I noticed her immediately, a pretty dark-haired woman, beautifully put together. We took turns introducing ourselves sitting in a circle of writers at Esalen for a workshop called “Writing Our Lives.” When it was her turn, she spoke of poems she was writing about her son, Paul, who had committed suicide at age 27, only three months earlier in the fall of 1999. I was in awe of her strength.

Moments before, I had told the circle that I was working on the manuscript of a memoir in honor of my daughter Maya who had died following a fall from a horse in 1992.

Madeline Sharples and I locked eyes. Our bond was instant. As bereaved mothers we knew the depth of grief, the shattering of everything we counted on and hoped for, the ways our lives were divided into before our children died, and after.

We were submerged in confronting “after,” and the poet Ellen Bass who led the workshop, helped us pull the pieces of our broken lives into coherent sentences. It was December of 1999, and waves hammered the California coast. Madeline and I took long walks, ate meals together, and talked endlessly about our children.

Our Publishing Journey

Swimming with Maya was published by Capital Books in 2004. By then, Madeline was working on a memoir about Paul. We exchanged emails and spoke by phone about our writing, our children, our books. Leaving the Hall Light On, her book about Paul’s bipolar disorder and his suicide, was published by a small press in 2011. I traveled to Manhattan Beach to attend her launch event at a local bookstore. She looked resplendent, and the event was a huge success.

I stayed with Madeline and her husband Bob. Each morning Bob and I worked the LA Times crossword together. In the afternoons, Madeline and I walked from their house along the esplanade to the Manhattan Beach pier, and in the evenings, we went out to dinner or enjoyed her excellent cooking. We reminisced often about our kids and shared our grief, our writing, and our recovery together.

Later that year, Madeline’s publisher suddenly closed. An inveterate networker, Madeline immediately began to look for a new publisher. Capital Books had also closed in 2010, and the rights to Swimming with Maya had reverted to me, so I watched with interest as my friend quickly succeeded in finding another small press.

In 2012, Madeline introduced me to her new publisher Mike O’Mary of Dream of Things, a micro press in Chicago. At his request, I sent him a copy of my book. Within weeks, Mike reached out with an offer to republish Swimming with Maya. I was ecstatic!

Early in 2013, Dream of Things reissued the memoir in paperback and e-book, and I began a blog tour and digital marketing of the book. Madeline came to Oakland for my launch event, and supported me on her Facebook page, and through her blog, Choices, hosted on her website. She published an interview with me, and several guest posts.

Losing My Friend

A week ago, I learned that Madeline died on Sunday, April 12. Her son Ben had let me know that she was being treated for leukemia and was receiving Hospice care at home. I wrote to Madeline, and now deeply regret that I did not call her. I didn’t want to intrude. I missed my chance to thank her – yet again – for her friendship. She was a treasure.

Without her support, I might never have found another publisher. Swimming with Maya has had a long and successful second life, selling more than 20,000 copies. I owe so much to Madeline’s generosity and to her brilliance. I know her wide circle of fellow writers feels the same. She has done so much to promote mental health and support for families affected by suicide. She later went on to publish a novel, Papa’s Shoes.

Madeline and I developed a memoir writing workshop we presented at the Story Circle conference in 2014. Her skills as a collaborator were unmatched, and our session was well attended and enthusiastically received. Later, because of her recommendation, I was invited to be on a panel at the Greater Los Angeles Writers’ Conference in 2016. We sat at a table autographing our books together and chatting with readers.

Whatever she did, Madeline did it with grace. She was a role model of how writers can support each other, one of the kindest, most gracious people I’ve ever known, and an incredibly generous friend and host. I miss her terribly. Her words will live on, supporting grieving families and inspiring all of us to become the best versions of ourselves.