Dearest Jay,

I know we talked about this. I knew this day would come. I have been preparing for it while simultaneously praying it would not happen. But it’s here. Even though I didn’t get a chance to say all the things I wanted to say to you this past year, I’ve certainly been blessed and raw enough to express to you most of it. I am grateful for our talks as I know for certain that you know how much I love you and cherish our friendship.

When I think about my big life-changing moments, you are a part of them. Career, moving, friendship/mentorship, parenting, cancer… you are a constant. Twenty years ago, when you took a chance on me, you changed my life. I was unruly and under-qualified and as much as I can remember, unmanageable. But, somehow you did it. You taught me by making me better in all the areas I wasn’t (making me admit first what those were) and celebrated with me when I became better and more confident. You gave me a seat at the table and moreover made me feel that I was just taking the seat that had my name on it. That’s more than any teacher (or parent) did for me in my whole life… and it carried over in so many more areas than work. To this day, you’re the person I do not get scared to admit to when I don’t understand something. I also respect that you did whatever you needed to do to make us successful as a team… the catsuit. Need I say more?

There are so many happy and sometimes silly moments that come to the surface when I think about our lives. As you know, big blocks of the late ‘90s/early ‘00s are a blur for me, but some of my favorites are the castle, your love of cats, your absolutely absurd hatred of Billy Ocean, your insistence Todd Hensley is a good guy (Todd, even I have to admit this now), your beautiful wedding and the worst best man speech of all time (sorry, Linda), how much you talk about Alex, your overall questionable taste in music and unexplainable knowledge of soft pop, poker and gambling, watching (or enduring, rather) you sing karaoke at your Nashville house party when Shannon lit himself on fire (standing next to Deputato) and the fact that I don’t think I’ve ever really seen you super drunk. How is that possible?

What isn’t silly, is your honesty (good or bad, I can always count on your truth) and the insurmountable gratitude I have to you for spending so many hours talking and texting with me this year when I was diagnosed. I do not have the words to even express the comfort you gave me… an outlet where I could be honest. The kind of honesty you don’t speak about to anyone else except for someone who knows. I am also extremely grateful that you set the example as a leader to not be afraid to go against the grain. Time and time again, I saw you rail against a system that needed reform or champion an initiative that didn’t have support unaffected by what people thought or the immediate results. I watched you stick to your guns when no one else raised their hand. Once again, this trait applies to so much more than work. You were brave… and you are brave now. You have fought so hard against this pain and it’s ok to rest. Everything that you didn’t have a chance to do or say, it is implied and understood by those who love you… and anything that we can help close the loop on and continue driving forward, we will. Please do not worry.

On our phone conversation Sunday night, I asked you what I could do to help you now. You very clearly said only one thing… to be there for your family. That is an easy ask and I promise to help Linda. I have so many wonderful things to share with Alex about her Dad.

Thank you for all you are. I love you, you are my cherished friend, Franko.