Friday, May 29, 2020
In this time of the pandemic, we are fearful, anxious, and scared. Some of us have lost loved ones, jobs, or health care. We struggle to believe that when this is over, we will be able to return to something close to normal.
Each loss fractures us like pottery.
Wednesday, May 20, 2020
When grief comes, it pulls a blanket of darkness over our world. We enter a void of everything we’ve ever known and loved.
When my wife Evelyn died, I went to Yosemite and sat in the darkness of Glacier Point between the solitary lights of the constellations above and the campfires of happy people a mile below. The life I had known had abruptly ended, and I found myself in a place where there even the stars seemed unfamiliar. I tried not to think about the bears and mountain lions moving in the forest behind me.
Wednesday, April 29, 2020
We generally don’t like to think about death. Because of the coronavirus, we’re now thinking about it every day, and we’re worried because so much about the disease remains unknown.
When someone we love dies, the waves of emotion, finality, loss, and shock overwhelm our system and we don’t know what we’re supposed to do next. When doctors ask if we want to donate their organs, we may not understand the gravity of what they’re asking.
Thursday, April 9, 2020
The Great Black Hawk saga.
A short essay of mine about a rare hawk was published by Entropy Magazine today. It’s also about curiosity, death, grief, compassion, wilderness, healing, kinship with nature, ecological warning, hope, and what it means to live in community with the earth.
I worry about what I would have done if I hadn’t had nature in the months after Evelyn’s death. I often went to Yosemite to hike alone in the wilderness because I needed to figure out how I was going to survive grief. The long days on the trail gave me the time and the solitude I needed to listen for what I could not hear at home. The beauty and awe of natural world reminded me that I was not alone, and that I always had a place where I could go and renew my spirit.
You can read the essay online:
(Yes, that's an owl in the photo because I don't have my own photo of a hawk, but the journal has a good one.)
Sunday, April 5, 2020
We are anxious and fearful because we don’t know how the coronavirus will affect us or change our world. We know that the normal pattern of our lives has been disrupted, but we don’t know for how long. We feel unprepared to deal with the pandemic. We’re tired and scared and angry.
Wednesday, March 25, 2020
Prayer for Dark Times
In this dark time, as flowers rise from the earth towards the light, may we so rise.
May we be grateful for what we have, and mindful of the refugee, the battered,
the widowed, the sick, the abandoned.
May we realize when we have enough and share the rest.
Wednesday, March 11, 2020
Grief and fairy tales aren’t obvious dinner companions.
When we’re grieving, we would dearly love for someone to ride in on a great white horse and rescue us. This seldom happens. What we get instead is a coyote who appears on the trail and says, “Walk this way,” and heads deeper into the dark forest.
Wednesday, February 26, 2020
Ash Wednesday marks the beginning of the Lenten journey for Christians. It’s when they look to see how far they have strayed from the path of faith, and if they need a refresher course in humility.
The title of this post struck me as fitting both the journey of faith and the journey of grief when we have to be brave and travel far beyond everything we’ve known, trusting that we will somehow make it through.
Wednesday, February 12, 2020
In Arvo Pärt’s Cantus, a composition for orchestra and Orthodox bells, silence is written into the music. There are times when no musicians are playing, yet in this silence we hear reverberations of the notes recently played. We hear them even though no one is playing.
So it is in grief after a loved one has died. We still hear their voices reverberating in our hearts. We see their shadows moving through our days, and feel brushes of their touch, even though their bodies are physically gone.
Wednesday, January 29, 2020
As we get older, more of our friends and family pass away. Some die from old age, but too many die young, we think, before their time, from accidents, cancer, and other causes. Realizing how fragile life is, and how quickly death can come to the unsuspecting and unprepared, can unnerve us so much that we wake every morning fearing that someone else has died overnight. Every strange ache, cough, and tick of our body can make us think that something is seriously wrong and we’re next.
Friday, January 10, 2020
Everyone who grieves has had trusted friends who disappeared because they didn't know what to say or do for someone who is grieving, and they didn't want to say the wrong thing. Or they were uneasy around unpredictable emotions. Or they didn't want to feel helpless in helping someone stop crying. Or they hadn't worked through losing someone close to them in the past. Or they’re not good with emotions. Or they were scared.
There are many reasons not to take the risk. But they fall short when you care about someone.
