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The first time I remember meeting Cindy was in 5th grade.  She’s extraordinarily petite: probably 5′2 and she currently weighs less than 100 pounds.  Her hands are the most fragile things I’ve ever seen in my life, like twigs you could break.  I think that’s the first thing that made me love her - that enormously fragile appearance and her extremely strong personality.

We were exact opposites.  I’m tall and fair - she’s tiny and dark like a little bird.  We’ve been friends for over 15 years.

We went through all of our first experiences together, the whole slew of adolescent experiences.  She taught me how to wear make-up, dress, and be generally socially acceptable.  I think I would’ve been lost without her. 

Cindy’s been my most fierce advocate.  No matter what stupid thing I’ve done, she’s stood by my side through it and screamed at the people who even looked at the carnage.  It’s who she is with me.

She had children before me.  I’ve been there for the birth of two of her children, and they wouldn’t let me go in for the caesarian section she had for the third.  I would’ve been in there if I could’ve shoved her husband aside :)

She was my matron of honor, and I truly think if I had said, “Cindy, I’ve got to get out of here,” she would’ve hiked up her dress and said, “Let’s go,” and told everyone to go to hell.  It’s what I love about her:  she puts me first in my own life.  It’s a rarer quality in people than I thought.

When Buttercup was born, she was pregnant.  I did my best to keep her out of the labor and delivery, because first, I wanted to keep it private.  I’d also read that a pregnant woman can be thrown into labor by being in the room with another laboring woman.  So, I didn’t call her when I went into labor.  I laid there for 8 hours laboring and feeling my body being torn apart before she got there.  My little brother told her I was in labor :)

The minute she got there, I calmed down.  I watched her face, and I felt like she was the only one who knew the amount of pain I was in.  She looked so calm and understanding but steady and irrevocable as the labor itself.  It was like she knew she could not make the pain go away, but she’d stand next to me through it - like she always has.  I swear to God, she looked like Mother Theresa to me:  an angel with a calm face and soothing voice.

There was only one way I could keep her out of the operating room when the doctors decided after 18 hours of laboring that I had to have a caesarean:  I told her I needed her to go to the nursery and wait for my baby, to watch my baby while I was in recovery.  She understood that, and it was okay.  I sent everyone, including my husband, to follow my baby immediately after the c-section…

Our friendship has been one of the constants in my life.  I’ve never been afraid of losing it.  Today, she’s leaving on a flight to Texas, and then to Mexico.  I am going to miss her like a limb.  I’ve always known that no matter what’s going on, I could find sanctuary with Cindy.  She’s more than a friend:  she’s a home, she’s a defender, and she’s as dear to me as family.  I’m thinking we’re going to vacation in Mexico this summer :)