Dear boys,

Having finally settled into our new home, I was able to sit down and compose this letter, the last in a decade-long series. It seemed only fitting to coincide the end of my “Letters” project with the end our chapter in New York City. After Dad and Lizzo pulled off in the Penske truck with all of our belongings on October 21st, we boarded a one-way flight to Chicago O’Hare. Gail came to pick us up and the first thing she did was throw Chicago Cubs baseball hats on you guys. “My nephews are now officially Chicagoans!”

I don’t think any of us knew how smooth the transition would be and how happy we’d all feel about our new home, new neighborhood, new school. The weather those first few weeks was like a second summer and the autumnal colors on our tree-lined block captivating. Neighbors would walk by and welcome us to Chicago — “You picked the best neighborhood!” — and always with that midwest appeal: friendly and polite.

We found the kindness a bit shocking since we were so used to the opposite. As New York City refugees escaping life in the gutter where dope fiends, crackheads and criminals lurk in every direction, this utopian welcome was foreign to us. Over the past three years, since the start of the pandemic, our Harlem neighborhood declined into a cloud of grey malaise and destitution; our streets were overrun by rival gangs, homeless, piles of trash and rats. The last straw was the July 4th shooting that happened in front of the subway entrance we use daily at 3:00 in the afternoon. Learning that bystanders sought cover behind cars while bullets flew above them, one of which killed a 17 year-old boy, was absolutely it for me. I couldn’t raise you boys another day in that environment. Instead of our original plan, which was to wait a couple more years until Cash graduated from MCS, we were leaving NYC for Chicago — NOW. The search was on! By God’s grace, it would only take four weeks to find and purchase the most perfect home for our family at 1819 N. Bissell Street.

God’s fingerprints have been all over this move, evidenced by the way things unfolded and the ease at which they did. This was definitely meant to be. We actually stayed at an Airbnb on Bissell street this past summer, so we were already familiar with the block and the area. As Grandma Roemer would say, “That’s not a coincidence!”

Saying good-bye to your New York life and MCS wasn’t too difficult. You were both ready to leave behind the constant fear and daily sightings of people smoking crack, stumbling around in the streets like zombies. You were eager to live on a safe, quiet, and clean street, in a beautiful neighborhood, with a basketball court and family close by.

Your first day at Oscar Mayer Elementary could not have been more warmhearted. For starters, the teachers called the night before, asking if we had any questions or concerns, sharing that students had discussed ways to welcome you to the community. There were enthusiastic greetings upon your arrival — “You must be Cash! We’ve been waiting for you!” The little girl who came up to Grey with a handwritten letter, welcoming him to the third grade, and the classroom buddies who would show you the ropes. Parents walked over and introduced themselves to Dad and me, asking for our emails so they could invite us to upcoming social events. To say we were overcome would be an understatement. It honestly felt like we were living in a fairy tale. Follow-up emails sent by teachers a few weeks later expressed how well you were adjusting. “It’s as if your boys have always been here.”

As we sat around the Thanksgiving table at Gail’s house, taking turns sharing gratitudes, it was a challenge for me to limit myself to just one. When it was Cash’s turn, he said, “I’m so grateful the transition from New York to Chicago has been so smooth. And that my Mom and Dad have been working so hard to make our new place the best it can be.” Hearing those words meant so much — a confirmation of every decision made. And each time Grey twirls through the living room singing, “I’m so glad we moved!”, I cannot help but smile.

To be able to give you this complete collection of letters also fills my heart with gratitude. My hope from the beginning was that this labor of love — essentially an archive of your childhoods in New York City — would one day become a cherished heritage passed down through your families. As native New Yorkers you carry essences of the city that bore you, raised you, and will forever be a part of you. The snippets, stories and significant moments from your early years, had they not been written down would likely one day fade, are now preserved in albums for safe keeping and sharing. And while this letters project now comes to a close, your new life here in Chicago is just beginning. Journeys that will carry you in unexpected, exciting ways. I’m just so thankful to have gone along this far with you. Travel the rest of the way well, my sons.

I love you both.

Always and forever. And ever, and ever. Mom