I have met people through blogging who have changed my life, some positive, some negative. Someone who I would have never met without this blog died last week, and I feel like I am a better person for having met and known him. I still have a few ideas and projects going on, but I don’t think I want to write personally anymore, I feel that sense of burnout that you get when you have held on to something for too long, even when you know you should accept its finality.

I am sure that I will occasionally want to post here, and maybe will even have a different frame of mind at some point and consider myself full of it and that I only feel this way because I am mourning the loss of so many things, so many people, while celebrating the entry of the good and new things.

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I–
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

One of the people I met when I first started blogging was a guy from Long Beach, California, who worked for a newspaper there in the sports department. He frequently left comments on my blog and was very witty, with a sarcastic sense of humor. We quickly bonded over our love for reality television, and various movies, and our tendency to be able to throw out movie quotes to suit any situation. We became friends and have remained friends since that time.

Over the past several years, his positive attitude and enthusiasm for living never ceased to surprise me. That’s because he was born with arthrogryposis, a muscle and tendon defect, which left him in a wheelchair. He told me about a childhood spent in and out of hospitals, and numerous surgeries that left a bitter taste in his mouth for hospitals and doctors.

Despite his numerous physical disabilities, he never complained. In fact, many times I forgot that he was in a wheelchair or that he had physical limitations. I was shocked the first time he referred to himself as “Timmaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay” after the character from Southpark. However, I soon learned to laugh along with him and see that he was not really making fun of himself or wanting people to pity him, but just wanted to remind people that there was much more to him than just a guy living in a wheelchair. He was a straight shooter, he told things like they were, and he never sugarcoated anything. There were times he hurt my feelings and times he totally pissed me off. Through it all, he was always my friend and always someone I could discuss important things like who had been kicked off Big Brother, who was going to win Survivor, or who was going to win America’s Next Top Model.

My friend, James, died on Thursday. He was a sports editor for the Long Beach Press-Telegram in Long Beach, California. His mother told me that he would not wake up that day, and apparently he had gone to sleep the night before, never to wake up.

A few weeks ago, James became very ill, and complained of having the flu and being unable to kick the virus. His work schedule and west coast time zone always had him up late and when I had insomnia, he was always online and we would chat about various things. A few nights ago, I asked him how he was feeling, and he commented that he was a little better, but he felt like his body had basically given up. His exact words were, “I think I am done.” I was surprised to read this statement from him, especially since he was hardly ever serious and spent most of his time joking around or poking fun at everyone else. I responded by telling him that he had too many years of meanness left inside him to share with the world. He laughed, and he responded that he felt like he had crammed quite a lot of years of meanness into his short life. That ended up being one of the last conversations we would ever have.

James always poked fun at himself and never expected sympathy or special treatment for his disability. In fact, some of his online IDs included “the gimpy pimp,” and his last AIM ID was “GimpousMaximous.” He definitely belonged in a class all by himself. Truthfully, I have never met someone with so much class and such a positive outlook. Recently, during many telephone conversations where he could always surprise me, I commented about going bike riding, and James said, “That’s really rude of you to talk about bike riding to someone in a wheelchair who can never ride a bike.”

I was speechless, and felt terrible. I sat there for a few seconds, not knowing what to say. James burst out laughing and yelled, “I gotcha!” and told me that he pulled that line on people all the time and always got the same reaction. He couldn’t stop laughing at me.

About a month ago, James told me about his grandfather being very ill, and shared with me how his grandfather had raised him, how his grandfather had taken him to Angels baseball games and how worried he was about his grandfather losing his battle with cancer. About 8 or 9 days ago, I logged on the computer and immediately received this message from James: “He’s gone.”

We chatted about his grandfather, about how much he’d miss him, and James told me about how he was trying to write his grandfather’s obituary. He was having a really hard time dealing with this loss, and even cursed his beloved Angels because they had lost the game the day James had sat with his grandfather one last time to listen to a baseball game. James was very upset that the last baseball game his grandfather ever heard was not a good one.

James was passionate about sports, and occasionally would comment on his love for being a sports writer. We did not discuss sports at length, because he would tell me how much he hated talking sports with someone who knew very little about it (which was me, I readily admit). During the Lakers series, I was very careful not to mention his precious Lakers and how they were losing to the Celtics. I had learned that valuable lesson many years ago when he bit my head off for laughing about UCLA losing a game.

