This place once brought me comfort. Then grief. Now, both

Regular readers of this column will know that I love Westfield Bondi Junction. I’ve been a regular visitor since it opened in 2003. It is my safe space, my reprieve from the isolation of working from home, the place I get my inspiration when writer’s block strikes.

Also, I quite like shopping.

Flowers at the memorial site during the reopening of the Westfield Bondi Junction shopping centre in Bondi last year.Credit: Flavio Brancaleone

I have my usual car spot (level 2), my preferred bathroom (level 3), and my favourite cafe (I won’t name it as it will make the other cafes jealous). I know the layout of the centre so thoroughly I could moonlight as a concierge. Before COVID, I even pitched myself to the Westfield management as a Writer in Residence. I imagined myself typing away at a desk on the fifth floor, much like a traditional mall pianist, only with a less musical keyboard.

Still, a year ago, I couldn’t imagine Westfield ever being my safe space again. On this day last year, 18 people were stabbed in the centre and six lost their lives: five innocent women and a male security guard. My daughter had been nearby at the time. One of her close friends was hiding in a shop as it happened. In the days and weeks afterwards, the community, our city, and our whole country, were in mourning.

The centre stayed closed for a week before reopening. I visited the following day.

To my mortification, I began to weep as soon as I walked through the doors. I didn’t feel justified in crying; my loved ones were all safe, this was not my tragedy.

KERRI SACKVILLE

The air felt heavy and solemn. Counsellors and guards hovered nearby. To my mortification, I began to weep as soon as I walked through the doors. I didn’t feel justified in crying; my loved ones were all safe, this was not my tragedy. I thought of the victims: Ashlee Good, Cheng Yixuan, Dawn Singleton, Faraz Ahmed Tahir, Jade Young and Pikria Darchia. I thought of their shattered families, and the profound waste and injustice of it all. I left a candle at the memorial in honour of the dead.

For weeks, the massacre was all I could think about when I went to Westfield. I was incredibly jumpy. We all were. People regarded each other with wariness. The car park felt oppressive. Getting into lifts felt particularly unsafe. I visited only when I needed something. I didn’t linger to window-shop or buy a coffee. It was hard to imagine feeling comfortable there again.

Still, I knew from experience that this would pass, and, over the months that followed, it did. A sense of normalcy returned to the centre. And this is exactly how it should be. Life goes on! We need to keep living. We humans are adaptable. We cope. We laugh (and shop) again.

Still, though I was relieved to see the centre bustling once more, it also felt profoundly unfair. What right did I have to buy trinkets and meet my friends for lunch when there were people who had lost their lives? It is the ongoing conflict after any tragedy: how to feel joy again whilst honouring those who cannot.

As someone who has lost a sister, I contemplate this a great deal.

In truth, though, while we do learn to feel joy again, life is never quite the same after a terrible loss. We never get back to the “normal” that existed before. We can only forge a new normal, over time. We assimilate what has happened and take it into our future, whether as individuals after a bereavement, or as communities after a massacre.

The Bondi Junction tragedy had a profound impact on many of us. It stripped away our naïve sense of safety. It proved, once again, that life is random and frequently tragic. It reminded us that we can’t always protect ourselves or our loved ones, even in our neighbourhood shopping mall. Though we have recovered, we will never be quite the same. The pain of that day has left a scar on us all.

But we keep living full and happy lives with our scar, and this is how it should be. Just as I can still laugh and feel joy even though my sister died at 37, we can all enjoy a day at the mall even though a dreadful incident occurred there.

I am back to visiting Westfield several times a week. I still think of the tragedy often, and today, I will take some time out to remember that awful day. I will think of the six lives cut senselessly short, and I will think of the ongoing pain of the people who loved them. Anniversaries are really tough for the bereaved, and today, no doubt, will be a very difficult day.

But I will also think of the helpers. I will think of the heroic passers-by who risked their lives to stop the assailant, and the policewoman who ultimately brought an end to the violence. I will think of the collective outpouring of grief for the deceased, and our community coming together to mourn.

And as I do my supermarket shopping, and stroll around the stores, and buy myself a wildly overpriced iced drink, I will think of the resilience of the human spirit, and our endless capacity to bounce back.

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