I’ve known Jay Chen since I was a kid. My mother, Mercedes Tira Andrei, used to write feature stories for Asian Fortune. “I have another assignment from Jay,” she used to tell me.

Being in elementary school and not yet understanding the importance of a job–or writing, for that matter–I only knew Jay Chen as the tall Chinese American with a booming voice and generous laugh, and a smile that could put the moon to shame.

He used to have celebrations at his house or a local Chinese restaurant, and they were always well-attended and full of delicacies I had never seen. My mother encouraged me to try my first century egg at an Asian Fortune party. (Alas, I was not that brave.)

Some of you may remember that my mother passed away in the autumn of 2006. Jay attended the funeral, telling me that my mother was one of the best writers he had ever worked with–consolation that I have kept in my heart and treasured over the years.

Jay must have known writing ran in the family, because when I asked him if I could submit articles to Asian Fortune, he gladly accepted my work. Throughout college, my articles appeared in the newspaper, providing me with sustenance and a portfolio. Most importantly, Jay gave me a chance. He was my first boss and a champion for my success, even offering me a summer job instead of just monthly freelancing.

A week before Jay passed away, my dad emailed him, wishing him a happy year of the dragon. Jay wrote back, thanking my dad and responding in kind. The last sentence in his email was, “How is Amanda?”

I’m fine, Jay. I’m sad that you are gone–but grateful that our family had known such a strong advocate, kind friend, and wonderful soul as you.

(Amanda L. Andrei is an engineer and playwright in Northern Virginia.)