Dear Rick,

I think about the first time we met quite a lot. There are a few reasons why.

The most obvious can be shared without context: I was meeting the father of the woman I loved for the very first time. That alone can be scary enough. I was on my flight to the east coast, nervous, then excited, then nervous again, hoping that when I met you I'd say only the right things and leave you nodding with certainty that I was right for your daughter.

Another reason is one that made our first exchange more complex: a global pandemic was beginning to shut down establishments, cancel flights, and lock us all indoors. Nobody knew what was happening around us. I remember the NBA shut down the day before I was flying out. A friend of mine was overly worried about me getting on a plane and insisting that I do not go. But hey, I was in love, so naturally I did not listen. When I had arrived at Aly's apartment, I walked briskly to the bathroom and waved hello to you both as I closed the door behind me. I had to shower off any potential germs from a virus we knew nearly nothing about. The three of us agreed that it would keep us safe. We then left to go grab food in a public space surrounded by people. That detail always makes me chuckle in retrospect.

The last reason I think about our first meeting as often as I do, a moment so vivid in memory, is because of how you made me feel. Over the course of our relationship, I've watched you interact with others in similar fashion. You had the ability to make anyone feel welcome, to be just as they are. My first meeting with you was disarming. My shoulders felt relaxed, which is not my default. You never put walls up, like those of a father judging my every move. You simply wanted to be my friend.

We had lunch at Mathews in Jersey City. We sat near the window. The interior was bright. At one point, Aly had left to use the restroom. I remember feeling safe with you. I recall the light in your eyes. We talked while she was gone. I couldn't tell you what we spoke about, but I know the conversation felt effortless. You were undeniably cool. I was me, you were you. I felt like I was supposed to be there. I was welcome.

All moments with you have been anchored by this first meeting. I looked up to you as a father figure, but you treated me like a long-time friend. Our conversations wandered with curiosity into all aspects of life. They didn't just scratch along the surface. We had so many wonderful opportunities to dig deeper. We were vulnerable with one another. You showed me what it truly means to be a good man. On top of all that, you welcomed me without hesitation to your family's table. You have no idea how impactful that was on me.

My last email to you, me sharing my admiration of your strength and greatness, was just before your surgery. I know you read it. Aly told me that it made you happy. I know you wanted to reply. If you did, I know your reply would have been filled with wisdom and comforting words. You had a knack for making me feel seen. Of all your talents, your love and care for the people that crossed your path will always be my favorite.

I have so many things I want to continue discussing with you, Rick. I want more time together. As I navigate what's present, I want to look to you for guidance. I want to give you a hug, feel the warmth from our embrace, and say I'll see you soon. I want to smile and see you smile back. I want to tell you that I love you.

This devastation and pain will pass. I'll forever have my wonderful memories of you. I'll remember the ways you had lifted me up, making me a stronger and better human being. You leave behind a magnificent legacy and a beautiful everlasting impression. I was seen by you, Rick, and it made me feel alive.

Rest in peace.

Ryan