I am surrounded by boxes and bubble wrap.  All the fixings of a move are in place and yet, I find myself standing in the middle of these rooms, in this house that once was, motionless; unable to move.  My daughter and I are moving on towards another place.  A rebuilding. Taking what is and building on it to begin again and renew.  Forget January.  September begins our new year. We are in our own version of Auld Lang Syne.

This time last year has become a recurrent theme. The air smells a certain way, the heat hangs in the late afternoon, the ceiling fans turn a rhythmic reminder of where we were.  A metronome of dread. Along with where we were also becomes the prelude to where we are. Memories.  Like the corners of my mind.

The trees he planted have gotten taller, forming a green border of peace around the big blue barn. Where once there was clutter and chaos now gives way to emptiness and patches of green.  The chickens, my husbands much loved and adopted chickens still take their morning stroll over to visit.  Sometimes they sit on the steps. In the process of cleaning up around the barn I discovered an abandoned makeshift nest or two with remnants of broken eggs. The barn will become alive with something else in the near future and there is no doubt in my mind the chickens will continue to visit. This house, this yard, that barn, will sing with the sounds of something else.

I get nauseous.I am not sleeping much.There is no amount of meditation, exercise or deep breathing that helps. This is the final muck- this black goo of alchemy, happening as it should.  I hate it. I hate it.  I hate it. I feel the approach of that day and I am flooded with where we were .  It is hard to believe we are here in this place of an anniversary.   It is real.  It is embodied in all that I do right now as I dismantle this house, box up what was and prepare to let go. This is the only house my daughter will remember as our house as a family of three. The marks on the walls, the creaks from the uneven floors of a 226 year old house, the familiarity of an old house that was designed and renovated, retrofitted if you will, with the unique touches of my husbands creative mind.  A house of love and color.  The smells of cooking and roaring fires. This place we transformed just as she transformed us through the years.

On some days, my daughter is stronger than I am with her ability to grab hold of where we are going-so much more capable of the here and now.  We both talk so much more these days about that day.  We cry. We laugh.

She is the reason I move forward.  Days like these and choices like these are the true ingredients of fearless motherhood. We grab hold of what was, wrap it up with love, handle with caring and move on to what will be. Now, as a family of two.