Who I am.

I write about the landscape of grief, nature, and the wisdom of fools. The author of four books, my essays, poems, and reviews have been published in over 50 journals, including in the Huffington Post and Colorado Review. I’ve won the River Teeth Nonfiction Book Award, the Chautauqua and Literal Latte’s essay prizes, and my work has been nominated for four Pushcart Prizes and named a notable by Best American Essays. My account of hiking in Yosemite to deal with my wife’s death, Mountains of Light, was published by the University of Nebraska Press. http://www.markliebenow.com.

Thursday, January 29, 2015

Grief and the Body


The Physicality of Grief

I hadn’t connected grief with sex, but Louise Gluck does in a poem where she compares the physical impact of losing someone close to her first sexual experience with a lover.

Our first encounter with both is so powerful that we are sure people can tell by looking at us. We feel radically different. So we stand before a mirror, or by a calm lake, to see if we can detect any signs of the change in our reflection. Yet, as overwhelming as the experience is, as transforming as it feels, we see little difference on the surface of our skin.

* If you would like to read the rest of this post, let me know and I’ll send it to you. *

2 comments:

  1. This speaks to me. When he first died, I did a lot of hiking, and I would post pix on FB. One of my friends would always say, 'oh you look so happy" or "it is so good to see you smiling". Those comments felt so offensive to me. I was smiling but I was barely standing. Her comments just felt like a way for her to feel better about my grief. I still feel like I am barely standing, to be honest. I don't know how I am even living this life. But I go to work and smile and go to my centre and smile. I can't go around just looking like a "bag pus" as my husband used to call it. I feel hollow inside. Someone like you could probably see that. But my mask works well for others.

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    1. And if someone should ask how we were doing, and we believed that they were willing to honestly listen, our smiles would fall and they would see how we were truly doing. And they would stand with us in grief. Thank you, Tricia, for your words.

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