We called him the Candy Man. He would routinely rush into our office, unannounced, surprise his wife, Sue, with a beautiful bouquet, and the rest of us with his smile, a few hugs, and a bag of candy. Chocolate bunnies for Easter, hearts for Valentine's, Santas for Christmas, and Tootsie Rolls, M&M's and you name it in between. He was a flash of joy at Miami Monthly – all three minutes of his drive-by visits.

Once in a while his flowers arrived by deliveryman, invariably a spectacularly arranged two-dozen roses interspersed with babies breath. That usually meant one thing: the night before he had spent perhaps a few extra minutes at the American Legion on his way home, sharing that one last brewski with his law enforcement buds. Mind you, it was never that late, but Pat Schlagheck was a smart one, and kind, generous and loving as well. And he adored his Susy, but then again, Sue is easy to love.

Nine years ago, when Pat decided to pop that all-important question, he was walking on the beach holding Sue's hand, setting the perfect scene. She agreed, and Pat immediately pulled out his cell phone and dialed his sister Genny. "I asked Sue to marry me," he said. "Put her on the phone," she replied. Genny didn't know this woman her younger brother had just proposed to, but being the closest in age, she always looked after him. So began the Schlagheck family's love affair with Sue Cordray – by their unanimous account the "best thing that ever happened to Pat," and the one that "gave him the best years of his life."

And Pat had a full life. He grew up on Orchard Street – in what is now the Old South End of Toledo, Ohio – the youngest of 10. There were enough siblings to baby him once in awhile, and to ignore him on occasion as well. Yet Pat would always stand out: as an Air Force serviceman in Vietnam, as deputy sheriff in Lucas County and Dayton, Ohio. He eventually headed south to find the sun, the sand, the sea and the love of his life. He continued with his lifelong calling to serve and protect in the South Miami Police Department, and ultimately the Miami Dade Police Department from where he was set to retire next year.

The strong, tough, law enforcement officer was a big ol' teddy bear, a devilish little boy, funny, witty, charming and loving. Pat could make friends in no time – he could pour warmth and good vibes upon a total stranger, so genuinely, that they soon felt like old friends. But it takes a good friend to make good friends, as hundreds of the good men and women at the American Legion Post 133, his "second home," will attest.

Last year, after Pat was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, he started receiving cards postmarked from all around the United States. They came regularly and always bore the same message: "Consider yourself hugged." They made him smile, and filled him with wonder and intrigue as to who was the sender. This spring, his niece Rose fessed up to the deed. "I wanted to give him something to think about besides being sick," she says.

The most amazing thing about Pat Schlagheck was not his pizzazz, or his quick wit, or his youthful passion for his Susy. It was that every time you saw him, his smile would light up, his eyes would sparkle, and you would quite unexpectedly consider yourself hugged.

When Pat's mother Marie passed on, the "Ave Maria" was played at her funeral. The song would always bring tears to his eyes. This spring, the song was played at his brother Jerry's funeral. And Pat left the church in tears.

On the day of the Feast of the Assumption of the Virgin Mary – considered Mary's heavenly birthday – Pat left this world, and celebrated his heavenly birthday with his mother, father and siblings who had passed on before him.

Thank you, Pat, for a legacy of genuine love and joy – to your brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews, your beloved daughter Amy and her little darlings, Emily and Caleb, the light of your eyes. And of course, your precious Susy, who shared you with all of us.

Your gift was to make us all a little better for having known you.

We consider ourselves hugged, and will treasure that forever.