Story : Lucienne, 98 years old

Lucienne was born in 1926, and her love story with Richard dates back to 1946. The post-war period had just begun. The deported and prisoners of war were returning to Belgium. Every village held celebrations to welcome them home. Young girls walked around with flowers in hand, a symbol of peace and congratulations, which they offered to the survivors. It was a flower—simple yet full of meaning—that brought Richard and Lucienne together when she was just 20 years old.

She tells me, smiling, but with a hint of mischief in her voice: “We were strolling with a friend, flowers in hand, and there was a group of soldiers. Richard was there, my friend liked him, but he chose me because I wore a shoe size 34!” (She laughs, recalling the joke she and Richard always shared when telling the story of their meeting. They would always laugh about her small feet.)

To start our discussion, I first quote Simone de Beauvoir for her to tell me what she thinks: “Love is first and foremost a friendship between two beings.” Lucienne responds, with a twinkle in her eye: "Exactly. Love is being friends, being free together. That’s what Richard and I had." Lucienne, with her intact sense of humor, fondly speaks of her late husband. She says that their meeting could indeed be called a "love at first sight," but beyond the romantic aspect, what stands out most in their relationship was, first and foremost, their friendship. "He wasn’t just my husband, he was my friend, my companion," she tells me. When I ask her what she loved most about Richard, she doesn’t hesitate: "It was his freedom of spirit, his ability to respect mine." A smile crosses her face: “We gave each other a lot of freedom, and that’s what allowed us to last.”

I’m struck by this idea of freedom in their relationship. Lucienne tells me that at that time, the atmosphere was charged with joy, especially after the war. The return of the deported and the prisoners created a climate where couples were born in an outpouring of hope and newfound happiness. “It was a time ripe for love,” she says, “but also for the freedom to choose.” The war, as terrible as it was, had taught them to cherish every moment, to connect with one another, and for Lucienne, with Richard.

Richard’s own experiences during the war added a layer of depth to their relationship. He had been a prisoner of war, and in addition to his captivity, he was forced to work for the Germans for two years. The scars of these difficult years were never far from his mind, but they also made their bond all the more precious. "He was a survivor," Lucienne tells me. "And we cherished every moment we had together."

Reflecting on her words, I realize how much they align with what I’ve read in my research: love is a universal constant, but its form, expressions, and dynamics vary depending on the historical context and the events that shape people's lives at that specific time. Love, though timeless, adapts to the era in which it unfolds. Lucienne tells me that after the war, Richard’s love for her wasn’t just a passionate meeting; it was also an act of rebuilding, a need to connect and discover each other after difficult years. The post-war period, with the joy of reunions and the weight of past trials, carried a unique energy—a sense of renewal, of regained liberty. Love, in this context, was a symbol of resilience, a way to heal the deep fractures, and every moment of sweetness and joy became precious. What Lucienne describes as her love story with Richard is a perfect example of this: it wasn’t only about passion or destiny, but about a deep connection, mutual support in a world that was finally beginning to rebuild. It confirms that in the end, love is also a reflection of its time. It evolves with the era, but it remains that universal, essential quest to bond, to share, and to find meaning through one another.

I then ask her what she thinks is essential in a love story. "Listening and compromise” she replies and then she insists “but above all, you have to be friends first.” This idea of friendship at the core of love seems central to her view of relationships. Lucienne has always led an independent life. A seamstress, she was passionate about lacework, an art she practiced with her friends. “With my lace-making friends, we shared our joys, our sorrows, our secrets,” she says. “And even though Richard is no longer here, it’s them and their family who surround me now, who help me, because I am obviously not that young anymore” (she laughs). I ask her whether romantic love is more important than friendship. She replies, calm and serene: "It’s not more or less important. It’s just different and it doesn’t mean that it isn’t as strong. But Richard, before being my husband, was my friend. A love story can’t last unless you’re truly friends with the person you love. It’s impossible." Lucienne adds, without hesitation, "Friendship is love, but in another form, perhaps purer." And at that moment, I understand how her view of love, founded on friendship, freedom, and respect, is rich and profound.

Lucienne has always been a highly social person, and her involvement in various community groups was an integral part of her life. She was a member of several associations, such as "Vie Féminine (Feminine life in English)," a lace-making group, and her parish. These social engagements provided her with a strong sense of connection and belonging. She would help prepare meals for holidays, communions, and weddings. “I loved organizing these events,” she says. “It gave me purpose, and I loved being around people. It kept me active, and that freedom to do as I pleased was important to me—especially since Richard never stopped me from being part of these activities.” For Lucienne, these community connections were more than just a hobby or a way to stay busy—they were a vital part of how she experienced love. She explains that the love she found in these friendships and communal activities was just as meaningful as the romantic love she shared with Richard. “We’re all in this together, and that’s a type of love too,” she tells me. “The bonds we form in our communities are just as important as the ones we have with our families or partners. It’s a different kind of love, but it’s just as real. Being part of something bigger than yourself, helping others, sharing joys and struggles—it creates a deep connection that nourishes your soul.”

Richard, too, was deeply involved in the community. He was the secretary of an association for former prisoners of war, and he regularly attended meetings and events with fellow veterans. His commitment to the community mirrored Lucienne's own, showing how love and care for others transcended just their relationship. Their mutual involvement in these associations was a source of pride and a way for them both to heal from their past traumas, share experiences, and connect with others who understood their struggles.

I ask her which advice she would give to younger generations, and Lucienne replies: "Don’t throw yourself headlong into this idea of becoming one person. Love is also about knowing how to preserve yourself, taking your time, and moving forward together without losing yourself." A wise and thoughtful piece of advice, drawn from a life full of encounters and freedom.