[Critique Group 1] Sally's late May submission with apologies

[Sally Rosenthal]

                                                Liminal Time

 

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.

 

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.

 

 

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.

 

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. 

 

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. 

 

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