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</o:shapelayout></xml><![endif]--></head><body lang=EN-US link="#0563C1" vlink="#954F72"><div class=WordSection1><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal> Liminal Time<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>When my husband died two years ago, I believed his death would be a dividing line in my life. “Before” was the time we shared, and “After” began as I kissed him for the last time and left his body in a hospital room, taking up my metaphorical Widow’s weeds.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>What I had no way of knowing was that I was about to enter liminal time, the threshold between “before” and “after.” I could not go back in time and did not see a path forward alone. While I was certainly sad and grieved, I was stuck, in limbo, caught on the threshold to God knew what.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>As the raw shock of loss lessened and I was left with occasional waves of sorrow, I expected to pack away my widow’s weeds and rejoin the world beyond my grief. I reasoned that the rest of my life was mine for the taking, filled with new adventures and old friends.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Were it not for a pandemic happening within less than a year of my husband’s passing, I might have become the woman, two years shy of 70, who finally traversed the rugged Welsh terrain, joined a local women’s choir, and enjoyed her morning coffee while dough for home-baked multigrain bread rose on her stove. However, I am none of those women. Wales remains a dream, I sing silly songs to my tolerant cat, and my bread comes from a grocery store. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>For the first year of the pandemic, I consoled myself with the knowledge that everyone’s lives were on hold. Now, as the threat of death and illness from a raging virus lessens, I am still perched on the threshold wondering when liminal time slips quietly into “after” and if I will notice that I have missed the opportunity to step into a future of my choosing. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p></div></body></html>