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.