As I try to reflect back on my friendship with James, and the little of his life he shared with me, I am touched by his strength, his descriptive way he had of cutting through the bullshit to get to the meat of the matter, and how he hated for anyone to spend one second feeling sorry for him or worrying about him dealing with life in a wheelchair. James even told me how he hated taking painkillers and described living with the joint pain over the years and would only take something if the pain because so unbearable that he could not think straight.

Tonight, I was channel surfing on TV, and the movie War Games was on. I remembered a time that James and I talked about this movie, and how we always watched it, whenever it was on. I felt tears in my eyes and I had to change the channel. I had to laugh, because I could almost hear James making fun of me for crying or telling me I was a big, sentimental baby. This will probably sound stupid to most people, but I’m not sure I will be able to handle the summer season of Big Brother this year. James was the person who pushed me into watching this show, and once I was addicted, we would dissect the show and the characters and try to predict the outcome.

As I read various eulogies to James online or comments people have left on the newspaper’s website, I am moved by how many lives he touched and friends he had. Everyone seemed to feel the same way I did, and knew that while James was telling you how lame you were, he still would do anything for you if you needed him and he would always be a faithful friend. Without a doubt, he was one of the smartest people I have ever known.

This is definitely a huge loss. However, I know that James would point and laugh at me if I was crying for him, as I am now as I write this post. So, I will use his words, and just say, “James, you really suck for being such a big fat loser and checking out early. How dare you be so selfish.”

Peace, my dear friend. I will miss you terribly.

This really struck a chord with me, because there are times when I feel myself falling into this deep, dark, black hole and as hard as I try, I cannot pull myself out. The only thing that seems to help me is time. If I am feeling down or depressed, I cannot force that feeling to pass. I just have to wait it out, and then one day, I’ll wake up and everything will feel right again, I will feel motivated and I will not feel overwhelmed and in constant chaos.

About 18 months ago, several really bad things happened to me at once. Last night, it hit me that it had been over a year and when I started counting, I reached 18 months. A year and a half of wallowing. Unbelievable. It still seems like yesterday.

I have a tendency to look at things and think, “My life would be better if . . . ” or “I will feel much better when . . . ” instead of looking at the present and enjoying today. I’ve wasted so much time just waiting for life to happen to me, it seems.

So I started thinking about it, and it’s true. I focus on the things that are negative in my life, without realizing that fixing that negative thing or eliminating it would not make my life perfect.

For example:

1. Sometimes I wish I had lived a traditional life in the correct order: started a career, gotten married, had kids, etc. etc. Then I look at the lives of my friends whose lives ended up this way and a lot of them are unhappy, divorced, or even starting over again.

2. Sometimes I wish I was thinner, had a smaller nose, in better shape, less obsessive, worried less, less sensitive, etc. etc. etc. Then I look at the people who ARE those things and they’re not happier than me. They’re just different.

3. Sometimes I wish I had not wasted so much time and accomplished more with my life. That’s usually when I just smack myself for wasting MORE time worrying about it. Why can’t we all just start living our lives now, instead of wishing for what might have been, what could have been, or what should be?

And I really want to stop saying, “I wish” and begin saying “I am” or “I will.”

A very good friend of mine is ill, and she has been dealing with the bureaucracy of insurance, lack of coverage, costs, and all those things that prevent so many of us from getting proper medical care. She began having problems 6 weeks ago, and she still has not been diagnosed. She is playing the waiting game, along with being scared, and she still has not seen a doctor. I have tried really hard to be supportive and compassionate, and to quietly encourage her to be more proactive in getting treatment. It’s not working, and time is passing while someone I care about waits and worries and suffers. Part of it can be blamed on the U.S. medical care industry, but most of it has to be blamed on someone being paralyzed with fear, and this is a trait I recognize. However, I’ve also learned that even when I recognize those traits in other people, I am still unable to figure out how to solve the problem, how to encourage or motivate them, even when I am so familiar with these types of behavior patterns.

I remember the times that I was paralyzed with fear and looking back, I really wish someone would have been more assertive with me, even aggressively pushed me into taking action, instead of politely encouraging me and silently worrying about me. My life is my responsibility and my friend’s health is her responsibility, but when someone you care about needs help, is inactivity really the right thing to do? Part of being a friend is being a Buttinski, I think, don’t you?

“Nah, that’s ok,” he told me.

