May of 2025, I said farewell to Chicago for a move to the great West. 

I wrote this on my final day on my job, as an Office Assistant with the Dermatology Division at Lurie Children’s Hospital. I was too sad and too afraid to write a goodbye, until now. 

“Here I am, sitting in a Starbucks on Michigan Avenue in Chicago. No, not that Starbucks- The four floor monument to the coffee chain just up the street- but the one at the basement level of the John Hancock building, where I have spent a great deal of time in my three years of living here. 

Currently, I’m writing last minute goodbye-and-they-you’s to my coworkers that I have come to know and love. This position at the Hospital all started as a temporary arrangement. A six month contract to prove myself “worthy” but, I think deep down I knew I wasn’t going anywhere, so quickly.

The old adage is certainly true- 

The days are long, but the years are short. 

Most days, I dreaded the office. It’s a recurring theme I recognize in my life. Yet, like most people who are tired, anxious, overworked and underpaid- I still showed up. And now I sit here conflicted- So much time I spent dreaming of my escape. Daydreaming of ambitions where I was not Brenda, the office worker but Brenda, the esteemed writer. So much of my worth and identity became attached to a job I didn’t particularly like.  But leaving also feels like a leap into the great unknown and I’m riddled with uncertain sadness.”

Defining Moments, 

In April of 2022, I lost Scottie. 

Something that changed the course of my and my husband's life and acceptance in the world around us. We had left for Florida, a quick trip to tour our wedding venue in Jensen Beach. We were to get married in just six months. The day we were departing back to Chicago we had gotten the call. It was our sitter, and I could hear it in Ty’s voice before he told me a thing. I just knew, “Scottie is dead.”

He was hit by a car during a walk. It happened under the Irving Park intersection- the walkway underneath the bridge of Lake Shore Drive. I couldn’t open my eyes near that section of road for months. Each time my bus passed beneath it, it carried a weight I couldn’t handle.  

Our flight was delayed for about eight hours. It felt like every energy in the universe was working to ensure I couldn’t be with him. I didn’t want to go back to Chicago, but I needed to be with my cat, Roscoe, who had also lost his best friend. 

The subsequent days, weeks, months were the hardest. Ty had to start a new job the day we returned. I called my boss and asked if I could come and talk. I was honest, letting her know “I can’t work, but I also don’t want to be alone. I took the 148 bus into Michigan Ave, because it was all I knew to do. She wasn’t my boss at that moment, but a friend. My coworkers, that I hardly knew, wrote me cards and supported me in ways that touch my heart to this day. They understood and though they never met my dog, they knew what he meant to me. And they honored that. 

We had weddings, babies, deaths. We survived a hospital-wide cyber attack. We got through snow storms and political upset. We lived a lot of life in those cubicles, even if I couldn’t recognize it at the time. I was experiencing life and didn’t know it. 

Chicago symbolizes so many things for me. Of course there's hurt and pain. But I also learned so much about life, myself and hope.