Liminality

Allison was touched with the turnout for a Tuesday.  She stood motionless, trying to understand it all.  Her senses were amplified in a strange and peculiar way.  The people around her seemed to be focused on their own tasks, going about them as though they were the only ones faced with this reality.  There were a few men, one or two with a cane in hand, carrying plastic planters full of mums, headed to their marked destinations.  Several women, with their balled up tissues occasionally dabbing at their eyes, were kneeling as if praying.  Their somber faces exposed their own journey.  Off in the distance, a backhoe could be heard breaking the ground, trying to perform its task with as little disruption as possible, unsuccessfully.  The smells were a mixture of both fresh and stale, crisp air mixed with corn rotting on the stalk from a nearby field.  It was too early to be called autumn, but too late to be considered summer.  She often referred to that time of year as the beginning of the end--the death season--the end of the cycle.  The feel of it was all around.  Not the suffocating fate of demise, but the serene understanding of kismet.

Friends and family came and went, each offering their take on her loss.  For that’s what it was—her loss.  Surely no one could know the magnitude of her pain.  The preacher spoke an eloquent eulogy, pointing out that although this life had ended, it continued on with our Lord, and that one day we would see our loved ones again.  Flowers were laid on the casket.  Tears were shed.  Dirt was thrown on top.  The procession began to the fellowship hall where the expected meal would be held, where more “I’m sorry for your loss” could be heard along with shared anecdotes and stories.  

She sat there in one of the folding cushioned chairs reserved for close relatives, unmoving until the light grew dim.  As she sat there, she watched the leaves being plucked from the trees by the wind; the branches not wanting to give them up, but knowing they must acquiesce to the will of the wind, unyielding till they could hold on no longer.  She marveled at their beautiful dance as they floated to the ground gracefully.  Their ability to retain their vibrancy until the very end amazed her.  As the last bit of light disappeared, cicadas serenaded their mates in the distance.  She recalled hearing somewhere that the cicadas represented carefree living and immortality in stories of folklore.  This thought made her muster a slight neglectful “humph” and head shake.

She returned the next day.  Where there was once an open hole, was now a fresh mound of dirt.  Soon it would look like all of the others—a small, flat rectangle marked with a hunk of granite and invisible boundaries.  Feeling completely alone, she began to mourn.

And then the guilt came.

***

            “Emily, it’s time for bed,” Wendy hollered to her daughter from the screen door into the open field where hay occupied the soil just a few short weeks ago.

            “Just a minute, mom.  Just two more,” referring to the collection of lightning bugs she was gathering in a mason jar.  She knew holding on to the last little bit of summer would be ok with her mom.

            Emily’s first day of school was tomorrow in a new school district.  Although it was only in the next town over from where they shared a tiny two bedroom with Wendy’s ex-husband--Emily’s father--it required some life adjusting.  Wendy reflected on the recent changes as she finished the last of the supper dishes.  She knew the time for this kind of tranquility would soon be replaced with nights of homework and late night rushed dinners, plus the travel time it took to allow her to continue sharing custody with Tom.  From Wendy’s window vantage point, she watched Emily dart from one flicker to another and found herself appreciating the time she did have.

            Five minutes later, Emily came bounding in the kitchen, showing off her harvest.  Her blond ringlets framed her face like a cherub.  Not for the first time, her mother watched in awe as she flitted about the kitchen, letting her excitement run free.  Wendy wished she could be that untroubled. 

Until the day Emily was born, Wendy didn’t know a love like this was possible.  It far surpassed the temporary flash of affection she felt for Emily’s father, and was definitely more rewarding.

             “Mom, do you think the kids will like me?” Emily asked, looking up at her mother with innocent blue eyes, obviously nervous to start her new school.

            “What’s not to like?”  She took her tiny face in her hands and planted a kiss on her nose.  “Now get to bed,” she ordered.  After Emily was safely tucked in, Wendy went about the duty of freeing the trapped lightning bugs. 

***

Allison was never one much for guilt.  It was a useless self-propelled emotion she placed in the same category as sadness and worry.  She had no time to look forward and no desire to look back.  She preferred to bask in the here and now.  Her friends could not understand how she was able to bounce back so quickly from disappointments.  Her childhood was full of them, so she learned at a young age to put them into perspective, choosing to move forward with life, blindly and independently.  Her promise to herself was to never be in a situation that required anyone to need her or for her to be needed.  This freed her from any responsibility that would complicate her pleasure-seeking lifestyle.  “The only regrets there are in life are the things you don’t do,” she was known to say to her friends, but more so to herself, oftentimes before doing something questionably risky.  Although some would consider her middle-aged, she still lived her life like a sponge, absorbing every opportunity that came her way.  She recently got back from a trip to California where she and her bestie traveled the coastline in a rented, topless Jeep Wrangler.  The sense of freedom she felt as she stood in the passenger seat traveling at 60 mph, arms in the air, singing to Britney Spears, her dark hair whipping her make-up free face, was her drug.  It made her feel alive.  She returned to her everyday life feeling as though she knew something that no one else did. 