Well, it’s not ok. Where did the little boy go who couldn’t sit still, who was eager and excited to do anything I suggested? While he was growing up, I was not only a working mother, but also a single mother. This was a double dose of mother guilt. Not only was I raising him alone, in a non-traditional household, but I also worked too many hours and left him in daycare to be raised by wolves. What kind of mother was I?

This caused me to spend most of my weekends thinking up activities to do or finding some fun project to do at home, to have that “quality time” with him while I was home. I still find myself trying to think of ways to entertain him, because I cannot fully accept that he is a teenager who would rather entertain himself — far, far away from me (or at least in the other room).

I recently asked him, “Remember when I took you to the children’s museum?”

“No, I don’t remember,” he told me.

I continue to obsess about what he will remember about his childhood, if he will have any fond memories, and if I wasted my time thinking up all these activities to spend with him. Even if he doesn’t remember the specific activities, hopefully he will remember the time I spent with him, and forgive me for having to work every day, for being the mother who sent the snacks instead of attending the school parties, and for not giving him that Norman Rockwell painting of a childhood.

Recently, I spoke to someone who I care a lot about and haven’t spoken to in years. We caught up on the phone for over an hour, and I am grateful we did so. However, she mentioned something during our conversation that brought back a lot of negative feelings and made me think about a subject that will always be sensitive and personal.

When I went through my custody trial and my son went to live with his father, his wife, my son’s stepmother, emailed her and tried to make friends. She stated that if my friend wanted to know anything about my son, that she could now email her (the stepmother).

I was already aware of this happening to several people and I am still confused as to the intentions of this behavior. This woman was not replacing me and my son had not been removed from my care forever. I had not been ruled an unfit mother or been told I should no longer have anything to do with my son. Therefore, why would someone think they can step in and take over my life by contacting my friends?

I discussed this at length with a few therapists and several friends, who all agreed that the foundation for behavior such as this is jealousy. It’s very difficult to accept that someone goes to such lengths to ruin your life, make you miserable, and cause you such pain because of ENVY. I didn’t buy it. I still don’t think I do, but I have never been able to understand a hatred that burns so deep in a person that they could use a child to further that agenda.

I clearly remember my son’s first weekend home after the trial. It was so difficult to stay upbeat and try to be positive and pleasant, while my heart had been ripped out of my chest and I alternated between wanting to sit in a dark room and cry all the time and wanting to punch a hole in the wall. During that visit, my son mentioned that he had an email address and had been emailing with a few people we knew.

After that weekend, I emailed and asked for the email address so that I could also email my son. I was told that I had been blocked from emailing him and that if anyone I knew attempted to email him on my behalf, they would be blocked as well. I cannot express the anger I felt at that moment. I forwarded the email to my son’s therapist, who expressed her concern over this behavior and stated that this was inappropriate and emotionally unhealthy for my son. She stated that she encouraged them to let my son email with me and the response was that I could call my son any time and talk to him, there was no reason for me to email him. Sure, calling my son meant me leaving a message on the answering machine and never getting a return call. Did I feel bitter? Of course I did. Sometimes I still do.

Thinking about those memories is still very painful for me. In fact, I became quite angry when I was recently told about the email situation with my friend. No matter how hard I try, I will never understand certain human behaviors. Going through that custody trial showed me an ugly side of so many people. I saw things I never wanted to see, and learned things about people I never wanted to know. Over the past year, so much more has come to light that scares me. Literally scares me.

I am thankful and feel blessed that we survived and we are now able to move forward. I no longer feel stuck or in a holding pattern, waiting for the next crisis. I spent five years doing nothing but feeling constant anxiety, worry and fear over what would happen next or receiving another phone call from my lawyer, telling me about the latest set of legal issues we had to face.

While speaking to my friend brought back some ugly memories, I feel better equipped to deal with them now and not freak out or get so angry that I want to punch someone. I am hoping for the day that they will be only vague, ugly memories from the past that I no longer think about, but I know that time will never come. I have to pull them out occasionally, look them over, deal with the feelings they bring, and file them away again.

I am also hoping I can learn something positive from those experiences. Sometimes I wonder what in the world that might be, but I think it made me a little more realistic and not so trusting. While that doesn’t sound like a good thing, I think it is. Back then, I was running through the world with blinders on, thinking that no matter how anyone behaved, there was good in people that would show up in the end. Obviously, I’ve watched too many Lifetime movies.

Meanwhile, I am thankful for new friendships, renewing old friendships, and attempting to keep the garbage and negativity out of my life. And that helps me deal with all the pain of the past.