Dear Jay,

From the moment you entered this world, you brought 8½ pounds of joy — the hit of the nursery! You were this beautiful baby with a great smile, always the first one up in the morning, ready to greet the day with a smile.

You were always surrounded by friends, drawn to your determination to live each day to the fullest. And you had such a sense of humor! We always seemed to have a million friends at our house.

You amazed us in so many ways — on the baseball field, on the slopes, on the beach in Montauk, and especially with your cousins. You simply made life more fun for everyone around you. Whatever you tackled, you did with determination.

Then you reconnected with Missy. I remember you coming home and telling me, “Mom, I think I have a girlfriend.” She was the perfect choice, and she has continued to amaze us ever since. Missy has always been the perfect partner for you. You have been such a loving husband and such a wonderful example for your girls. The two of you loved going to Montauk and having your Margarita nights together. Somehow, you always found a way to make life fun.

Jay, I have always admired your creativity and persistence. You were always building something — a ramp, a model, or whatever else you could imagine. And, of course, there was the ultimate creation: your Viditar. We were so proud of you at the University of the Arts when you received the top awards in your major, including Artist of the Year and academic honors.

Jay, you always wanted to be a dad, and you have done that so well. Loghan and Peyton have been so strong, and they love you with all their hearts. I know they were so young when you were diagnosed, but you have shown them the true meaning of courage. I watch them speak to you with such admiration and love. And, of course, it has been so rewarding for me to see the closeness you have with your own dad, who has always been a great role model.

We know that ALS is the ultimate challenge, but from the moment you were diagnosed, you faced it with superhuman courage. When people asked about your slurred speech, instead of feeling insulted, you had a shirt made that said, “I’m not drunk, I have ALS.”

And when you could no longer steer your wheelchair, what did you do? You invented a software program to do it for you.

You took ALS and gave it your very best. And even that is an understatement. I have received countless messages from your followers — some living with ALS and many others who simply needed inspiration — telling me that you helped them get through their day. No wonder you have thousands of people following your journey.

Jay, I want you to know, as your mom, how incredibly proud I am of you and how deeply you are loved. We all know what a tough battle this has been. But you never stopped being you.

You always ended your messages with, “I love you, Mama.” I love you, too, son. You have made me proud hundreds of times over.

Love, Mama