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.

Wednesday, October 18, 2023

Lethargy After a Death


  for Colleen

After the death of a spouse or a loved one, lethargy quickly sets in. It’s hard to find the motivation to do anything. The normal activities of living—shopping for food, cooking, cleaning the dishes, doing laundry—feel like a weight that drags our entire body down. 

If we have pets or children, they have to be fed and attended to. We also have to be fed and attended to. We need to eat nutritious food, not just comfort food, even if we don’t have the energy to cook. We have to get some kind of daily exercise, even if it’s just walking around your neighborhood. We probably have to go to work and act as if we cared. There are days when it’s hard to get off the couch and away from the TV. Thinking about all the tasks and shoulds that we should be doing can pull us further down.

When I needed a break from the drudgery of work and the silence that now permeated my home, I went to Yosemite for a week to camp and hike. I’ve gone there often over 20 years, so it was natural to escape there, but packing the car took so much energy. When I arrive, I set up my tent, toss in my sleeping bag, and find a place by the river to sit. I watch the beauty of the mountains, smell the fresh pine scents, listen to the chirping of birds, and watch wild deer and coyotes wander by. It may take a day or two before I find the energy to do any hiking. Because there are no streetlights or billboards, the valley at night is completely dark, and all the light comes from the constellations and planets. I can see into the depths of the Milky Way, and I get lost in the wonder of the beyond.

In the days that follow, without anything that I have to do, I begin taking long hikes up and over the mountains, two-hour hikes became eight became twelve as I walk at a pace that allows me to think about death and face the changes it has brought into my life. The hours on the trail also allowed deeper feelings to rise from places within me, deeper than what I had been aware of as I tried to find enough energy to do what I needed to do to get through each day. 

Being here awakens me to the joy of being outdoors, and to an awareness of the intricate cooperation of life among the animals and birds, the mountains and meadows, the waterfalls and rivers. Everything is connected here, and by sharing what they have with each other, they have created a living and sustaining community.

The lives of people are woven together like this. Sometimes, and perhaps too often, we forget our interdependence on each other until something like death happens and our lives fragment. Then we begin to feel those bonds pull us back together is a web of support.

My return to caring about living started by getting off the couch and driving to Yosemite. Once I arrived, I found that I still cared deeply about nature, and this love brought me back from the edge.

Find something that you care about. Let it carry you through the days where there doesn’t seem to be much left.

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The rebroadcast of the interview I did with Connections Radio in the Twin Cities, talking about love and loss, was rebroadcast last Saturday, October 14. You can listen and watch it at: www.facebook.com/AM950Radio/videos/847982063565566 

- www.youtube.com/watch?v=dZXYPSM0Czw 


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