Dear Lucy,

I remember so well that you came. We had all been looking forward to it so much. From a distance, it felt like we were watching over Dinand a little. Without knowing him, we sent comfort his way.

For a long time, we didn't know why Guusje looked that way. Photographers (not her best friends) had captured her on the beach of Scheveningen. Baby Dean clutched as close as possible, looking at the horizon. What was she looking at? What was she thinking? Only later would we understand what battle was taking place in her mind and heart.

I still remember the moment a colleague walked into the meeting with The News and rolled out a black blanket over us. I remember how Beau and Albert Verlinde almost literally came to blows because they were struggling with how to shape this news in their program, each having different ideas about it. The country was in mourning for someone we had never met, but with whom we had grown up. I watched as Dinand sang Guusje's song in Ahoy. A thousand colored lights around him.

The woman who would come after her (I wanted to write ‘replace’, but you have taught me that ‘replace’ is not the issue: you exist alongside each other) had to be someone very special.

And there you were. The woman we had been looking forward to. The woman who gave Dinand love again and would care for his son, Guusje's son, your son.

You were ‘hors catégorie’. We didn't know you, which was good. Not yet filled in by other stories. You were beautiful and cool and moved a little in the background. That was good too. You weren't after fame. You were there for Dinand, for Dean, for your happiness.

I didn't know you, but I admired everything about you. Your style, your intelligence. When you walked down our carpet at the Look of the Year Awards organized by Amayzine, I felt great happiness. That I got to meet you. That you wanted to be at our party and even later wanted to appear in our magazine..

Since then, I get to move around you from time to time. We text, respond, correct (you did that once in the best possible way and I am grateful for that) and very cautiously you dared to push the curtains a little more aside. You created an enormous sisterhood on Instagram and decided to expand your love for women. You did that with a book: Woman. It couldn't have been named anything else.

In Woman, you open up. About things you would have done differently, about things you have managed to change. You offer insight and comfort and you season it with inspirational quotes.. I pull one out. From Eleanor Roosevelt. A woman is like a teabag, you don’t know how strong she is until she gets into hot water. Although I must make a small note here: you don't need hot water to show your strength.

I think I speak on behalf of all my girlfriends and everyone who has cried for Guusje when I say: how nice it is that you exist.

Amen.