Rick,

How do I put my jumbled thoughts into coherent words? How do I make meaning of this whole cancer journey? You beat the odds and still somehow passed away. You were cancer free, you did it, and yet sepsis took you away. Life is so unfair. If there is anyone who deserves more time in this lifetime, that person is you. You have truly been a blessing to so many around you, and I have only recently begun to grasp the magnitude through the gallery celebration, the memorial service, and the countless people I interacted with who have shed their tears for you. At this point I have heard many anecdotes from all stages of your life, and it has been amazing how deeply you have touched the people you crossed paths with. It’s clear to me that no matter who is sharing or what the story is about, they all seem to have a common thread: they feel seen and understood by you. There’s always a sense of belonging and genuineness when people are around you. You are always welcoming, friendly, and approachable. Your presence offers refuge and a space to people who seek it. You are gentle and kind, and yet your impact is far and wide.

It only feels right that you get the chance to reap the fruit you have sown. In all the ways you have poured your heart into work, family, and relationships, you deserve to know how much each and every one of those is recognized, treasured, and received by the people around you, including myself.

You are an incredible role model and a father figure to many and to me. From you and your family, I learned that intentional time is never wasted time. You traveled across the country to help Aly move apartments, then flew back to Seattle to spend time with us and Linda for just a few days before flying again to California so you could continue to build up your business—and this is just one of many examples that repeat themselves on a biweekly basis.

I was told that “time is money,” and this mantra guided me for most of my life. However, I have come to realize time spent with people far outweighs how I used to prioritize my daily life. You spent nearly countless hours on the plane traveling all over the country, and all those hours have resulted in numerous invaluable conversations with new friends, old friends, coworkers, and loved ones. Each of these conversations has blossomed into new and lifelong relationships that have now flown from all over the country just for you in order to share a piece of your life, so others can get a glimpse of the way you have impacted them.

I remember when you were leaving for Phoenix to proceed with the surgery, we came by to see you one last time before you took off for the airport. We all took turns sharing our farewells and embracing you with tears in our eyes. As your face turned toward me, I could see that you were trying so hard to stay composed, but you were scared. I wanted to find words to comfort you and to encourage you, but I was at a loss. I didn’t know what to say, and I felt terrible. You were wrapping up your business, you were doing amazing at Nudj, you were making great money, and you were probably finally going to retire. Baily loved you, and you were going to have another grandchild soon. Everything was going well. Then we got this diagnosis, which had led us to this moment. You were so brave, and I was so proud of you. We hugged, and neither of us said a word. Although I don’t want to think it, I realized this could be my last time with you in person, and I would regret it for the rest of my life if I didn’t say something. I rushed over, gave you one last hug, and told you the only words I could find in that moment: I love you.

You are truly inspiring to me and a model for how I want to lead mine. Your life is rich with stories and filled with meaning and purpose. You led it with selflessness and devotion to the loved ones around you.

Thank you so much for welcoming me into your life, and thank you for loving me like a son. I hope you can now finally rest easy. I love you, Rick. I miss you, and I will think of you always.

Austin