Everyone should know what to do and say by now. This information is available on the Internet. There are grief memoirs they can read to help them understand the basics of every kind of loss—spouse, child, parent, sibling—cancer, heart attack, stillbirth, accident—(although still not so many are being written by men).
If they care about someone people need to trust their compassion to guide them. They won't be able to take someone’s grief or pain away, but they can sit and listen to someone so that they don’t feel so alone.
My new essay about this at Rebelle Society: http://www.rebellesociety.com/2020/01/06/markliebenow-grief/
Wednesday, January 1, 2020
The first New Year’s after a loved one dies, the future looks like a rocky coast. There is no celebrating. No late night dancing. No sparklers or blowing of horns. No party.
We don’t know what to do or which direction to head. Because our loved one is not here, no matter what amazing things also happened last year, like a job promotion or a new car, the death renders them meaningless. We do not look forward to what is coming in the new year because most of our dreams involved the one who died.
Monday, December 23, 2019
Solitude permeates the snow-covered Mariposa Grove of giant sequoias. On a late afternoon in December, I wander among the elders of the forest—Columbia, Telescope, the Grizzly Giant, and resting my hand on the rough, cinnamon bark of one tree nearly 3000 years old. I am moved to be touching something living that is this old.
Wednesday, December 18, 2019
The end of the year has come and work remains to be done, but many of us are tired.
May we walk slower today and breathe deeper.
As much as we love the holidays—the good food, good friends, and the festive music—they add on additional tasks. We want to remember why we take time to celebrate these special and holy days of people and nature.
Wednesday, December 11, 2019
Whenever grief knotted me up, I headed for nature. Breathing the fresh air of the mountains, wandering through the woods, or sauntering along a river, uncluttered my mind and reopened my heart.
Nature asked little of me. It accepted me as I was, and invited me to share its community.
I could sit beside a river for hours and let the sounds of the undulating water soothe my struggles. I could wander in the forest’s shadows when the brightness of the day became too much. As I hiked over the mountains, I could physically work out my anger, frustrations, and find moments of happiness that pushed back against despair.
Tuesday, November 26, 2019
The holiday season begins with Thanksgiving. We will take a deep breath and step on the roller coaster ride that will zip us through a gauntlet of paper-wrapped, bow-tied, fancy-clad celebrations and parties, changing out one set of decorations for another as the next holiday begins.
Depending upon your background, your formal observances could include Hanukkah, Advent, the Winter Solstice, Christmas, Kwanzaa, and New Year’s. Many of them celebrate the presence of light, like Diwali that came earlier. It’s a time of renewing our faith in matters unseen and harvesting hope for the coming year.
Wednesday, November 13, 2019
The CBS Sunday morning program this week ran a feature on grief that included an interview with Rebecca Soffer of Modern Loss, a website that shares personal stories of loss. One of the points brought up was that many people who want to help those who are grieving feel uneasy about saying anything because they don’t want to make the grieving feel worse.
Below are a few suggestions for what you can say and do. I am grateful to Modern Loss for publishing several of my short essays on grief. You can find the links below.
Saturday, November 2, 2019
All Souls Day, Nov. 2
Today we honor those who have shown up at crucial times in our lives and helped us survive. The roots of the observance are thousands of years old in a time when people tried to ward off Death and the wandering, malevolent spirits that took family and friends away, often without warning. While modern medicine has subdued some of these spirits, we still fear the long-leggedy beasties and queasy, uneasy, things that go bump in the night. Too many people we love die unexpectedly, and too many die young for us to rest easy.
Wednesday, October 23, 2019
Last night I was wandering around the house, which is something I do now and then to get my bearings, when a line from Rumi’s “Zero Circle” came to mind: “Then a stretcher will come from grace to gather us up.” I don’t think Rumi was addressing grief, but his words have useful insights.
The poem starts: “Be helpless, dumbfounded, / Unable to say yes or no.” This pretty much sums up our state of mind when grief begins. We no longer know what to think or feel, and we find it hard to make even simple decisions.
Wednesday, October 9, 2019
The death of someone we love changes our life and unveils the frailty of existence. When we sit down with grief and look back, we realize that change has been continuous over the years. We are not who we were ten years ago or who we were as a teenager.
John Muir said, “Creation was not an act, it is a process, and it is going on today as much as it ever was.” Grief reminds us of this.