Coming out of denial

It may be the country music I'm listening to.

Or it may just be that my brain is trying to mentally prepare myself,

but I'm finally starting to come out of denial that my best friend is moving halfway across the country from me.

Don't get me wrong, I want them to do it because I know it's what's best for them, and they are following God's plan.

And I know it's not like it used to be in the pioneer days when the trip from Pennsylvania to Missouri was a once in a lifetime sojurn...

but it's not here in the very same town.

It's not even in the same state.

God's provided me with lots of friends... even lots of close friends, especially since Nathan has gone.

But there is only one Kara.

And I know this is the way that it has to be, because it's almost impossible for anyone to break into the Karanae fortress. (including our poor husbands)

But I don't want her to leave.

Who am I supposed to stay up late with and act like we're drunk but never touch alcohol?

Who am I supposed to call crying in the middle of the night and she will rush over with ice cream? (I've never actually done this, but if it was an emergency I know I could.)

Who am I supposed to make white cakes with white icing for and buy Pepsi for?

I know, I know, she's not dying. She'll still be my friend. We'll be able to skype and phone and text... and when the time comes we'll both suck it up and deal because we know it's for the best.

But that doesn't mean that there won't be a huge hole in my life.

Or that I'm ready for it.

"Ten minutes isn't very long to say an eternal farewell in," said Anne tearfully. "Oh, Diana, will you promise faithfully never to forget me, the friend of your youth, no matter what dearer friends may caress thee?"

"Indeed I will," sobbed Diana, "and I'll never have another bosom friend--I don't want to have. I couldn't love anybody as I love you."

"Oh, Diana," cried Anne, clasping her hands, "do you love me?"

"Why, of course I do. Didn't you know that?"

"No." Anne drew a long breath. "I thought you liked me of course but I never hoped you loved me. Why, Diana, I didn't think anybody could love me. Nobody ever has loved me since I can remember. Oh, this is wonderful! It's a ray of light which will forever shine on the darkness of a path severed from thee, Diana. Oh, just say it once again."

"I love you devotedly, Anne," said Diana stanchly, "and I always will, you may be sure of that."

"And I will always love thee, Diana," said Anne, solemnly extending her hand. "In the years to come thy memory will shine like a star over my lonely life, as that last story we read together says. Diana, wilt thou give me a lock of thy jet-black tresses in parting to treasure forevermore?"

"Have you got anything to cut it with?" queried Diana, wiping away the tears which Anne's affecting accents had caused to flow afresh, and returning to practicalities.

"Yes. I've got my patchwork scissors in my apron pocket fortunately," said Anne. She solemnly clipped one of Diana's curls. "Fare thee well, my beloved friend. Henceforth we must be as strangers though living side by side. But my heart will ever be faithful to thee."

Anne stood and watched Diana out of sight, mournfully waving her hand to the latter whenever she turned to look back. Then she returned to the house, not a little consoled for the time being by this romantic parting.

"It is all over," she informed Marilla. "I shall never have another friend. I'm really worse off than ever before, for I haven't Katie Maurice and Violetta now. And even if I had it wouldn't be the same. Somehow, little dream girls are not satisfying after a real friend. Diana and I had such an affecting farewell down by the spring. It will be sacred in my memory forever. I used the most pathetic language I could think of and said `thou' and `thee.' `Thou' and `thee' seem so much more romantic than `you.' Diana gave me a lock of her hair and I'm going to sew it up in a little bag and wear it around my neck all my life. Please see that it is buried with me, for I don't believe I'll live very long. Perhaps when she sees me lying cold and dead before her Mrs. Barry may feel remorse for what she has done and will let Diana come to my funeral."

(excerpt from Chapter XVII of Anne of Green Gables by LM Montgomery)