It is still hard to talk about Lisa, but there is so much to say.  Worst of all, there is so much I never said to her.

Lisa and I met when were in the same 3rd grade class.  We played soccer together on a rec team, and then on a traveling team and our high school team together for 10 years.  Our parents were friends.  Both of us did not have extended family in or near New Jersey, so we spent our holidays together.  I had more Thanksgivings and Christmases with Lisa than with any of my cousins or other family.  We took family vacations together.  We traveled for soccer tournaments together.  We went to the beach, we went skiing, and we went all around the country.  Lisa was more than my friend, she was family.

Lisa was funny, beautiful and charismatic.  She had great athletic talent, and was a far superior soccer player than I ever was.  I loved being her teammate and watching her play.  I looked up to Lisa.  She was prettier, she was better on the soccer field, and she had an ease around people that I did not have.  Being around her built me up.  Most of the time I just felt lucky that she wanted to hang out with me.

Some times we were close, and we did everything together.  Sometimes we did our own thing with other friends for months at a time.  It was never an issue and we never fought about it.  By high school, we were both a handful.  We were wild troublemakers with great skill at manipulating parents and getting our way.  I will spare you the details of our capers.  I hate to share the gorier details of our crazy teenage escapades without her consent.  The summer I turned sixteen we were inseparable, and we had a blast.  We had fun, we were lucky, and we walked away from it relatively unscathed at the time.    She  did not get mad at me when I put a cigarette burn on the backseat of her new car on her 17th birthday.  Or when I broke her driver side window on the same car on an icy nite in a hotel parking lot at 2:00 in the morning 4 years later.  When stuff like that happened, Lisa would just laugh.  She had the greatest laugh, a loud laugh that she let out with complete abandon.  Often.

When college came, we grew apart, and when I did see her, there was a lot of drama happening.  Both of us were starting to have the kinds of consequences for our behavior that we did not have in high school.  I remember going to pick her up at school in Rhode Island with her mother for Thanksgiving break our freshman year, and realizing that we were growing in different directions.  Over the next several years, we spent less time together.  One summer night during our college years there was a horrible incident and our friendship never recovered.  I know this is vague, but I cannot share detail on what happened since it would really be Lisa’s story to tell.  Nothing happened between us personally, but it was just a turning point.  I only saw her a few times after that.  Once at our high school reunion, once when at her bridal shower, once at her wedding, and maybe once or twice at a bar.  It never was the same again.

When Lisa was diagnosed with cancer, I was going through my own struggles with eating disorders.  She was in Ohio, I was in New Jersey.  We had not talked in several years.  She was married with 3 kids, and I was single and living with my parents.  I was so emotionally beaten down that I just did not have the strength to reach out to her.  I desperately wanted to, but I was so broken, and I was practically a hermit.  I had separated from almost all of my friends, and I could not open up to anyone.  I was psychologically ill, and Lisa had terminal cancer.  I just did not have the strength to bridge the gap between us and lend her any real support.

Lisa started an account on caringbridge.org to document her fight against cancer.  I read it religiously, and anxiously awaited every post and update.  It was my way to stay a part of what was happening.  I was able to post a few words of encouragement, but they were  public posts and not a personal note.  I only saw her once during the 3 years after her diagnosis, and I almost let the opportunity get away from me.  Lisa came to NYC to do the Revlon Walk for women’s cancers, and a whole team of New Jersey friends and family showed up to walk with her and support her.  I did not.  Later in the day I finally plucked up the courage to stop by the after party at a friends house.  I hugged her and said hello, and we chatted briefly.  I was uncomfortable being around so many people, and I didn’t stay long.  That was the last time I saw or talked to Lisa.

Lisa fought cancer valiantly.  She endured over 60 rounds of chemo, and amazed us all with her positive attitude and willingness to fight.  In the depths of my darkness, I was in awe of her strength.  Caringbridge.org was incredibly helpful to many of us who were geographically or otherwise separated.  We were able to follow what was happening with her, and her posts were so infused with her spirit.  I know I was not alone in drawing hope from her posts.  Many of us were inspired by her fight, and were often convinced she might just be able to beat the unbeatable.

In the midst of my chaos, depression, and issues with food, and faced with my own declining health, I was haunted by a sobering fact.  As difficult as the idea of recovery from my eating disorders and depression seemed, they were entirely possible.  I had already recovered from alcoholism, and I knew change was possible.  Then I thought of Lisa.  Lisa was dying.  Lisa probably would have given her arms and legs to have the chance to get better that I had.  My inability to face up to my problems seemed an insult to her.  She fought so hard, and endured much worse than I would have to endure.  Every day that I let an opportunity to recover go by, I felt more guilt.  During what would be the last few months of Lisa’s life, I began to make changes in my own.  I stopped my intake of sugar and flour after a back injury that was compounded by my obesity.  I decided to make changes because of the injury, and also because of Lisa.

One day I noticed that Lisa’s posts on caringbridge.org stopped.  For the last 6 months of her life, Lisa did not post again.  We knew without her telling us that the time had come for her to withdraw to her family and to come to terms with her declining health with her closest loved ones at her side. By then, her mother was also suffering from cancer.  Lisa passed away in November, and her mother passed away a month later.

I made it without sugar and flour for around 11 months, but I was not doing anything to weigh or measure my food or to be otherwise nutritionally responsible.  It was the best I could do at the time.  I relapsed horribly, and suffered worse than I ever had before.  I could not even stay away from sugar or flour for a day, and I knew that I would need outside help to ever have any kind of recovery again. Fortunately, I did get help.  I went to rehab a year ago today, and I am now celebrating a year of recovery.

I am still here.  Lisa is not.  She left a husband and children behind.  I love to see pictures of her children. I see her blue eyes set in her older daughter’s face, her nose on her son, her mischievous smile on her youngest daughter.  Parts of Lisa are living on.  I get to carry the fire of her spirit in my heart. Lisa,  I hope some way you can see me now and can hear the words I wanted to speak to you and never could.