Celia wanted her memorial service to be a happy, celebration of her life--a reflection of the optimism Celia shared with us all. I'd like to speak to you about some of the times Celia and I shared: laughter, smiles, and what, inevitably, came to be the most beautiful and enriching friendship I could ever have dreamed of having.

Celia and I first met at Brevard College our freshman year. I remember sitting in the lobby and someone patting me on the shoulder. I turned around and saw a beautiful  young woman, with a sparkling smile, speaking to me with such warmth. We introduced ourselves, and she told me she'd come get me and we could go get some ice-cream together.

It was through these walks to get ice-cream that I became the luckiest person. Our relationship grew, and, before I knew it, I had a best friend. I'd always dreamed of having a best friend since I was a little girl. I'd had friends, close friends, but never anyone like Celia.

Celia and I talked for hours on the telephone; it was impossible to hang up  before we hit the two-hour mark. We'd share, with each other, the details of our days, either past or present. We listened to each other with respect and empathy in a way I'd never before experienced. Celia was my advocate and my number one fan. With Celia beside me, I knew that whatever hardships life threw my way, I could make it as long as I had her.

Celia was the most selfless person. We talked the day before her transplant; as weak as she was, she asked me how I was. I answered, "Oh, Celia, don't worry about me." However, she continued questioning me. I told her I was fine, and I wanted to hear about her. I tell you this to demonstrate what an incredible person she was. No matter what her circumstances were, she could not be selfish or think only of herself.

Another beautiful thing about Celia was that she loved to dance. Even after receiving chemotherapy, she was ready to hit the dance floor. Last summer, Celia and Antoine came to visit me in North Carolina. I remember we went dancing the night she and Antoine arrived. Wow, Celia was quite a dancer! She took over that floor;  she danced all night, stomping her feet. We all watched and cheered her on. Antoine and I showed our moves that night, too. Yet, ours were nothing in comparison to Celia's dancing moves. You were so beautiful that night, Celia. I'll never forget how bright your smile was shining.

My friendship with Celia reminds me of the children's book The Velveteen Rabbit. An excerpt from the story is as follows: the velveteen rabbit is speaking to the old rocking horse and asks him, "What is real?" Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When someone loves you for a long long time, not just to play with , but really loves you. Then you become real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are real, you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once," asked the Velveteen Rabbit, "or bit-by-bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are real, you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always."

One of the greatest gifts Celia gave me was making me real. Celia made me real. She loved and blessed me by giving me the greatest gift of all, her friendship. I'm grateful to God for Celia. Celia showed me the beauty of life. For the first time, she gave me a sense of pride in who I am. She loved me, unconditionally. In all that she ever did for me, most importantly, she made me real.

Antoine is someone who made Celia real. Two weeks before Celia left for Texas, she and I were running errands. She told me that when she was a little girl, and all through her teen years, she prayed every night that she'd have a husband before she died. She didn't just pray for any husband. Rather, she had specific qualities she wanted him to have. Although she didn't express to me exactly what those qualities were, she made it clear that God answered her prayers and how grateful she was because she had Antoine--he was all she'd ever wanted in a husband. God couldn't have done any better than Antoine. Thank you, Antoine, for making Celia real. I know she also made you real.

One of my favorite things to do when visiting with Celia was reading The Prophet, by Kahil Gibran. Antoine would read to us in this great prophetic voice, and we'd laugh at Antoine and then analyze the readings. One reading that always reminds me of Celia is the excerpt on "giving." Kahil Gibran writes: "It is when you give of yourself that you truly give." Celia always gave to others. She gave to others her love and deep understanding. She'd give you all that she could, and she never expected anything in return.

Celia is my hero, my best friend, and, undoubtedly, the best thing that ever happened to me. I love you, Celia, and your strength and our memories will comfort me in the long days that follow. Your spirit will be alive in us all, and I'll always come to you for peace and comfort, as I have so many times before.

Though the loss of you pains me to no end, I know that heaven has graciously accepted you, and you'll continue being an angel to every one of us.