When grief hits, we are pummeled by a range of emotions. We never knew we could feel so much, endure so much, or rage for hours until we were exhausted. Grief unleashes a barrage of emotions that short circuits our mind and leaves us sobbing on the floor.
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.
Showing posts with label Trauma. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Trauma. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 24, 2019
Wednesday, January 31, 2018
Inherited Grief
Book – Elizabeth Rosner, Survivor Café: The Legacy of Trauma and the Labyrinth of Memory
In her insightful and far-reaching book, Survivor Café, Elizabeth Rosner, a daughter of Holocaust survivors, writes about her search to understand her parents’ grief and its continuing impact on her family.
Wednesday, August 16, 2017
The Worst Grief
Sometimes when we’re feeling
bitten hard by grief, or just snarky, we try to prove that we are hurting the
most, and that our grief is the worst that anyone has ever experienced. In the
entire world. Ever.
I’ve lost a wife in her 40s,
three beloved pets (well, one not so beloved), both parents (one to dementia),
all my grandparents, a pair of in-laws, a friend to AIDS, two to murder,
several to cancer, one to suicide, and a number of young friends to car
accidents. As I walk among the tombstones in my personal cemetery, it would be
hard to put them on a scale of the worst because they each hit me hard in
different ways.
Labels:
Children,
Friends,
grief,
Loss,
Mental Health,
Parents,
Pets,
Spouse,
Thomas Dylan,
Trauma
Wednesday, April 12, 2017
Three Sequoia Cones
In the early morning light,
held tightly inside by the death of someone I loved, I sit on a log in the
transparency of the sun. In the vibrancy of fresh air. In the clarity of the mountains.
The trauma of death has shaken me.
I think about my failings — working too long on tasks and not spending enough time with Ev. Not loving freely from the heart. Not slowing down often enough to be present to the suffering of others. This is who I’ve been.
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