Liminal space–that place in life where you are between what was and what’s next. That strange place resting between where you’ve been and where you’re going. It feels strange, scary and exciting all at once. Becoming a widow can put one into that exact position. So might a job or marital change. It’s not unlike a rite of passage.
I was widowed New Year’s Day, 2019. Mike’s death was sudden, but not unexpected. I had been grieving for years over the inevitable–and spent the first two months of this year in a fog which eventually lifted. But the uncertainty did not. And that is because of this liminal stage or space. I know a chapter in my book ended with Mike’s death and that he will never appear in subsequent ones. But I am in that space between that prior chapter, and am early into the next one. I feel like a chrysalis in that metamorphic stage of life.
And it helps to understand butterflies and their liminal space.
I have raised and nurtured Monarch butterflies for several years. I love watching Monarchs land on milkweed, lay eggs, and soon after see tiny caterpillars crawling over the milkweed leaves. They grow quickly and have voracious appetites. And like little kids, some immature ones wander off the nourishing milkweed plant and get lost on the saltillo tiles below. I’ve learned to rescue the ones I can and gently place them back onto the leaves where they belong–where they will soon grow into big, fat caterpillars.
When the big guys leave the milkweed, they are searching for a safe place to attach themselves with special caterpillar “glue.” There they hang upside down and over a few hours, will shimmy themselves into a little chrysalis that looks like a tiny, gold-rimmed Japanese lantern. The liquidy goo they morph into inside the chrysalis puts them into a liminal space. They will never again be the caterpillar they once were–and as we all know, if they emerge safely, that a beautiful Monarch butterfly will break free and emerge some weeks later.
The butterfly lifespan is short but instructive.
I am a widow with a much, much longer lifespan than a Monarch’s. But I do understand the state of being a chrysalis–and also know that we as humans might undergo that liminal space at several points in our lifetimes. It happens to a lesser degree when we enter college or change jobs, knowing we’ll not be going back to the one we just left and not knowing how the new job or school will turn out. A stronger liminal stage would occur with the birth of a child, a marriage– and certainly divorce. My sister and I, though over a thousand miles apart and going through very different events in our lives–we are both floating in potent liminal space. She has moved out and is going through a divorce. Gayle is in a good place, but knows she is not going back–and still does not now what life has in store for her. I am a widow in similar circumstances. My challenge is also moving on–but not sure where I will land.
And I could choose to meet that challenge with either dread or excitement. But life is short and meant for learning. So think I will choose excitement instead.
