you know those emotional movie scenes where you wonder, “how on earth did they get her to cry like that?” the plotline progresses and the lover or child or dog dies along the way. the camera zooms for the close up and the actor sheds big, clear beautiful drops that might as well be falling from the sky, but you know that behind that camera there was an entire staff walking around in crocs and oversized headsets and baseball hats with starbucks in hand.

i always wanted to know where those actors pulled from in their own lives to be able to cry like that, until i had my own reason to cry on command with just one same thought. i think i might even cry just typing it, and my inability and unwillingness to process it makes it that much more difficult. so this is my attempt.

one of my best friends of my life, the kind of friend that defines what that word actually means, is moving away. one thousand, one hundred and thirty eight miles according to google maps. and i don’t think that is something you wade into and slowly warm up to, like tiptoeing into a cold lake from the shore. it’s like plunging into the arctic ocean. naked. on her last day she will be here, with me, my female confidant, and then on the next day in august, i will squeeze her hard and cry hot tears, she will hop on a plane and a few hours later she will be that far away.

and it’s for good reason, because she will grace that los angeles hospital with her presence as one of the most subservient and compassionate nurses there is. she’s never one to shy away from a challenging job, but instead throws her whole self into it – brain, faith, muscles, words, education, heart, feelings, convictions, talent, skill. she somehow takes everything she is and uses it in every situation, pulling from all corners of her life experience all the time, as though how she functions today is immediately impacted by yesterday, as though every moment of her life has permanently fingerprinted her soul, becoming a breathtaking and random pattern, like a wine glass after a wedding reception.

she will marry (one of these days) an equally gracious man, one that shares not only her kind heart and laugh but her unquenchable godly desire to touch and cure the ill. and while our friend circle anticipates the official proposal with bated breath (will it be a winter wedding? a spring wedding?), i stand in the wings, frantically writing drafts and versions of my speech for that night that isn’t even on the calendar. because what do you say to a person that has as much to do with your life as you yourself do? what words can you stay that will stick, that will radiate off the walls, words that will have the same impact as you have felt in the last six years of having known that person?

i still need time to process the thought of her being unable to hop over to my place and share a bottle of wine and a good chat at dusk, of being unable to run barefoot on the beach together on a rainy weekend in our silly spandex, of being unable to share a big dressing room while we shop and try on cute and ridiculous outfits. the only problem is that time won’t remedy the reality. i am just hoping that somehow, by way of this difficult, bittersweet change, there will emerge a priceless lesson meant to be learned. one that will make me half the woman katie is. i’m so thankful to have been a fingerprint.

and that’s my attempt.