GAINESVILLE — Mike Rivera sat down on his parents' bed, knowing something was wrong.

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For months, his mother, Maria, had told him she was just sick with a mild liver problem. But as the months passed, he'd seen her skin fade and become bruised. He'd cut class while he was still a senior at Venice High School to drive her to doctor's appointments. He'd noticed his mother losing hair, weight and confidence in her own diagnosis.

After enrolling at the University of Florida on a baseball scholarship, he returned home early in his freshman year and sat down with his mom, dad and sister, Elsie. His grandma was also at the family's house but not present.

"I knew this was gonna be something that isn't good news if I can't even tell my grandma," Elsie said.

But for Elsie and Mike, it was time to learn the truth.

"Cancer," his dad said.

Mike doesn't remember exactly how it was said, but as soon as he heard that word, he left the room. He returned several minutes later to find Elsie, then 16, crying. He hugged her and began asking questions.

"What stage is the liver cancer?"

"What's gonna happen now?"

"What can we do to make sure you're okay?"

Maria needed a transplant, and according to the American Liver Foundation, 1,500 people die every year waiting.

With Florida's 2017 baseball season starting tonight at 7 against William and Mary, Mike — UF's starting catcher — wondered if his mom would be there for that game — or any game.

She certainly tried to continue going to his games at first. Elsie usually would have to take her under the bleachers to cool her off in the shade. And after the games, when the family would go out for dinner, similar problems surfaced. Often, this meant taking food to go and eating at their hotel.

But Elsie and Mike said they never saw her get too upset. She tried to stay positive.

"I have a family to raise," Elsie remembers her saying. "My kids are still young. I have to stay here."

She also brought up that she might die. Mike, meanwhile, coped with his mom's diagnosis in three ways.

First, he cried. Often it came from nowhere when lying in his dorm room bed.

Second, he prayed. He said he was always taught to pray in times of distress, but his prayer wasn't one of thanks.

"Why her? With all the bad people in this world, why her?"

Third, he told no one, except for his girlfriend.

Being away at school, Mike felt guilty about not being there for his mom.

"I always had to tell him every detail," Elsie said. "Even if it was something my parents didn't want him to know."

Through those calls, prayers and tears, Mike also was busy becoming a mainstay in the Gators' lineup. He played reliably on defense an was a weapon on offense.

He helped the Gators advance to Omaha for the College World Series in his first two seasons. And he was set to leave for the second trip in June 2016 when he got a call from his dad.

Minutes earlier, back at the family's home in Venice, Maria had gone into her bedroom to take a call from Gainesville. She came out crying.

"What's wrong?" Elsie asked. "Mom, what's wrong?"

"They have a liver ready," she answered.

Doctors at UF Health Shands told them to prepare for this moment by keeping a backpack of clothes — in this case, mostly large-fitting T-shirts — in the car, which they'd done for the past year and a half. The trio hopped in and hauled toward Gainesville. On the way, they stopped to get gas.

That's when, in Gainesville, Mike saw his phone ringing. He wondered why his dad would be calling at 11 p.m. — especially since they'd talked earlier. He picked up and heard laughter.

"What are you laughing about?" Mike asked.

"Your mom," his dad answered, before telling him they were on their way.

Once again, Mike cried.

"That was instant," he said.

Maria's surgery was originally scheduled for around 7 a.m., but it kept getting pushed back. Eventually, it was time for Mike to leave for Omaha.

His family forced him to go, saying there was nothing he could do at the hospital. So he went.

That night, he looked up at the fireworks from the opening ceremony knowing that at the same moment his mom was in surgery.

If anything goes wrong, he thought, then it could be all over.

But right before Florida was scheduled to take the field the next day against Coastal Carolina, he got a call from his dad, who put his mom — still hooked up to various tubes and machines — on the phone.

"I love you," she rasped. "Everything went well."

Eight months later, Maria, now 46, is still doing well. She takes 17 pills a day to ensure her body doesn't reject her new organ, but tonight, after her two-year struggle, she'll be back in the stands to watch Mike play.

Mike, meanwhile, is happy to talk about his mom with anyone now that she's okay. And when he looks up into the stands tonight and sees her, he's hoping the tears don't resurface.

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