I sat there in the middle of boxes, big ones, small ones and ones too heavy to move. I couldn’t find the dining room table anymore and, as I looked around that morning, in 1998, about sixteen years ago, I had this terrible sinking feeling. What was I doing? I was in the throes of two major transitions, retiring from my academic position and relocating to Boston.

I am a born and bred New Yorker and lived there most of my life, except during the early stages of my marriage and when I worked abroad. but the retirement incentive was too good to reject and my three children, their families, and six grandchildren lived in Boston, a rare coincidence when so many families are dispersed all over the country. The combination of retirement and moving seemed logical, rational, and timely. That didn’t, however, make it easy.

I was doing this alone. divorce had been the major crisis of my life, but then there were three young children and I had to learn to take care of everything that needed to be done. Now, after so many years in a wonderful career, my academic life was a solid part of my identity, an identity I cherished. Separating from work was difficult, and I had just ended a ten-year relationship.

There was the sadness at the thought of leaving life-long friends, friends I’d had since I was young, friends whose children went to nursery school with mine. We were an extended family watching our own children grow, marry and have children of their own.  And the communities I belonged to, the Reconstruction Synagogue of the North Shore and Rabbi Lee Friedlander — his voice and support were a part of my life.

And how would my children feel about me living so close to them? I thought they would be delighted if I was careful about not imposing, but who can be sure of anything?

…

As I look back, there have been life satisfactions and success–at work, in my love life, with friends and family. But there have also been disappointments. I never remarried, although I would have if the right person came along. There were disappointments at work too. In the last analysis, though, I am resilient whatever the issues, I always take the next step, like the move to Boston.

At the same time, I am reminded of my own mortality — sickness and death are around the corner. It is sobering, baffling, and difficult. Illness and death are also reinforcements that life matters, that each day is important and one must make the most of the moment, physically, intellectually, and emotionally.

These last years have been productive, interesting and fun. I do feel, though, that I shall always be somewhat of a stranger in Boston. My New York accent betrays me, and none of my history is here. My history is someplace back in New York, in the houses and apartments of my youth, my marriage, my single-parent period, my life with past lovers and my career. And, as I said before, “I am still a Yankee fan.” But Boston is where I live now, and it is almost home. And living close to family is icing on the cake.