**This is a repost from my instagram account dated December 23, 2020**
Homes are not people, but some spaces have the same quality as loved ones, who, over the course of time through daily interactions, participate in shaping us. When I bought the top floor of 104 Train Street I was a single mother, newly divorced. I had never before bought property by myself. The four walls of that apartment was a place of discovery for me. I learned how to be totally present for everything: taking care of Ben, taking care of the house, and taking care of myself because I was the only one who could fill those roles.
Tom was just beginning to enter our lives as Ben and I moved to Train Street. In the following three years, Tom and I grew together and we had Josie. Our family expanded in that apartment taking laundry basket rides, taking tubs, getting crayon on the walls, eating dinner on the back porch, (not) falling asleep at bedtime. When Covid struck in March, all four of us had to live, work and play in that space, and just like that the place was too small to contain us…
I last set foot in 104 Train #3 last Wednesday night just as the first nor’easter of the season descended on Boston. I walked through every room, trying to soak up every memory of the routines that took place and the milestones that occurred in each spot. We left way sooner than I thought we would, but sometimes it’s just time.
Our apartment held us close until we were ready to move forward. Goodbye, good friend. I hope you’re as good to your next inhabitants as you were to us.