My current house is not the family home, the home in which my daughters were raised. We moved into this house two and a half years ago, from the home we lived in for 19 years, the childhood home the girls remember.

Megan has never lived with us in this house. Andrea lived here less than a year, Brianna a little more than two. So few marks were ever made on the place to remind us of our once hustling, bustling childrearing years watching the girls grow from toddlers to teens to young adults.

But there were a few. And yesterday I removed the very last one.

When we moved into this house, Brianna adorned one of her bedroom walls with the rub-on quotes that are popular home decor of late. Yesterday I removed those letters, one by one peeling away the final trace of any other family members in residence, any occupants other than Jim and myself.

As I picked away at the corner of each letter, prying up an edge of the sticker-backed text then carefully pulling it up and away, I thought again and again about the phrase Brianna so carefully chose to express her frame of mind as she moved into adulthood.

"Just when the caterpillar thought the world was over, it became a butterfly," it said. And here I was, working from right to left, removing the letters, erasing the sentiment.

As the words disappeared from the wall, they became written upon my heart. With that final purging of the past, I embraced the words, appreciated their significance as well as the significance of my removing them from our home: One by one my babies had become the butterfly, one by one they had moved on.

Now it's my turn to do the same.

Remnants of what once was no longer decorate my cocoon, and I look forward to moving on.

I look forward to the butterfly I will become.

Today's question:

What upcoming change in your life do you look forward to?