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, December 11, 2014

Home For the Holidays


Finding a place to survive when your world has been torn apart.

It doesn’t matter whether it’s Christmas, Hanukkah, Solstice or another observance that you celebrate at this time of year, our memories of being HOME for it are probably similar.

The idea of going HOME for the holidays fills us with warm images, of sleigh bells and dreidels, of lattes and latkes, of Hallmark moments complete with snow, ice skating, and houses with glowing lights. Although if we live in a warmer climate, Santa might wear shorts, and Christmas lights are strung in palm trees.

* 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 love your writing. This is my first Christmas without him and I want to sleep until 2015. Thank you for being there. For expressing what is deep within.

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    1. Thank you, Tricia. I'm so sorry about your loss, and I know how hard that first Christmas can be. So much is different. It was hard enough to get through each ordinary day, and now we have to listen to all the advertisements telling us we're supposed to be joyful! I will think of you as I continue to write and share.

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  2. Ah, home. This piece is so beautiful, Mark. This year, my mother-in-law who will be 99 in January was invited to visit relatives in Connecticut for Christmas. This is her childhood home. She surprised us and decided to go. I think it is that homing instinct, the place where mother was, the place where she hopes to find her ideal past before her only child died. So I'm released to leave the house where I've spent the last six Christmases with my sons, mother-in-law, and a huge sense of my husband's absence. Instead, I'm taking a road trip with my dog to visit my son and his wife in NC. I have the fantasy this is the beginning of a new family tradition. I think I'm still looking for HOME.

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    1. Beautifully said, Elaine. I wonder if home is more of a physical place or a place that we carry inside us.

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