Dear David Ortiz,

On October 27, 2004, while tucked in my pink twin sized bed, I was woken up by my screaming parents downstairs. They ran up to me and my sister's room, brought us downstairs and loudly celebrated the winning of the 2004 World Series. We were only 7 and 6 years old, but our parents let us stay up late, eat cookies and celebrate with the whole family. It was one of my favorite childhood memories. I will never forget the smile on my dad's face, my mom giving my sister and I soda late at night, and taking a picture in front of our family TV. New England felt unstoppable, and I was so happy to be around to witness it.

That's the thing about Red Sox Nation. Everyone has their story of where they were on that historical day in 2004. How old they were, where they watched it, who they were with, and how they felt. My friends and I grew up at a time of Red Sox glory, with the 2004 World Series under our belts, 2007, 2013 and more.

We grew up with you, Papi. You would go up to bat and it seemed like the world slowed down for those few minutes. When you pointed to the sky after a seemingly perfect home-run, we saw you as a superhero. With Tom Brady as our Superman, Ortiz was our Batman. We idolized you. We looked up to you. We loved you.

We went from seeing your first days in 2003 to following you on your journey with the Red Sox for 13 years. Within those 13 years, we grew up. We had our graduations, proms, science tests, First Communions, softball games, and Big Papi. You were always there.

You were there in 2004 when the curse was reversed. When the whole North East blew up in celebration. You were there in 2007 when the Red Sox won yet again. You were a constant.

In 2013, after the Boston Bombing, you were there when Boston didn't seem to be. "This is our f***ing city!" Fenway cheered together because for a small moment, they forgot the tragedy that left our city in grief and come together in hope. If Papi could get through it, we could get through it. Then, just a few months later, you were there when the Red Sox won the 2013 World Series. "This is our f***ing city" is right!

The sad part about growing up with Papi is that now we actually are grown. Our lives are a whole lot different than they were when the Red Sox won in 2004, but something just doesn't sit right about his last season with the Red Sox.

You were present in every aspect of our lives, threading the needle of our childhood story. Big Papi leaving the Red Sox is symbolic of our childhoods ending. Every memory I have of sitting in my family's season ticket seats 22 and 23 with my dad are over. The days of bringing binoculars and a baseball glove to the game are over. Your time with the Red Sox is over. We aren't children anymore and you certainly aren't a rookie anymore. Somehow, through the home-runs, grand slams, and World Series wins, we grew into adults.

Thank you, Papi, for giving me such happy childhood memories. Thank you for being a constant during so many years of change. Thank you for growing up with my generation of Red Sox fans. You are truly one of the best players the Red Sox has ever seen, and I will forever hold number 34 close to my heart.

Sincerely,

A Sox fan who will miss you dearly.