The saddest event of 2010 is that I will not be able to attend my dear friend's funeral today because the doctor has not given me clearance to fly. If I were in Williamsburg, Virginia, this is what I would say:

On April 26, 1998, I opened my front door and there was Judy Robinson holding a plant and welcoming me to the neighborhood. I was shocked to find out that another Black woman lived across the street.

I welcomed her in and was even more surprised that she was an alumna of Hampton Institute (where my grandfather had taught), had lived in Connecticut (where I had grown up), and lived in Philadelphia (where I had gone to College). If that wasn't enough, she mentioned her sorority, and I realized that we were both "Delta Girls."

Despite all of this overlap, I never thought that she would be my best friend for 12 years. Judy was 25 years my senior and more comfortable in her own skin than I ever thought I would be.

Judy knew how to live and we all used to say it long before we could imagine the alternative. I would admire her zest for life, and she would say, "This is not a dress rehearsal." Every day for her was a grand performance, and I was always there to cheer.

Judy would go to the Farmer's Market and purchase fresh gladiolas and put them in a Waterford vase. I'd ask her if she were expecting company, and then I realized they were for her. She knew how to treat herself.

She drove the most fabulous Lexus that I have ever had the privilege to sit in. She subscribed to Architectural Digest and her home decorating skills made Martha Stewart and B. Smith look "common." She wore clothing brands that I had never even heard of, and bought her own fine jewelry. I was witness to her Chicago shoe shopping, and I was with her when she purchased a mink coat-- with cash.

Judy wasn't shallow, she had style. She was glamorous like a 1940s movie star. She reminded me of the Newport News, Virginia native Pearl Bailey.

Judy was one of the savviest Black women of her generation to excel in Corporate America. She was recognized in Ebony Magazine for her climb to the top. But Judy was a product of segregation and was smart enough to critique a system that sometimes rewarded her, and sometimes didn't.

Judy balanced her executive life with friendships that were so deeply rich, that instead of envying her—I wanted to learn how to be a part of it. I would get excited to hear about her annual pajama party when she and two college friends would "sleep over." They did this for more than 40 years. The last social event that Judy did before she was hospitalized was to go to the Naval Academy with these friends. When the weekend was over, her health took a turn for the worst. Deep inside, I knew Judy had held on for one more "big girl" sleep over.

My favorite memory of Judy was my last visit to Virginia. When she dropped me off at the airport, she shouted after me, "Love You." I turned and shouted back, "Love you more." Judy stood there shaking her head, and a woman watching us smiled. When Judy returned to Virginia, she left the peninsula smiling.

On this Judy Robinson, I will not budge—, I loved you more.

May God Bless and keep you.