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, March 12, 2015

The First Death

In his poem, “ A Refusal to Mourn,” Dylan Thomas said, “After the first death, there is no other.”

He was writing about a child who burned to death in the bombing of London during World War II. If he didn’t know the child, then what also died might have been Dylan’s belief in life’s innocence, his childhood illusion that life was completely happy and everyone lived to old age. Once this belief is shattered, it is shattered forever.

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4 comments:

  1. "The worst that could happen to me had happened" How true does it sound to me! Even before my wife died, I always "thought" that there is no order in this world. My wife's death was like a final nail on the coffin, an ultimate confirmation about futility of living. I try to live day by day but now I know that the innocence of living has been taken away forever from me.

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    1. Day to day, moment to moment. Nothing leads to anything. It might, but often it doesn't. I think that all we can do is endeavor to live this moment as fully as we can.

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  2. I can't find the truth in that article about other deaths being more bearable once you've made it through the First Death.
    That death was my 38 year old husband...and I survived only because of my vow to him that I'd get our children raised. My life as I knew it,ended.
    Then came the catastrophic death...our son by suicide. The survival of the first death did not prepare me for all I lost when Evan died...the two events are not comparable except for the unreal tragedy of unbearable loss. When Evan died, I lost me, my home, my friends...became as a leper...shunned...live now in solitude ....near complete devastation. No rebuilding. No going back...only discovering a flickering ember here or there and always alone. Excluded because I loved. I died but still breathe. I have a lot to learn. Thank you for sharing.

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    1. You've had two horrible losses, Merikay. I'm so sorry. I don't think they are comparable, either. I want to understand more about suicides. To help me, I'm reading Jill Bialosky's History of a Suicide.

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