Dear Renys,

This is a long overdue love letter. For years, we’ve taken your presence at 540 Congress St. for granted. Perhaps it was your size — so much bigger than most retail spaces downtown — or the economic bandwidth inherent in your 19 locations. L.L.Bean was great when it lived there, but we didn’t know the true meaning of love until you moved into that space.

You treated us with courtesy and professionalism when our family went shopping for muck boots … and my horsing around with my daughters and wife caused a display of shoes to spill over onto the floor. The two salesclerks looked at my daughters with deserved empathy and then got to work getting all four of us a pair of warm, sturdy boots that are still holding up through the unpredictable weather of island living.

There was the last-minute purchase of black slacks and a white shirt, the dress code for Mechanics’ Hall’s adaptive performance of the opera “Carmen”; a variety of snacks for open mic nights; the replacement coffee maker for the office; and, just a few days ago, a pair of shorts to accommodate my widening waistline.

Admittedly, this love for you might not carry the same excitement as the latest culinary fling that comes and goes within a matter of months or the fancy Old Port shop that requires a small mortgage for any purchase. Your love is more dependable than that, like a mother who gives so much without judgment or complaint. You stock something for all of us, keep the space clean and hire such helpful and efficient staff.

We assumed you would stay forever, and we took you for granted accordingly. Our politics called it petty crime (Shouldn’t petty crime be an oxymoron?) even as the thousands and thousands of dollars of shoplifting losses piled up. We downplayed your cries when customers and employees told us they felt unsafe walking that section of Congress Street. We expected you to ignore the discarded needles and beer cans, expected you to just deal with the repeated security issues that came through your doors. Can you ever forgive our lack of love? Would you even consider giving us another chance?

Your closing the Portland store has made so many of us realize how much we love you, how badly we want you to stay. It is only when we imagine your absence that we truly understand how big a hole you will leave in our city, especially one in the middle of such a crisis.

Would you consider another year, a little more time for us to clean up our act and show you our love, demonstrate how much our community needs your fair prices and breadth of product? Most of our businesses are small, and few have the financial capacity to stick it out when things get difficult. But I bet you have the ability to give us a little more time, show us some of that Yankee ingenuity and determination that has made you a Maine staple since 1949.

We — Portland residents, small businesses, service workers, artists, nonprofits, students and government workers — are shouldering so much of our state’s mental health and addiction crisis. Many of our policies are misguided, solutions slow and reactionary at best.

Regardless of our stumbling, all of us are united with an intent to make things better. Sometimes it all feels overwhelming and dark, yet I know the potential for the Congress Street Arts District is beyond even my most irreverent dreams.

We understand that this is not the Maine adventure that any of us bargained for, yet our city has a history of resilience and community. Please don’t ditch us now, not when your family needs you most.