As I walked the Chicago streets to work this morning, I remembered my official move to Chicago.  A Hoosier transplant to Illinois, I found a downtown Chicago job and moved to the western suburbs to live with my grandparents.  I knew nothing about the city except the Sears tower, Cubs baseball, Fields’ holiday windows and other black Friday tourist shops.   To get to work, I would take the Metra  train.  It was an odd commute for me, sharing the double-decker car with briefcase carrying business people.    If it rained, my grandfather would drop me off at the College Avenue station.  Once in the city, I would join the fast walking mob carrying a grandma packed brown bag lunch of pretzels and fat free brownies.

There is something about this concrete shimmering late summer sun that takes me back to the days I lived with my grandparents.   Little did I know the tendrils of my life had started to twist and anchor me to the city…much like my grandparents’, sister’s, and husband’s.    A little over a year ago my grandfather passed away.  I think about him every day. But for some reason, on days like today, I feel compelled to talk about him….. his smile, his laugh, his kindness and his strength.  I miss him.