says.

With everything going on, Chris knew his playing career was ending at the right time, knew as the oldest of the five children that he wanted to be closer to home.

After 11 weeks at the hospital in Santa Monica, Ilona had Jeff moved to a hospital about 15 minutes from the Valaika’s home, a subacute facility at Providence Holy Cross Medical Center in Mission Hills, where he has been ever since. Chris transitioned away from life as a player by completing his degree in history at UC-Santa Barbara and helping coach the UCSB team that went to the 2016 College World Series.

Pat Valaika spent all of ‘15 with the team’s Double A affiliate in New Britain, Conn., struggling like Chris to deal with his father’s condition. “I was constantly checking in to see how he was doing,” Pat says. “I was on the other side of the country and kind of felt helpless.”

The Rockies told Pat he could go home at any time, but he stayed with the team the entire season, playing in 124 of 140 games. He batted just .235 with a .642 OPS — his worst offensive season as a professional — but to this day refuses to blame his performance on his father’s condition.

“It was my first year of Double A and the talent was better than I had ever faced consistently,” Pat says. “I never want to blame my failures or successes on outside circumstances. That’s one thing I know my Dad wouldn’t want me to do. When I’m at the field I have one job and that’s to try to do whatever to help my team win. That’s what he taught me.”

Nick, the youngest of the Valaika children, was perhaps the most overwhelmed by his father’s condition. As a freshman at UCLA, he was at least close to his family. But he was already going through a major adjustment — he no longer was in a big fish in a small pond, the way he was at Hart High. He was a little fish in a major program, facing the added pressure of following three brothers who had reached pro ball.

People would tell Nick, “Use baseball as an outlet,” but as a freshman, he was not even a starter. “How was I supposed to use baseball to satisfy me, keep my mind off things?” Nick says.

At the end of the school year, Nick had an opportunity to play for the Duluth (Minn.) Huskies of the Northwoods League, a collegiate summer baseball league. It was then that he made a decision, the same decision all five Valaikas and their mother made while Jeff was ailing: to keep going.

“I came to this point where I was like, ‘OK, it’s been about 5-6 months since everything has gone down. Can I use this as an excuse not to go out and play? Kind of hold it over me? Or am I going to grow up, be a man, go away, play summer ball and kind of get my swagger back on the field?’” Nick recalls.

“That was the decision I made. I went out played summer ball, actually ended up hitting five bombs, regained some confidence on the field. That kind of transitioned into how I viewed the situation. I was like, ‘All right, I’ve got to step up, be tough. It’s tough for everyone in my family. We’re all going through the same thing.’”

Last Thursday, when Pat batted for the Rockies in an afternoon game against the San Diego Padres, Ilona held up her phone to Jeff’s ear so he could listen on her MLB app. Ilona had no way of knowing whether her husband could process the broadcast. But every day, without fail, she visits Jeff for an hour or two, updates him on how everyone is doing, even tickles the bottom of his feet. The tickling usually draws a response — in Ilona’s mind, a positive sign.

“Sometimes, it’s good he can’t talk back because I’m sure he wouldn’t like some of the stuff I tell him — ‘I put a scratch on the car,’ stuff like that,” Ilona says. “Sometimes I do get a response. People say I imagine, you see what you want to see. But he does occasionally open his eyes. He will turn his head toward me. And he will react with the boys, who don’t get to see him often.”

The Valaika children speak reverently of their mother’s toughness and devotion — “I know she was strong. But I never knew how strong until these past few years.” Pat says. Each day, Ilona offers a glimpse of her spirit with a quote she posts on her Instagram page. Nick calls his mother, “the most optimistic person I’ve ever met.”

Among Ilona’s recent entries on Instagram:

— “Rivers never go reverse. So try to live like a river. Forget your past and focus on future. Always be positive!”

— “Train your mind to see the good in everything. Positivity is a choice. The happiness of your life depends on the quality of your thoughts.”

— “Good things are coming. Just keep believing.”

“How does she stay so positive? It’s something we all wonder,” Briana asks. “Her mental state has never wavered. I’m sure she struggles on her own, by herself, when none of the kids are around, because she has to be strong for us. But she’s superwoman. I honestly don’t know how she does it.”

Ilona, though, rarely has been alone for the past three-plus years, even if she has been without her husband. Her second-oldest son, Matt, and his then-fiancée, Amanda, moved in with her for six months in February 2015, around the time Chris and Pat left for spring training. “It was good for all of us,” Matt says. “I couldn’t let her bear that burden, not being around anybody.”

Matt and Amanda eventually bought their own house in Valencia, but Nick came home from summer ball that August, and Pat returned after his minor-league season ended in September. By the time Pat departed again in February, Ilona had new housemates — Briana and her future husband, Frankie, who had left Wisconsin to move back home.

“Your significant others play a huge role in this,” says Briana, who is a substitute teacher and part-time operations assistant for Fox Sports, while her husband — after managing a restaurant in Wisconsin — is a records coordinator for a law firm. “He had no problem picking up his life and saying, ‘Yep, let’s do this. I’m here for you.’”

Ilona, a computer teacher at an elementary school, leaves for the hospital every day at about 2 or 2:30 p.m., spends her time with Jeff, then returns home before rush hour. On the rare occasions when she is ill, she makes sure one of her children visit the hospital instead.

This is her life now. She refuses to get down.

“I’ve always looked at the bright side of things,” Ilona says. “What’s the option? You want to be miserable or do you want to make the best of any situation?

