Liebe says: I’m loving this process of writing with you! You are brilliant. You made it safe for me to write. You have a gift! All of my life, I have had a huge complex around my writing. But now I’m stopping with the self-deprecation! I’m thinking I’m going to apply this to other areas of my creative work, like my drawing. Thank you for unlocking this for me! It’s been so helpful. You are saving my life here, one page at a time.
Leibe and I have known each other for almost three decades. We met as fledgling performance artists in the Bay Area in the mid-90s. After I graduated from my Master’s Program (in Performance Art, from SF State), Liebe was my first PR client. I wrote her press releases and took her promo photos.
We were also in a “writing” group together at that time. Although, while the rest of us were presenting writing work, Liebe was presenting puppetry stories, works-in-progress, setting up a table at each meeting, and showing us what magic she was inventing out of “ordinary objects.”
I even had the pleasure of being in one of her plays, as part of the inaugural troupe that helped her create her acclaimed holiday show, “The Wrapping Paper Caper.”
Over the years I have watched as Liebe transitioned from puppeteer to visual artist, admiring the beautiful paintings and handmade books she created.
When her partner Linda was suddenly diagnosed with terminal lung cancer a few years ago Liebe began to write, a bit. Together they kept a journal of their adventures, of making each day that they had together “The Best Day Ever,” in a joint blog that they shared with family and friends.
I was with Liebe the week that her partner died.
In fact, the day that I showed up at their house to visit, I had known that we were nearing the end, but what I didn’t know, was that this was the very day that Linda would no longer be able to speak. Being with Liebe and Linda during this passage, along with a group of their friends and family members, the “death doulas” as we called ourselves, was an extremely powerful experience.
One of the topics Liebe and I talked about during that week was her desire to start keeping a blog on her own. To write her story of becoming a widow. Death and everything after.
Fast forward to around the one-year anniversary of Linda’s passing, and here we are in a pandemic. It’s been a while since Liebe and I have talked. I suddenly have an urge to call her and encourage her to write.
I invite her to do a session with me, a Zoom meeting where we will write together, with a timer, and read to each other.
She loves it.
And we start doing this, daily. As we are working together like this (and frankly, it is helping me to have someone to write with, as well), Liebe starts spontaneously giving me testimonials, raving about our work.
This, for me, is a huge gift, too. To have my impulse to encourage her to write be received, to land for her in this way.
There is a thing I remember Linda saying to me, years before, but I don’t remember her exact words. We were standing in their kitchen, in their little yellow house in Stinson Beach. They had only recently learned of the cancer diagnosis.
She asked me to watch out for Liebe. To take care of her. (And then we hugged and cried.)
Part of me can’t help thinking that the urge I had to reach out to Liebe, to get her to write, was Linda’s spirit, tapping me on the shoulder.