I am lying on an air mattress in our bedroom.  Sophia is hiccuping next to me, trying to drift off to sleep, Robby is asleep and both dogs are at my feet.  The room is empty but for a half disassembled bassinet, a swing and our random cloths.  Everything else is contained in a 28 ft (!) truck sitting outside our home.  Our Home.  Our belongings inside or out – this is still Our Home.

We close on the sale tomorrow.  Today will be spend gathering the little stuff up, cleaning, and relishing our last day here.

It will also be spend honoring the Dads in my life.  One of which is a first timer and has excelled and reached a new level of championship knowledge.  The other has been a champion for years and years and now takes on the role as Grandfather.

Very lucky I am.

See you all on the flip.  You all will likely only notice the background change in my photos and a shift in content ever so slight.  I however, will be different and changed and transformed.  Onward!

Dear Boston,

It’s not you, it’s me. I love you in spite of your curvy nondescript streets, your over-priced real estate and your crowded sidewalks. In fact, like a true Bostonian there are days when these flaws endear you to me. Oh Boston. It was an impossible relationship from the start.

Me, a girl, coming to you in a fit of escape from a Southern land that I hated. You, a city, welcoming me with open arms but tight lips. It took years for me to find a community of friends and a peace in my heart. At which point you opened those lips and truly, truly welcomed me. However, through it all, deep in my heart, I understood you and, for the first time in many many years, felt like I was Home.

With you I welcomed my Sweetie to my Home. He and I built our lives together here. First in a two-level rental on a dead end street. His cats hiding in a room, his dog romping in the back, my dog obsessively monitoring the cats. It was a big circle of love and joy. You gave us a hard winter followed by a lovely spring and summer where we sat on our back porch and welcomed new friends into our lives.

A year later my sweetie and I decided to move, to buy a home within your walls. You spoke and we purchased the first home we saw, only a week after we saw it for the first time. As we walked through the empty rooms my sweetie and I listened to the house and we felt that it held good things for us. It spoke softly and with a lot of energy. We moved in. We were engaged. Sweetie was mugged.

Things changed then, my love for you shifted. You had hurt my trust and my sense of security was lost. I knew in the weeks that followed that our love affair was doomed but it continued for over three years. This realization didn’t stop me from relishing in all of your good qualities and the parts of you that touch me.

The sense of history. Tradition. Independence. Community.

A chance to take part in a greater part of something.

The vibration of a city, the trains, the buses, the freaks, the normal people.

Our neighborhood teeming with diversity, Latin music blasting in the summer, the smell of garlic wafting through our streets.

You are rich and you are dynamic. I will miss this about you.

I will miss my friends. Those who have shepherded me through my days and nights, drink in hand, laughter on the lips, and wit in the minds. You have provided me with a lifetime of good memories and an arsenal of friendships that will carry me throughout my life.

I will not miss the daily grind, the difficulty of heading to the grocery store. The time it takes to drive anywhere within your streets. The low hum of worry as our bank account dips and dips and dips. We cannot afford your treats.

I was married while living here. My baby was conceived and born. She became the best kind of city baby, at home in a sling on a bus, uncomfortable in the confines of her car seat. As with me you welcomed the baby with open arms. You have kissed her forehead and given her life. I regret that you cannot offer her a true security, by way of providing her proximity to her extended family. Because of this we must leave you.

It’s not you, it’s me. You’ve given me so much these last 6 ½ years. I adore you and will miss you. My priorities have changed, my heart and family need more than you can provide.

You are no longer Home. Home is where I was raised, where my family is, where my daughter will come to know her Grandmother, Grandfather, Aunts, Uncles, and cousins. Home is now Rochester.

I will deeply miss you,

-Wendy