Friends and family, on behalf of our entire family, we thank you for being here today at this Celebration of Life for Flavia Juliana Pinheiro Nastacio.
Flavia left me only one request — and it did not include this gathering. I sought the counsel of family and friends about what format would be most appropriate, and we ultimately decided on something that would not require solemnity or rigid ceremony.
This is a small example that while the primary purpose of today's event is to celebrate Flavia’s life, it also marks a transition.
That transition is eased by the countless prayers offered for her soul and by the words of comfort extended to family here and in Brazil, who miss her deeply in this moment. We firmly believe in the love, reach, and wisdom carried within those prayers. We are eternally grateful.
Although this is not a religious service, I want to point to the phrase, “Thy will be done.” Many interpret it as resignation before Divine will. It is not. Divine will unfolds across horizons that transcend space and time.
God, in His infinite wisdom, did not grant us eternal life on earth.
God, in His infinite love, welcomes all — and Flavia is with Him.
In the face of the limits of our time on earth, we seek continuity.
In the absence of someone we love, that continuity takes place through a transition — from presence in our daily lives to presence in memory.
But presence in memory is not formed by the words I speak here, nor by the photographs that line the walls of this home, nor by any other symbols of our existence.
Memory is the stories that fill the space between images frozen in time.
Memory is not only what we did.
Memory is what we would do.
A poet once wrote, “The universe is made of stories, not of atoms.”
Our existence is not defined by isolated moments, but by the events that connect those moments.
Our existence is defined by stories.
Our stories align over time — not at the boundary where one life ends and another begins.
Our stories intertwine, influence one another, and sometimes separate.
Let us not mourn the separation.
Let us give thanks for the intertwining.
It is my privilege and my responsibility to retell her story.
I will begin at the end.
Harmony
Before she passed, Flavia had one great objective.
It was deeply important to her to forgive any resentment she may have held — toward the world, and toward herself. Forgiving others came easily and naturally to her. Forgiving herself did not.
For those who did not witness the final chapter of her journey, her illness accompanied her for twelve years. The challenges intensified in the later years. Flavia always said she would not be defined by her illness. She received with discomfort any praise of her "courage" or "strength" in facing the diagnosis and its symptoms.
But we are here to celebrate her life — not to relive her pain. For that reason, I will not go into details beyond what is necessary for you to understand how deeply Flavia valued the well-being of those around her.
In an act of reconciliation with her suffering, Flavia became convinced that her illness originated from within. She held that belief abstractly, without attaching it to any specific event or circumstance. I listened to her in silence. Though I did not agree with her self-diagnosis, I respected the magnitude of the responsibility she was willing to assume for herself.
She sought answers in books — spiritual works, psychology, medicine. There were many. Boxes of books, manuscripts, and notes still fill our home.
She also pursued formal training in psychology and family therapy as part of her search for inner peace.
A large part of her goal was to see our children grown and guided in a positive direction.
The rest — secondary, yet deeply important — she described as inner reform and peace.
In her final weeks, alternating between moments of clarity that illuminated our days and long hours of rest needed to gather strength, Flavia told me there was nothing left for her to learn or forgive in this life.
Flavia was at peace.
And she wanted us to know that she was ready — without regrets.
I share this with difficulty and hesitation, but I believe it is important that you find comfort in knowing that although Flavia did not defeat the illness, she overcame it as an obstacle in her greater struggle.
Birth, Childhood, and Youth
Flavia was born on July 9, 1975, in the city of Boa Esperança, in the state of Minas Gerais, Brazil. For bureaucratic reasons, her official birth date was recorded as July 12.
Daughter of Antônio Augusto Pinheiro (in loving memory) and Ana Maria Costa Pinheiro.
Sister of Leila, Galvão (in loving memory), Guilherme, Gleida, Silvania, and Cesar.
A few years later, at around three years old, she would lose the brother who would have been younger than her, Flavio, before birth.
I pause here to thank Seu Antônio and Dona Ana for the immense gift that would later become part of our lives. I also thank her brothers and sisters for walking beside her throughout the years.
At a very young age, when her mother faced a long medical treatment, Flavia spent time with her Aunt Vera’s family in Nova Odessa, in the state of São Paulo.
Later, the family moved to the neighboring city of Americana, where I lived and where she spent most of her childhood and adolescence.
Americana has an unusual history — founded in part by immigrants from the American South after the Civil War, including many from North Carolina, the very state where Flavia would later build her life.
