When I was a little girl, I would squish in my Grandpa Marv's chair and watch the Cubs games. Harry Caray would ramble in between calls and he would attempt to explain the game before he dozed off. I would giggle as he snored, and this is how we snuggled and watched the Cubs. Grandpa Marv would have been so excited and proud of his Cubs tonight. This win is more than baseball. This win is our Chicago upbringing. It's our family memories. It's our bonding with millions of others in the most beautiful city in the world. #flytheW #cubs

I posted this on Facebook about a week ago when the Chicago Cubs clinched their trip to the World Series. This night — this team — was and is, something we have all been collectively praying for. Cubs fans around the world cried happy tears and embraced the closest person because this opportunity was — is a dream come true.

Here I am, writing this at the end of game 4. The Cubs have just lost 2-7 to the Indians, and I cried again.

But here's why I am really sad —

I'm not home in Chicago.

I'm not with my friends and family to celebrate. I'm not with my people — my fellow Cubs fans — to drink, and cry, and hug, and reminisce. MY people who remember the heart breakers and the Bartman ball. MY people who have been drunk and sang the 7th inning stretch in Wrigley, having no clue who the guest singer was. MY people who have stumbled to the Red line with a soft pretzel in hand. MY people who high fived Ronnie WooWoo before the game. MY people who sat infront of their black and white televisions and listened to Harry Caray progressively get drunk while calling a game. MY people who snuck into bed with their radio tuned to WGN listening to the late night calls. MY people — who have waited a lifetime to see their Cubs at the World Series.

I hate living in Baltimore right now. It's really wonderful to see and hear so many people rally around my Cubs, but you aren't my Chicago family. I miss my Cubbies people.

Fly the W.