Veronique and I met for the first time in the late 90s. She asked me where I was from and when I told her Georgia in the US she lit up. She had lived in Louisiana, relatively close I suppose, and loved the people, the food, and the music from the area. We talked about blues music. We talked about cajun cooking. We talked about all kinds of nonsense I can’t remember anymore. What struck me about her at the time was the undivided attention she gave to whoever she talked with, her friendliness, her enthusiasm for music, and her genuine curiosity.
Over the years, I ran into Veronique a few times a year in crowded situations and seemed to always gravitate her way and have a long, enjoyable conversation. In the last few years, though, and especially over the last year when she lived in my neighborhood, I was able to stop by for coffee on dog walks and shoot the breeze with her. We’d sat out on the terrace and found out we had things in common than we ever knew. We had similar family relationships. We both had a younger sibling we never really had the chance to know because of age difference and two decades away from home. We both felt some regret about that and wanted to change it. Veronique, as social as she was, as many friends as she had, felt lonely in Japan and wanted change. She wanted to get back home, back to Belgium preferably, but at least to Europe. She was on the verge of doing that, on the verge of going home, on the verge of getting back to her roots and the next phase of her life. Sadly, she never got that chance. It breaks my heart, for her, and for those she was returning to.
Rest in Peace, Veronique, you friend and beautiful soul.
— Jon Bauer
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