We knew we could not keep her indefinitely, and we are terribly disappointed at this turn of events. But, you know best. How like our Lord, we never knew what we had until we lost her. We would not call her back. She accomplished so much and taught us more in her one score than most given four. We are grateful that she is with you; she shall suffer no more. But, we shall surely miss her as we remember vignettes of her life:
    The day of baptism, dwarfed by a font ten times her size,  she looked up--
            her tiny lips parting--as if to say,  "I thank you."
    Or impeccably dressed her her smocked dresses, lace, and patent leather Mary Janes reciting:
           Jesus Tender Shepherd Hear Me, Bless This Little Lamb Tonight--the autoharp playing in
           the background, all at the altar.
    Or the pride in her published writings, the Purple Cow days and her pixie-like play illustrated                              
           with the monogram "WHP."
    Practicing the piano and singing; summer Tuxedo camping; exiting letters with art; participating in plays;
    Biking, strapped at her father's back; quacking the Daffin Park's ducks; tubing the splashing rocky streams of
           North Georgia's mountains.
    Or, recently, an evening at Savannah's Civic Center, dinner over, dancing the 60's rock'n roll--she, Antoine, 
           Maxine, and Bill.

Somehow, Celia always became the hostess. After all the talking was finished, and Celia was noticed, with her remarkable choice ofvocabulary and New England articulation, she would cunningly capture the moment and us with her beaming charisma--a passive power.

Celia was a compulsive bibliophile, often reading thirty or more books a week. "I read to learn," she reiterated. "I can't wait to write my novel." And she didn't wait. Instead, she wrote it with her life. She lived her novel, and she never knew it until now.

How amazing that the least becomes the greatest; that weakness exudes such strength.

But, in spite of her winsome smile and charm, Celia was reserved, serious, independent, not to be crossed. What might begin as avoiding the issue and you, on repetition would become a firm word of correction; and, finally, a sardonic conclusion. That was her control.

Who will ever forget her love of nature--pushing her hand deep into a compost pile to feel the heat. Always a vegetarian, she delighted in the animal world and possessed a hypnotic influence with her dog and rabbit, Devon and Suzy, along with her other pets: Cherry the chicken, the guinea pig, chameleons, insects. Her last gift to her parents, just over a month ago, was wrapped in a rugged box as an anniversary gift. With a coy smile and grinning eyes, she made her presentation, a water turtle, a perfect replacement gift for another pet turtle. It was promptly  name CelAnt, by Maxine, for Celia and Antoine.

But no gift can match that telephone call, to her mother, which demanded, "Come up to Darlington this week-end. I have a surprise for you." At a program before the student body, Celia stepped up to the microphone and said, "I am singing You Are The Wind Beneath My Wings to my mother." Then, looking at her mother, Celia smiled and said, "I love you, Mother."

Celia never lost her true love toward nor from Antoine:
    he touched her and fed her;
    he gave her shots and kissed her;
    he offered her drink and hugged her;
    he rubbed her swollen feet and prayed for her.

Nor her devotion to Melissa.  With a piece of jewelry, she expressed her fond attachment to her sister, a love that grew stronger with each contact. A necklace, in which two hearts entwine, brought a sincere response from Melissa, "I'll never take it off."

So, oh God, our crippled dove has flown the coop. But, her wing-span was never been so broad, nor her soaring so high, as today. Will there ever be another Cecilia?

    Glory to be the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost,
    As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be.
    World without end.