It's hard to believe I arrived in Brussels almost three weeks ago. Three weeks already? Only three weeks? I'm not sure how it's possible to feel like I've been here for both an eternity and just a blink of an eye, but it does and I do. I've spent these couple of weeks wandering around wide-eyed and in awe of the history and grandeur that surround me. At times, the sheer freedom to go where I choose, when I choose, without body guards or armored vehicles, has been almost suffocating. I've thrown myself into work, pouring over files and cables, eager to learn as much as I can in order to become a productive and contributing member of the team as quickly as possible.
The rigorous nine months spent slogging through French training in DC have started drifting into the background, slowly fading into nostalgic memories of a time spent in the States getting paid to learn a beautiful language. Constant reminders of the amazing friendships and bonds forged with colleagues over our struggles with French grammar (I still detest subjunctive) and pronunciation (why can't I distinguish between vin and vent?) have become less frequent. Not because I no longer care, but because adjusting to this new life has taken nearly all the energy and enthusiasm I can muster. I assumed this was the same for the other "Frenchies" too, as we all start to drift to our remote (or not) corners of the globe, making it on our own yet inextricably bound by all those months pacing the halls of FSI. I thought so, that is, until this weekend.
On Saturday, June 29, our tight-knit group of pseudo-Francophile FSOs lost a member. Not even two months after her arrival in Haiti, Antoinette was tragically killed in a car accident. Even writing this down doesn't make it feel real. News of her passing traveled around the globe at lightening speed, from the Congo to Guinea, Mauritania to DC. Even colleagues here in Brussels, who hadn't been in French or even had the pleasure of knowing her personally, had heard the crushing news and were lamenting her death come Monday morning. Despite the horrifying circumstances, this was a comforting reminder of what the Foreign Service family really means. In times of happiness or sorrow, abundance or need, celebration or mourning, it comes together. We come together. No matter where we are or what we're doing. Emails go flying, phone calls are made. Who can do what for whom? Checking on each other, leaning on each other. No matter how much time has passed, this is how it's always done. For whatever irrational reason, I've maintained the naive notion that when tragedy strikes it won't be close to home, won't hurt anyone I know. But it always hurts somebody's home, hurts somebody's loved one. And this time, it could happen to us. It did happen to us. Antoinette was one of us, part of our family.
I'm afraid whatever I could say here won't do her memory justice, but I want to try anyway. I want her husband and two sweet little babies to know that we are heartbroken over her loss, shocked by a life taken far too soon, made raw by the thought of the agony her loved ones are now enduring. Spunky and funny, with a quick smile and an infectious laugh, Antoinette always brightened my day with a witty line or sarcastic remark. Her passion for development work and excitement over her assignment to Haiti was evident after just minutes of chatting with her. She was a committed public servant, caring, generous, and thoughtful. She was also a marathon runner and proud mama. I am honored to call her a member of our family, and am humbled by the ultimate sacrifice she and her family have made. Thank you, Antoinette, for serving our country with grace and dignity. Your kind spirit shall never be forgotten.
Please click here to read the condolence statement issued yesterday by USAID Administrator Rajiv Shah.
The rigorous nine months spent slogging through French training in DC have started drifting into the background, slowly fading into nostalgic memories of a time spent in the States getting paid to learn a beautiful language. Constant reminders of the amazing friendships and bonds forged with colleagues over our struggles with French grammar (I still detest subjunctive) and pronunciation (why can't I distinguish between vin and vent?) have become less frequent. Not because I no longer care, but because adjusting to this new life has taken nearly all the energy and enthusiasm I can muster. I assumed this was the same for the other "Frenchies" too, as we all start to drift to our remote (or not) corners of the globe, making it on our own yet inextricably bound by all those months pacing the halls of FSI. I thought so, that is, until this weekend.
On Saturday, June 29, our tight-knit group of pseudo-Francophile FSOs lost a member. Not even two months after her arrival in Haiti, Antoinette was tragically killed in a car accident. Even writing this down doesn't make it feel real. News of her passing traveled around the globe at lightening speed, from the Congo to Guinea, Mauritania to DC. Even colleagues here in Brussels, who hadn't been in French or even had the pleasure of knowing her personally, had heard the crushing news and were lamenting her death come Monday morning. Despite the horrifying circumstances, this was a comforting reminder of what the Foreign Service family really means. In times of happiness or sorrow, abundance or need, celebration or mourning, it comes together. We come together. No matter where we are or what we're doing. Emails go flying, phone calls are made. Who can do what for whom? Checking on each other, leaning on each other. No matter how much time has passed, this is how it's always done. For whatever irrational reason, I've maintained the naive notion that when tragedy strikes it won't be close to home, won't hurt anyone I know. But it always hurts somebody's home, hurts somebody's loved one. And this time, it could happen to us. It did happen to us. Antoinette was one of us, part of our family.
I'm afraid whatever I could say here won't do her memory justice, but I want to try anyway. I want her husband and two sweet little babies to know that we are heartbroken over her loss, shocked by a life taken far too soon, made raw by the thought of the agony her loved ones are now enduring. Spunky and funny, with a quick smile and an infectious laugh, Antoinette always brightened my day with a witty line or sarcastic remark. Her passion for development work and excitement over her assignment to Haiti was evident after just minutes of chatting with her. She was a committed public servant, caring, generous, and thoughtful. She was also a marathon runner and proud mama. I am honored to call her a member of our family, and am humbled by the ultimate sacrifice she and her family have made. Thank you, Antoinette, for serving our country with grace and dignity. Your kind spirit shall never be forgotten.
Please click here to read the condolence statement issued yesterday by USAID Administrator Rajiv Shah.
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