So carrying this heavy weight of remorse was new to her.  The sensation travelled endlessly between her heart and her brain, but never quite reaching its destination long enough to be fully understood and processed.

Still, every day she returned to the cemetery, visiting the grave, meandering aimlessly among the tombstones.  She didn’t know what she was looking for, but she knew she would find it here.  She’d often stop to talk to people she met, listening to their story of loss, but never sharing hers.  It was too much to handle.  Sharing the tale that brought her here would be like bringing to life a story that pointed blame without the enlightenment that came with it.  It was less upsetting to keep telling herself that it was a random set of circumstances that she couldn’t control. 

Sometimes she would walk down to the ice creamery across the road and sit on a bench, watching and taking in all of the interactions, captivated.  She watched the baseball team coming to celebrate a victory, dressed in their matching uniforms, slapping each other on the back in congratulations, recalling the winning play.  Sometimes they arrived with their faces looking dejected from a loss.  But, surprisingly to her, they would still slap each other sympathetically, consoling themselves and each other with “good game” and “we’ll get ‘em next time”.  Then there was the lonely old man, who lost his wife long ago, but still came every Sunday evening because that is what they would do together.  He would smile when he ordered one dip of Rocky Road (his favorite) and one scoop of Raspberry (her favorite).  His smile turning to sadness as he worked his way down the cone.  To have a love that surpasses death like that was beyond her realm of comprehension.  The one that brought her the most awareness though, was the disheveled three-year old boy whose parents looked like they went through the couch cushions to gather change for this rare and special treat.  She watched in reverence at the look on his face--pure joy.  He was completely ignorant to the difficulties it took to enjoy that frosty indulgence, and it seemed that he appreciated it all the more.  For the first time, she wanted to share that experience with her own child.

She grew to yearn for that simplicity.  It was an ache in her soul that she never got to experience motherhood.  And for the first time, she realized just how true the statement was about regrets.  Now that it was too late, the fact she never got to experience the reciprocal love between a mother and her child now weighed heavy in her heart.  Realistically, she knew it was an improbability anyway.  She was a very socially busy person who loved her work and her life the way it was at the time.

There were men, of course.  She was blessed with a natural beauty that caught their attention and a personality that drew them in.  Her coal-dark hair negating the statement that blondes have more fun.  Her laughter was a drug some could not get enough of.  But her past taught her they could not be relied upon.  “Leave them before they leave you,” was her mother’s motto.  So she did.  Always right when the talk of a family came up, or when the realization set in that she would have to answer to someone else about her time.  She could not imagine the thought of asking for permission before she could go for a drink after work, or rationalize her own plans for the upcoming weekend.  At the time, it came down to the fact that she could not fathom a life of monotony.  Every day the same.  The same man.  The same daily chores.  The same futile existence as a few of her friends were currently experiencing.  Not getting five minutes of peace without someone needing something.  Being exhausted day after day.  For what?  A guaranteed bed partner?  So she chose to focus on her own happiness.  At a moment’s notice, she headed to the beach with a friend.  She danced until morning.  She volunteered for causes she was passionate about.  She took on extra shifts at the pub.  She slept in late on Saturday mornings.  She answered to no one.  But watching ordinary existence after the accident, she wanted more of that.  She longed for that humility.

***

The next day, when Wendy picked up Emily from the bus stop, she was greeted with all smiles.  She buckled her into the back seat and proceeded to listen to her go on about her teacher, the new friends she made, and the caterpillars the teacher had in the classroom. 

Emily squealed, “Did you know they turn into another animal completely?  They go into their “cocave,” and come out a pretty butterfly!” 

Knowing full well how the cycle of their metamorphosis happens, she continued to listen to her daughter go on and on.  Until she interrupted her with a question of her own. 

“How about we stop for ice cream?”

“Really, mommy?  Won’t it ruin our dinner?”

Her reply of, “Yes, but so what?  It’s just us and who is going to say otherwise?” brought about more excitement.  Soon they were both giggling at the absurdity of ice cream before dinner, and a conversation sparked about what color sprinkles to get.

