Last Monday, June 1st, I was at work at 8:30 working on an urgent request. I had just come in, saw it in my email and headed straight to my boss’ office without noticing one of my team members, Lucie, wasn’t in yet. She would normally be in by this time. When I got back to my office my voice mail indicator was flashing with a message from a colleague.

This woman worked downstairs, used to work with Lucie, and was in fact her cousin. She was calling to let me know that Lucie had been in a car accident. She sounded strangely calm, and I thought it was a fender bender. Maybe a bad one, but my mind never went to the worst possibility.

Until I called her back and she was sobbing. “April, they’re saying she’s dead.”

I didn’t believe it. It had been so third hand, from Lucie’s daughter, to her mother, to her cousin, to me. They must be mistaken.

They were not, unfortunately. The car accident was brutal, sudden and fatal. Today was the memorial service.

Lucie worked for me for a mere three months, but in that time she had such an impact. She was so organized, so easy to talk to, I didn’t have to give too much direction, she knew what she was doing.

I remember one of my last conversations with her. I was letting her know that I understood it must seem like a lot of menial tasks, because I often asked her to draft emails that needed to be sent out to our network across the country. I told her that while it wasn’t glamourous there would probably be more coming her way. Not because she couldn’t do more, but because she was an excellent writer, in both french and english.

“Really?” she asked me. She seemed disbelieving.

“Absolutely. You write extremely well and it’s been a huge help.”

I wish I had said more. I wish I hadn’t been stressed out the last day I saw her. But I find comfort in knowing I had least had the chance to say that one little thing. One compliment, one acknowledgment of her strengths.

Not to be trite, but we should all do that more often.

Repose en paix, Lucie.

And now my boss.

One more male role model shot to hell.

I don’t want to disappoint you. You called me “kiddo” today, and I almost cried. I just — I’ve always wanted that.

I’m going to fuck this up.