He was ‘that’ guy.

The guy who greeted you with a warm hug and a wide smile, even though he didn’t yet know your name.

The guy who treated every weekday restaurant experience like its own personal celebration. “There is always someone to celebrate,” he’d say.

The guy who lit up a room.

I don’t remember if this was my first interaction with him, but I distinctly remember the moment when: our dinner mates had left us for their after dinner smoky treats, he and I pulled up next to the front bar of Sabatino’s, crushed between the next dinner rush and the baby grand, humming a tune. Even when I waved off an after-dinner aperitif, two rocks glasses of Baileys appeared. The boyish glint in his eyes told me to play along, and after we clicked and cheers, he turns to me and deadpans, “so what are your intentions, young lady, with [Music Man]?” My flabbergasted facial expression must have been a real doozy, because he just chuckled and said, “I like you. I hope you stick.”

Fast forward to many more restaurants, many more Baileys on the rocks, many more laughs and giggles. He was the first one at our (non-related family) dinner party when we moved back to Chicago. He was the first one to ask how you were doing, what were you up to lately. He was always the life of the party, and I was just happy to be sitting at the same table.

We talked about all the things we’d do in the future.

We always seem to talk about all the things we’d do in the future, as if the future is infinite, unlimited, a given.

The Universe has a way of reminding you it’s not.

When Music Man broke the news, that little piece of my heart that is reserved for the randomness of life…the random people you thought you’d never meet but are so happy that you did, who every time you saw them, no matter how long you were stuck in traffic or how long it had been since you’d seen them, they were always genuinely happy to see you, who made you feel alive and like the most important person in the room…that little piece of my heart today shattered into a million pieces.

So Frank, to you I will raise a glass of Baileys in your honor, the guy with the boyish, mischievous grin who always made me feel welcome and accepted.

Thanks for shining your light on me, for however long it did, even though it was never enough.

Rest in Peace.