IT’S Good Friday, there is cherry blossom on the trees and Lyra McKee – award winning journalist, talented writer, partner, daughter, sister, aunt, friend and champion of the LGBTI community in Northern Ireland – is dead, shot by a masked man while bearing witness to the riots in Derry on Thursday evening.

I didn’t know Lyra well but working alongside her as part of a small UK-wide team investigating for the Ferret how the lives of migrant women facing domestic violence were being put at risk, she made a big impact. Rebecca Omonira-Oyekanmi reported from London, I from Scotland and Lyra covered the situation in Belfast. Her insightful reporting focused around the story of a 19-year-old woman fleeing violence but facing eviction from the women’s refuge centre where she had sought sanctuary because her migration status meant she couldn’t access public funds.

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The painstakingly careful and humane approach to that multiple award-winning story was typical of Lyra’s work, whether she was covering police assaults, the horrifying number of suicides in North Ireland, or unsolved murders of the Troubles. In her poignant Letter to My 14-Year-Old Self she wrote that journalism was “her calling”, and her commitment to seeking out the truth, to honouring the untold stories she felt compelled to shine a light on, was clear for all to see. It was galvanising to have colleagues like Lyra – made me dig deeper and try harder to be worthy of such company.

She loved fiercely in everything she did – though we’d only talked by Skype, messenger and phone, her warmth just shone out. Always generous with her time, she’d drop messages of encouragement, enthuse over successes, was funny, thoughtful, and, despite her considerable talent, self-deprecating.

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More recently that talent was being recognised – Faber, with whom she had just signed a major two-book deal described her as “a writer of exceptional gifts”. In Derry, her devastated partner described her simply as the love of her life, and a “a shining light whose legacy would live on in the light that she left behind”.