Yesterday, I lost one of my colleagues. Not “lost” in the usual sense—we knew exactly where she was. She was lying on the ground outside the workshop, her heart having simply stopped.
In France, when something like this happens, we don’t call an ambulance. We call the fire brigade. One of the men at her side was a volunteer firefighter who had already started performing CPR. The fire brigade arrived in just 13 minutes, but in such moments, time stretches and feels endless.
I kept my distance, observing my colleagues gathered around her. Despite being trained as a first aider, I felt it was better to step back. Sometimes, you just know when your presence might add to the confusion rather than be of help.
Returning to the office, the atmosphere was thick with concern and unanswered questions. Who was it? What had happened? Was it serious? Had the fire brigade arrived?
About ten minutes later, my manager called us into the workshop. His face was grave, and the room felt heavy, as if we already knew something terrible had occurred. We waited in silence as he told us that our colleague was still receiving CPR from the fire brigade.
“Any questions?” he asked.
“Who is it?” someone asked, though we all held our breath.
“Nathalie. She works on the end of the ‘ligne standard.’”
The news hit like a punch to the chest. Nathalie wasn’t just a colleague; she was one of the kindest people I’ve had the pleasure to work with. Always smiling, always with a kind word, even on the roughest of days.
I returned to my duties, trying to keep busy as a way to cope. I had some timber to inspect, so I focused on that. As a Catholic, I always say a Hail Mary whenever I see an ambulance. So, I did just that, entrusting her to Our Lady. What else could I do?
After my inspection, I went into the workshop for a coffee. When I greeted a colleague, our conversation inevitably turned to Nathalie. He mentioned, almost casually, “Didn’t they tell you? She died on the way to the hospital.” My reaction was a stunned “Bugger!”
It struck me that when I was praying for her, it must have been at the moment of her death. That thought brought me some comfort. At the moment, however, I feel nothing. Not sad. Not grieving and wailing. Just nothing. The therapist came in this morning to listen to anyone who wanted to talk. I don’t even know if anyone turned up.
Fair play to upper management, though. The Directeur Général and the owner of the firm were there that afternoon. It was a gesture of respect, if I’m honest. I still wonder what more I could have done. Nothing. Is it normal to feel? …Nothing?
Her funeral will be this Saturday. She was 56.
IJM Photography 
A sad post … but a lovely tribute to a well-loved colleague
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It might sound crass, but some people you wouldn’t care about, but she was one of those ladies who had a genuine interest in people and always has a good word for everyone.
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Heartfelt tribute.
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I felt I had to say something….
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I just felt the need to write something
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Yes, it is very normal. But, it is not exactly “Nothing” it is more of a “disconnection” or “emptiness” …
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But I feel nothing. Like we did what we could, and could do no more for her. I had people commit suicide when I wore green for a living and had exactly the same feeling. Since then, when a colleague leaves our workplace, they’re gone, and we know they’re not coming back? We reflect on the good times, and every now and again will say a prayer for them. But I still have problems feeling anything. It might be self preservation and disconnection
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A nice and thoughtful memoriam.
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She was a lovely lady, who would always go out of her way to say good morning to you!
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Condolences.
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Thanks!
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This is very sad news Ian my thoughts and prayers are with you and your colleagues. RIP Nathalie. 🌹💜
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Not much else to say is there…
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When I hear sirens during the morning rush, I often think, ‘I hope they’re okay.’ If I catch news of a fatal accident, I’ll feel a brief pang, say a prayer, and move on. I once had a colleague collapse at work—people paused, glanced at each other, mumbled a bit amongst each other, then resumed their tasks once the paramedics wheeled her out. We all react differently, but it’s moments like these that remind us to reflect on our blessings. RIP, Nathalie
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You’re so right!
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Sad news indeed RIP to your friend family and you. 13 minutes is too much, of course depending where it was and distance. Best wishes.
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13 minutes was pretty quick for a voluntary fire brigade that will have had guys at work.
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Oh my Ian, what a shock. I’m grieved to hear about your friend and colleague. I hope the happy memories of her will bring comfort to all those affected by this loss.
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who knows
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My condolences; take care.
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Thank you . It was all a bit sudden…
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My deepest condolences for the loss of your colleague Ian.
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I’m going to try and go to the funeral tomorrow.
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56 is so young
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Just a tad. Her funeral was on Saturday afternoon. There were about as many colleagues as family there. All felt a bit surreal if I’m being honnest.
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How sad, Ian. My condolences.
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That’s very kind of you. Thank you!
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a moving tribute and a great pic ; yes, 56 is particularly poignant for me: it was the age my father died of a heart attack at Holden’s, a car maker at the time. His workmates gathered around his felled body as the ambulance was called —
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It just such a shock. She seemed fine that morning…
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yes, Ian, you conveyed it well
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