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, April 2, 2015

Last Words

If you have lost someone close to an illness, you probably had the chance to say your goodbyes, although there were still some things you thought of later that you wish you had said. If the death was sudden, as from an accident, then you may not have had this chance and everything was left unsaid — all the hopes and wishes for the future, all the unfinished arguments, what you loved best about each other, and what tasks the survivor could finish up for the one who was dying.

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

4 comments:

  1. I had to witness my wife collapsing, during the last year of the brain cancer, physically and mentally until what was left was just a shell of a woman I loved. How I wish I could hear words from her mouth like what you wrote in the post. I ask her to come to me in dreams and tell me things she could not say. But it never happens.

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    1. It is hard not knowing, isn't it. Not only to hear things like saying goodbye and words of comfort, but also of their dreams for us, their wishes. They knew us perhaps better than we knew ourselves, and we would have loved it if they could have pointed us in the right direction one last time.

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  2. I love this. It made me cry. It is hard when they die suddenly. Stan had some health problems and toward the end of his life, those were escalating. He was so frustrated and I know he would have hated to be immobile or dependent upon anyone for his basic needs. But I would have been happy to do it for him. I just wanted to keep him with me. Selfish of me. I miss him so much. I think he is probably saying some of the same things to me, too. He could not hike with me and I hope he is looking on me from wherever he is and cheering me on as I walk and ramble in these hills he loved so much. This weekend I am in Whitby, his favourite seaside village. I cried when I came down the hill and saw those wild waves. I like to think he will be rambling in those hills with me, tomorrow. I think maybe your wife walks those mountains with you, too. xx

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