Her mother and aunt were skilled seamstresses — professionally so. As a result, Flavia dressed with elegance beyond her years. That aesthetic sense later became an expression of her love for beauty and art.
She practiced ballet for several years — a phase requiring discipline and strength.
She loved celebrations. Many photos from that time show her at Carnival dances in Boa Esperança or with her friends. She often told stories of weekend dances and the headaches she caused her mother and her neighbor Bel — mother of her lifelong friend Tatiana.
Flavia had angelic beauty and deep sensitivity.
I said earlier that our stories intertwine.
It was within the intertwining of her story with her vibrant, extended family that Flavia developed her love for celebration.
Adulthood, Marriage, and Motherhood
We met in 1993 in Americana.
She had just turned eighteen.
We dated until 1997, when I got my first job, at IBM Brazil. We decided we were ready to build our life together.
We married on July 12, 1997 — her official birthday — after reciting vows in a simple ceremony.
“In joy and in sorrow, in health and in sickness, in wealth and in poverty.”
Over the next 28 years, we would test every extreme of those vows — though not equally.
There was more joy and more health.
In 1999, life brought us to North Carolina. We intended to stay six months.
We never returned.
We made so many friends, Brazilians mostly. Flavia had no reservations about other nationalities, but always remarked on the difficulty with the language.
Her network was so wide that at some point I started to introduce myself as "Flavia's husband". More than a credential anchored at her name, those introductions generated immediate smiles and made first-contact with new friends much easier.
In 2004, after years of waiting, Andrew and Eric were born following a long and difficult labor.
Flavia was 29.
She was no longer only a wife.
She was a mother.
She poured herself into motherhood completely.
In 2007, Arthur was born, completing our family.
Flavia loved our sons more than anything in this world. Her greatest joy was seeing the three of them united.
To Andrew, Eric, and Arthur: you gave your mother countless moments of profound happiness.
She often said during wardrobe disputes before events:
“A son of mine does not leave this house poorly dressed.”
On the surface, it was about clothing.
Beneath the surface, it was about dignity, self-respect, and care.
Charity and Commitment
In 2015, Flavia received her first diagnosis. The prognosis was hopeful — survival was possible — but the path was difficult.
Even during surgeries, radiation, and chemotherapy, she deepened her involvement in prayer groups and charity work. She helped lead food and clothing distributions, visiting neighborhoods door to door.
In 2018, she experienced remission — a time of relief.
In 2021, her illness would come back. The diagnosis was definitive. She continued studying, serving, organizing, and giving.
Between 2022 and 2025, she adopted disciplined health practices and amazed doctors with her vitality.
She only stepped back from leading her charity work when her body no longer allowed it.
The Final Months
Flavia never lived halfway.
When prescribed heavy sedatives for pain, she tried to balance relief with lucidity. She wanted to live — not merely exist.
In April of 2025, she organized her 50th birthday celebration in detail. The celebration would happen in August, when logistics allowed for her sister, Silvania, and her mother to be present. The party was filled with beauty and joy.
On that day, Flavia was extremely happy. The memories of this event were certainly special (photos of the event.)
Around November, with our extended family guests back in Brazil, her condition would progress rather quickly.
That Christmas, despite exhaustion, she insisted on celebrating.
With help from friends and copious amounts of hot glue spread around the house, she finished all decorations.
On Christmas night, with her health only allowing for a few awaken hours every day, we asked if she would rather cancel celebrations. She refused.
On the evening of January 6, following our family tradition of celebrating Christmas until Three Kings' Day, I turned off the Christmas tree lights and said quietly, as I had every year:
“And another Christmas comes to an end.”
Flavia passed away the following morning, January 7, 2026.
Moving Forward
The stories I have shared are small examples of the love Flavia cultivated for life and for those around her.
She did not want us to worry about her health — she wanted us to support her priorities.
She leaves behind a life that connected communities — as daughter, sister, wife, and mother. She dedicated to all, shared her love, learned and taught. Leaves behind work of charity, now carried out and directed by her former collaborators.
Above all, she leaves me three extraordinary sons, raised with her love, care, and example of determination.
Friends and family, Flavia leaves us a greater lesson:
That pain does not stop us.
That longing does not define us.
And that our purpose is not merely to survive —
but to overcome and live with joy and love for those around us.
Thank you all.
Thank you, Flavia.
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