Dear Leo,

I’ve been stunned since yesterday, seeing the message associated with a LinkedIn invite.  I had been ignoring the invite from the woman for possibly weeks, thinking it was another work-related association I would get to later.  But then yesterday, I inadvertently saw the message on the invite that I didn’t know was there, with her stating she was your wife and that you had passed.  My heart stopped, as I immediately accepted the invite and responded back to her, beginning with “oh my God..”

I was further shocked learning the details of your passing, that you had six to seven months since learning about your advanced cancer diagnoses in March and then leaving us last month.  I can’t imagine what you went through during this time.

I stared at your LinkedIn picture with trimmed, tidy hair and background profile, feeling strange at the same time, knowing your professional profile was still there, but you were not.  Your impressive professional history was detailed, some of which you shared and intersected with mine.

You were devoted to our aerospace company and its Deep Impact program with a deadline in space in the next five years that could not be changed.  What a stressful deadline, that required you to work non-stop without sleep often.  The mission was a success, with the expense of your marriage, which ended.

I told your wife you had been like my smarter older brother, detailed the profound impact you had made on my life and how happy you seemed when I ran into you the past decade, after marrying her.  You appeared happy, adjusted and grounded, and that’s how I knew you had made a good choice in a mate.  You were focused on your lovely step daughter and I was touched to see the nurturing, fatherly Leo.

Your life clearly suited you and you seemed at peace.  I got the impression that you had evolved from what seemed to be your unrewarding rescue missions prior, which I have also been trying to move on from and let go of.

I will never forget the dark, curly, unruly-haired Cuban head I saw next to my cube that I got accustomed to seeing.  I wondered if the hair was perhaps unruly to match the focused engineer you were, like a mad scientist stereotype.

You were always there, as a workaholic, married first to our demanding company.  You were even there one Labor Day weekend, September of 2002, when you bravely shared your thoughts on my dysfunctional marriage, spurring me on to make the changes I needed to make.  You were courageous and caring enough to point out the inevitable course of action I needed to take, but didn’t feel strong enough to undertake.  You offered me that strength through your wisdom.

As a result, my life eventually turned big corners as I divorced.  You even provided pragmatic help that my family did not by lending me money during a financially difficult time as I made changes to transition to my new life.  I wouldn’t even know how to begin to thank you for this.

If I didn’t go to work then, I can’t imagine my life now.  Along with the loss of you from the world is a piece of me.  You were a part and witness to a significant, transformative time period of my life that you were instrumental in.  You showed me that someone can be an atheist and yet still be the most value-driven, caring person I’ve ever met.

You also divorced and struggled with missing your former partner.  I told you that “sometimes, it’s better to miss someone than to be with them.”  You mulled this over, said you liked it and that it helped you. Leo, I want you to know this quote doesn’t apply to you.  It breaks my heart we can’t have any more wise conversations because it would be better to be around you having deep, enlightening conversations than to miss you.

While drinking hot sake on a cold night, we provided each other with support following our divorces.  I have thought of you every time I’ve had hot sake since.  We never did get around to seeing Woody Allen movies together as we discussed, so now I must.  As you suggested, I will read (again?) Zen and The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, which I believe is somewhere in my home.

Rest in peace, my friend, workaholic former colleague, mentor and adviser.  Wherever you are, dude, I just hope there is a lot of hair gel.  Just sayin.’