Dear Grand Poobah,

Today you returned to God the talent loaned to you. You'll never read this letter, and if I'm honest, I regret not writing it sooner. Had I, I could've at least hoped you might have seen it and read the heartfelt thanks within. You did more for me than you'll ever know.

Millions tuned into your radio program 5 days a week, for thirty years, to feel sane. To feel heard. To know they were not alone in being conservative in the midst of liberal bias which seeped into every pore of society. You spoke with hope and optimism even on days which seemed too dark to allow a sliver of light. While millions of ditto fans across America and beyond will miss hearing you speak into the golden EIB microphone, I will miss the man whose life made my life what it is now.

You were more than a radio personality, you were a trailblazer who took the arrows and showed the rest of us how to handle liberal onslaughts. With half your brain tied behind your back just to make it fair.

My earliest memories from your show were some of the classics that, sorry to non-ditto heads, will make little sense. A mouse trapped in a bucket the sides of which were sprayed with Pam. Putting women (the all female amazon battalion) on their own Navy ship to be coronated the "USS Patsy." The nicknames you had for politicians: Tom Puff Daschle, Dingy Harry, Chuck U. Schumer, and Lurch among others. The audio commercial parodies including Spatula City, the 60 Second Store, and one about George W. Bush and Hurricane Katrina that I just wish I could find on YouTube, I peed myself laughing whenever it came on.

You helped me as a freshman in high school, as I pushed back against liberals who defended Bill Clinton. You kept me sane during election 2000, the moment of my conservative awakening. I listened to you throughout college to counter my leftist professors. Downloaded your podcast for after work listening as I groomed my horse. You were with me as I moved out of California and headed into the gray Pacific Northwest. I stood by you during Sandra Fluke, and asked people who attacked you "And what do you call a woman who gets paid to have sex?" only to watch them fluster.

As it turns out though, Rush, those things were just small potatoes. As a little girl, driving with my parents, I had no idea the voice on the other side of the AM radio would be such a profound influence not just on forming my belief system, but on my professional life. A life which opened doors to incredible experiences, partnerships, and life-long friendships I'll forever cherish. Your job meant the world to you and your millions of fans. Mine has blossomed in ways I never thought possible, and brought me more joy than I thought any job could. Though many factors came into play, I know I wouldn't be where I am now, working alongside talented people, had you not taken a chance and created an entire industry based simply on giving your opinion.

You are a legend, Rush. Then, now, always. I'm so sad I never got to meet you. I am shattered I never got to tell you thank you for everything your life's work meant to mine. A simple handshake wouldn't have been enough for me, an embarrassing bear hug would maybe have gotten closer.

I'm so sorry you are gone, but I am glad your suffering is at an end. You're now home with your mother and father, and with our creator. I'm sure little Punkin greeted you with head-butts and purrs.

Mega-dittos. Thank you, Rush, and so long.