***

            As the days wore on, Allison would spend her time slowly digesting the information she knew to be true from the accident.  It was an early Friday morning.  She was on her way to work at the bank after working late at the restaurant the night before, when she dropped her cell phone.  Not wanting to miss an important call, possibly about her weekend plans, she reached blindly for it on the floor of her Volkswagen to no avail.  At that moment, it started to ring.  She could hear the Rihanna ringtone buried somewhere under her seat, “Come Mr. DJ…song pon de replay.”  The chorus still playing in her ears so clearly, she wasn’t so sure someone wasn’t playing a loop of it nearby with the windows down.  She looked down for a moment to get a better angle on where the sound was coming from.  Just as she looked up, she was facing the grill of an oncoming dump truck.  The rest of the details were fuzzy.  She only knew what she overheard the doctors say. 

***

            Wendy and Emily were standing at the bus stop Friday morning, as they had every day that week.  Emily was eager to go to school to see if the caterpillars were in their “cocave” yet. 

“Always fascinated with bugs, this girl,” she proclaimed to the other mothers in attendance.  As she continued to share Emily’s passion for the creepy crawlies that she didn’t quite understand, Emily wandered off to study a beetle on the side of the road. 

“He is trying to make its way to see his family,” Emily reported.  She was always making up imaginary stories of the insect’s home life.  Wendy often wondered if the divorce affected her daughter more than she let on.  Knowing the dangers of playing along the side of the road, and aware the bus was due to arrive at any moment, she called for Emily to come back.  Just then, as if in slow motion, Wendy saw the actions that followed unfold as if in a dream--watching it through a clear gelatinous barrier that kept her from intervening, but allowing time to slow down all the same.  She could see the red Volkswagen swerving slightly between the yellow and white road markers in the distance, heading their way on the same side of the road, only to gain control.  Wendy had called for her daughter one last time, when it seemed the oncoming car was driverless and drifting into the wrong lane.  At that moment, a large dump truck carrying a load of stone to some unknown destination crested the hill not far from where they were standing.  It was evident that they would hit head on, when the car jerked heavily to the right, sending the car into a tailspin, only to be crushed in the back end by the dump truck.  The resulting impact caused the car to veer off the road and down into the embankment, rolling several times before coming to rest against a large oak tree.  But not before hitting Emily. 

***

            Allison could see herself, well, not in the physical sense, but in a convoluted version of reality.  She was not in pain at the moment, as she saw the doctors working intently, sweat forming on their brows.  The nurses were scurrying about to hand them the proper, called upon instruments.  The overhead light was bright, illuminating the contrast of the sterile environment with the blood pooling on the floor. Their voices were terse with intensity.  Their conversations came in snippets.  “…damn cell phones”, “not sure if she’ll pull through…”, “…little girl next door in a coma”, “…mom is sedated”, etc.  Seemed like a lot of information, but no real facts.  She did not need to hear them though to know the gravity of the situation. 

***

            The next two weeks, Wendy did not leave Emily’s bedside, as she watched her daughter struggle to live.  Aware of the brain damage that may have resulted from the trauma to her head, and the constant blood transfusions, she knew her daughter’s tiny body could not take much more. Knowing the outcome was grim, she prepared for the worst.  She sang her daughter lullabies and initiated her goodbyes.  She did not want this to happen, but she wanted her daughter to be free from all of the pain.  The machine that was helping Emily breathe hushed rhythmically in the background as she prayed for a miracle, exhaling emphatically in the quiet room.  Although she knew that no amount of time would be enough, she prayed for more.  She prayed that the pain be taken from her body; even though, realistically, she knew it wouldn’t be gone, but only transferred to herself, for her to carry the agony until the end of her days.  But she still willed her daughter to be released from this world and the hurt that it brought to her.  She prayed that someone who never got to experience motherhood, would be blessed with Emily’s presence and would welcome her on the other side, unselfishly wishing to share her love for her child.   She prayed that it was all true, that in heaven, there was no hate, no heartache, no hurt, just pure love...and lots of bugs for her daughter to study. 

***

On one of her walks that evening, Allison saw a little girl chasing fireflies down along the tree line.  Not chasing them so much as running with them, basking in their glow.  The last little bit of evening sunshine slanted through the trees.  Her pink dress seemed out of place in such a melancholy location.  Her blonde curls radiated her face like a corona, bouncing as she skipped in the evening light.  Her Mary Janes were silently grazing the grass under her feet.  She appeared as carefree as the bugs she was chasing.  Faintly, Allison could hear her singing, “You are my sunshine…my only sunshine.”  As she watched, she felt a kinship with the young, carefree child.   The austerity of it all was not lost on her this time.  She continued to be mesmerized by the sheer beauty and innocence of her untroubled manner, watching her dance and sing, with not an ounce of sadness or worry.  When the song was over…Emily turned to her and said, “My mommy said you’d be waiting for me,” and reached out her hand.

***

Exactly ten days ago, Allison witnessed her own funeral, not sure what lesson she had yet to learn to warrant her being in this liminal state.  Greeting the little girl, she now knew.  The cycle was complete.