Dear Boston,

It all began as a young girl in Alabama, watching Celtics games with my family and Red Sox games with my grandpa. I felt a connection to Boston as a kindergartener. My grandmother used to travel to Boston regularly for business and I remember this twinge of jealousy; I hoped one day to have her job, just to be closer to the city I felt was my “other home”. She once returned from Boston and brought me a small, ceramic teddy bear souvenir; it was my prized possession.

I know it sounds strange and still, that draw to Boston was always in me. As a teenager, I dreamed of attending Boston College. There was no internet in those days, so I actually had to work pretty hard to research the city. I knew Boston geography, I had a secret bookmark on the appropriate section in the encyclopedia, I studied the history of the city. I just felt like a Bostonian.

I have never lived there. I didn’t even visit until I was 30 years old. I can count on one hand the number of times that I’ve walked those streets, admired the architecture, and listened to the accents of people I wanted to be.

I did spend a few years of my life in southern Maine and no other place I’ve lived compares to New England. It’s a unique community; there’s a sense of camaraderie amongst the people. As a Red Sox fan to the core, I talk smack about the Yankees fans; and at the end of the day, we’re all brothers and sisters. It’s the New England way.

I’m not a runner- certainly not of the marathon variety- and I’ve been known to make jokes about my desire to run, or the lack thereof. The impact of the Boston Marathon bombing has touched me as if I were exhausted after a 26.2 mile run. As I watched the coverage of the Marathon tragedy, my heart ached for “my people”. I was broken at the lost sense of safety in their own homes. I hurt for the people who witnessed the horror, the families who lost their loved ones, the ones like me whose hearts were broken from the love of that amazing city, who value the lives of all people, those who have a heart for strangers, and every single person who was affected by this nightmare in the city of my heart.
 

Five years ago, I left New England. My family in Alabama needed me; they still do. Although my house is here, I am a southerner by birth, and proud of my heritage, I assure you, I am- and always have been- a New Englander at heart. I am Boston.