In Loving Memory of Ljubica Milicevic: A Librarian of Light, Language, and Legacy

It’s difficult to know where to begin when talking about Ljubica Milicevic.

How do you capture the essence of someone who radiated so much beauty, insight, and generosity? How do you honour a soul whose very presence lifted others, whose intellect was matched only by her compassion?

Ljubica—beloved librarian, author, artist, gardener, mother, partner, and friend—left this world far too soon. On Saturday, May 10th, a tragic accident took her from us: a falling tree branch caused severe head injuries that she could not survive. The shock of her passing has left a wide and aching chasm in the hearts of all who knew her.

There are words we use in the aftermath of such loss: devastation, trauma, grief, disbelief. But Ljubica was not someone who would want us to dwell in the darkness. She was an eternal optimist—gentle, luminous, always looking forward, always reminding others that “good things are coming.” So today, even in our sorrow, we remember her through the light she offered so freely. Through her laughter, her brilliance, her creativity. Through the way she lived—with passion, with love, with purpose.

A Life of Books, Beauty, and Belonging

I met Ljubica 24 years ago at Solomon Schechter Academy, where we both worked as librarians. She had already been there for many years, cultivating not just a collection, but a living, breathing reading culture that students cherished. At first, we were simply colleagues. But as the days turned into years, our bond deepened. Slowly and surely, she became one of the most important people in my life. A soul sister. A lifeline.

Ljubica managed the French-language collection in our elementary school library—a role that she infused with originality and heart. In an anglophone community, inspiring enthusiasm for French literature in children can be a steep hill to climb. But Ljubica had students fighting over French books. They clamored to read them, to participate in the vibrant programs she designed, and to return again and again to see what treasures she had added to the shelves.

She believed deeply in the power of literacy—not just as a skill, but as a doorway to imagination, empowerment, and identity. Her approach was never rigid or hierarchical. She worked hand-in-hand with teachers, aligned with curriculum needs, and tailored her support to amplify student learning. She believed that by supporting the teachers, she could help the children flourish—and she was right. Her love for the students was apparent in everything she did: the way she learned their interests, curated selections just for them, and celebrated their reading journeys with passion and pride.

Innovation in Service of Literacy

Ljubica was a creative force. Not just a librarian, but a program creator, a visual storyteller, and a literacy champion. Among the many initiatives in which she was instrumental, one of the most beloved was “Livromagie”—a program designed to inspire French reading through plays, events, and book-based adventures, launched to the students with a wild skit acted out by the French teachers dressed as wacky characters, the most beloved of whom was “Livromaniaque.” The program distributed reading passports to guide students through curated reading lists, turning each book into an accomplishment, each story into a milestone.

Ljubica had a particular talent for weaving together the practical and the poetic. She sourced everything from picture books to graphic novels to early chapter books and YA literature. Her displays were visual feasts, often incorporating student work or seasonal art, creating an environment where books became alive and joyfully contagious.

An Artist and Philosopher of the Everyday

Beyond her work in the library, Ljubica was an artist in every sense. She painted. She wrote. She gardened. She lived surrounded by beauty—not in a performative or curated way, but because that’s who she was. Her paintings were vibrant and soulful. Her garden, lovingly tended, bloomed in color and abundance. Her home radiated comfort and elegance.

She was also a philosopher. A deep thinker who read widely and often shared excerpts with me from the books she was exploring—passages that moved her, ideas that sparked reflection. Her mind was a dance of curiosity and wisdom. During the years we worked together, she was also writing children’s books in French, meticulously crafting each sentence to reflect her love of language and young minds. Even after we left the school in 2016, she never stopped writing, never stopped growing.

In fact, the very morning of the accident, she emailed me—joyful, hopeful, excited. She expressed that she finally felt that she had mastered the craft of writing, even after successfully publishing several books. She told her daughter, Isadora, that she had finally devised the ending to the book she’d been working on. It is crushing to know that this chapter was cut short.

But her spirit is in every word she wrote.

A Friend Who Held You Steady

For me, Ljubica wasn’t just a coworker. She was the steady light on some of the darkest mornings. I had my children during those years, went through divorce, upheaval, exhaustion—and every morning, when I walked through the doors with heavy eyes and a heavier heart, there she was. Her luminous smile waiting for me. Her presence saying: You are not alone.

She had this otherworldly grace about her. Nothing seemed to shake her. She moved through challenges with calm strength and gentle conviction. We laughed often—about the kids, the chaos, our own aging bodies. She used to tell me, “Today I wrote, I gardened, and oh yes—I painted my bedroom.” She was in her 70s, but had the vitality of someone half her age. Stylish, radiant, ageless—she was energy in motion, a woman in love with life.

Even after we no longer worked side by side, we stayed connected. Lunches, long emails, calls. Her door and heart were always open. She welcomed me into her family. She saw me. She made me feel like enough.

A Legacy That Lives On

Ljubica was a woman of rare grace, intellect, and soul. She moved through this world with purpose. She lifted those around her. She believed in the beauty of books, the necessity of art, the power of kindness, and the joy of a shared story. Her impact as a librarian reached far beyond the walls of the school. It touched students, teachers, friends, and fellow creatives.

Longtime colleague and friend Hilda Bleyer remembers her devotion clearly—especially the creativity she brought to supporting teachers, the beautiful displays celebrating reading, and her tireless dedication to nurturing children’s love of books.

She worked hard to be of help to her family through the war in Serbia, often worrying about her loved ones and doing everything she could to be supportive. In the last few years, she was able to spend the winter months traveling in Europe with her longtime partner Jacques of 27 years, and it was always a pleasure to see their photos, laughing, smiling, basking in the sun, exploring their breathtaking surroundings. Her daughter, Isadora, was the center of her world. And the love between them all was palpable.

There is so much more I could say. And yet nothing feels enough. But I know this: if you were lucky enough to know Ljubica, you are better for it. You have been touched by someone special. You have known what it means to be truly seen, supported, and inspired.

May we carry her light forward—in our libraries, in our classrooms, in our art and writing, in our gardens, and most importantly, in our relationships.

May we remind one another to keep dreaming, to keep reading, to keep learning.

And as Ljubica would say: “Don’t worry about a thing. Good things are coming.”

Rest in beauty, dear friend. Your story lives on.