We moved into our little heritage home almost 3 years ago; our shelter and safe respite. We moved from luxury, comfort, acreage, largess, and wealth into a home that hadn’t seen an update since maybe the 80s; a house that creaks and groans; that has its own smells, its own histories; it rocks and sways when the trains go by. Instead of a 60 year old 100 foot tall sugar maple to awe us with the changing seasons, we have a 100 year old quince tree to nourish us with jams all winter long.

Today of all days, with time on my hands, I opened the last boxes from our former life. I discovered a stash of batteries, a few baskets, some odds and ends.

At the very end of the day, the last box winking at me from the bottom of a bookshelf I use for cleaning supplies, I unwrapped the concrete chicken a good friend had given me when I separated from my husband… I think to remind me of better times, when I had 40 chickens who would greet me on my back deck while I nursed my coffee, and would follow me happily around the yard with their sassy little silly feathered selves. I do miss having chickens.

I miss a lot of things. But I don’t miss the worried nights, lying in bed afraid of the person who shared my bed…curled in a tiny tight ball hoping not to be seen, touched or spoken to; I don’t miss the anxiety in the pit of my stomach every time he called my name; I don’t miss having someone drink my entire glass of water every time I poured myself one, leaving me just his backwash and a single mouthful. I don’t miss being denied a piece of the cake I baked, and I don’t miss being called names when I wanted a snack. I don’t miss the worry and anxiety of holidays where *if* he chose to give me something, I would have to physically thank him some way – there were never gifts without strings; and *if* I didn’t give him something, there would be consequences (and if I gave the wrong thing, or a too expensive thing, or a not valuable enough thing, there would be consequences).

I miss the days of walking outside to check the yard in the darkness and seeing the stars glittering above and the expanse of space around me; I don’t miss the desire to not go back inside. I miss the reassurance of trusting that all the bills were being paid and a car that ran safely and securely; I don’t miss the realization that all of that was a fiction. Now I enjoy the empowering feeling that knowledge and hard work can bring.

I may miss the beauty of putting together a large Christmas or Easter; but I don’t miss the loneliness of not seeing my parents and brothers – now I have the freedom to call them, talk to them, spend time with them; and while our holidays are tremendously smaller and less grand, they are filled with love and laughter and good friendships and time with my family, whom I didn’t realize just how much I missed during my decades with my ex.

I may miss some creature comforts, but I will never miss the loneliness and isolation. I will never miss the darkness of wondering if life would be simpler for everyone if I was not in it.

Now I have friends who care and family who care for me, and help me survive. My life has purpose and meaning beyond caring strictly for a single, demanding, childish and mean individual and our children; now I can spread my wings and care for all who come and make friends with anyone I choose without fear of comments, judgment, or hostility.

That concrete chicken will have to find itself a place of honour in this place I’m making my home.

The last box is unpacked.