“I feel like that’s what I try to do — be thankful for what we have and know that it’s all for a reason. Who knows what that reason is? I just refuse to give in. I’m stubborn. I’m a fighter, always have been.”

Jeff Valaika remains a fighter, too, even in a coma. Over the past three years, he has displayed startling resilience while unconscious, overcoming a staggering list of ailments.

Colon cancer. Pneumonia. Multiple organ failures. Infections. The amputation of the big toe on his left foot due to gangrene.

Ilona chose Providence Holy Cross in part because the main hospital is across the street from the subacute facility where Jeff spends most of his days. She and her children view Jeff’s numerous recoveries as proof there is still energy in his body.

“I have hope,” Ilona says. “Where there’s life, there’s hope. In my thought process, I feel like he has been kept alive for a reason. There have been many, many instances where it was touch-and-go with his health. I just feel his fighting spirit just comes through every time. I told the doctors, ‘As long as there is breath in me, I’m not giving up.’”

The odds are slim, however, that Jeff will ever wake up and resume life as the man his family knew.

Dr. Jan Claassen, the medical director of the neurological intensive care unit at New York-Presbyterian/Columbia University Medical Center, said it is not unheard of for someone to spend years in a coma. Claassen, speaking generally, without specific knowledge of Jeff’s condition, acknowledges there is much doctors do not know, but offers little encouragement for a positive outcome.

“If you look at patients that are unconscious from a non-trauma reason, a large number of them die within the first year . . . more than 50 percent,” Claassen says. “If you make it out — to a prolonged comatose state, a persistent vegetative state or unresponsiveness wakefulness syndrome — then you can be in that state for quite a long period.

“We’ve now seen some patients that were in this for a long, long time. It’s very rare, but they actually may wake up in a delayed fashion, even after a year, even beyond a year. Obviously, three years is quite a long time. The longer it goes, the less likely it becomes. If he hasn’t shown any recovery, that obviously is not a good sign.”

Ilona has her own views.

“Nobody can tell me he will never wake up. It’s not in their hands,” she says. “ We’ve had to have these tough conversations with doctors, and they would want me to sign a ‘Do not resuscitate’ order. My feeling is, if God places somebody in a position to help my husband, then that’s what they need to do. Because when the time comes when God decides that he wants to take him, nobody is going to be able to do anything. It’s God’s will. And I’m not going to make those kinds of decisions.”

Her children are of the same mind.

Chris: “We just kind of wait and hope and pray that one day he’ll wake up. He shows brain activity. It’s lower frequency brain activity. But there’s still brain activity.”

Pat: “There is absolutely a chance. Miracles happen every single day. I always thought I’d rather have him around, be on this earth than not. And he is.”

Briana: “You always have to have hope. When you lose that, you just go to a different place. What’s the alternative, not to be hopeful?”

Just the other day, Pat asked his sister in a text, “Gosh, how long has it been?” Briana replied, “three years,” not quite believing it herself.

“That’s just crazy for us, when you see a number on it,” Briana says. “Damn, three years without our dad.”

Time passes. Life continues. The Valaikas push forward, Ilona, Matt and Briana in California; Chris, Pat and Nick with their baseball careers.

Rockies manager Bud Black says no one would ever know Pat was dealing with hardship in his family. Members of the Rockies’ front office and some of Pat’s teammates are aware of Jeff’s condition, but Pat doesn’t talk much about it, and even Black is only vaguely aware of the details.

“He is as steady as any young player I’ve been around, as far as his everyday approach mentally,” Black says. “He’s a second-year player acting like he’s a 15-year veteran.”

Cubs vice president of scouting/player development Jason McLeod says much the same thing about Chris, who rejoined the organization as a hitting coach in rookie ball last season before becoming an assistant coach at Triple A this year.

“I can’t speak highly enough about how positive Chris has been in light of this,” McLeod says. “As a player with us, he was universally respected by his teammates and coaches due to his positivity, leadership and clubhouse presence. He has carried that on as a coach.”

Pirates director of minor-league operations Larry Broadway says Nick, too, is coping better and better, which, of course, is what Jeff would have wanted — no, demanded. Nick draws a “V” in the dirt behind him every time he takes the field, honoring his family and reminding himself that his father would want him out there, fulfilling his love for baseball.

Several of the Valaikas speak of a new normal, but their situation, of course, is not normal at all. Ilona longs for her husband’s companionship. Matt yearns for his son to meet his grandfather. Chris, now a coach himself, wishes he could call his father for advice.

“When I get kind of stuck, not knowing how to get through to somebody, trying to say things in a different way, I always think of how he would talk to me,” Chris says. “That has been the hardest thing, not being able to hop on the phone and call him and say, ‘This is my situation. I’m sure you’ve dealt with something like this. What do you got?’”

Yet, for all the sadness, the Valaikas take a certain pride in the mere fact they’ve endured. Any of them, in Briana’s words, could have “stopped and wallowed,” but each did just the opposite.

“It’s hard, but our family has become so strong because of it,” Chris says. “I have nothing to hide or be ashamed of. It has shaped me. I try to live more in the moment because of all this.”

If only Jeff could see his children now. Briana as a wife. Matt as a husband and father. And the sons who remain in baseball.

“His biggest joy was watching all of them doing what they’re doing,” Briana says. “The fact they’re all prevailing and being so strong, despite his condition, he’d be so, so proud of them. That maybe keeps them at ease. They know they’re doing the right thing.

“It’s almost like his heart is living in them.”