Bianca Jones’ sad goodbye from her family, friends and beloved dog Zara
The Jones’ family dog Zara joined mourners to say their final goodbyes to Bianca. There wasn’t a dry eye, as they heard words from her father Mark, mother Michelle and brother Lachlan.
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The service booklet for the funeral of Bianca Jones at Mentone Girls’ Grammar School on Friday was tinged pink, with hearts.
A catching photo of Bianca spoke of fun and anticipation. She was loving life in this moment, it seemed to suggest. Itching to squeeze as much from it as she could.
“To the moon and back” read the cover caption, of a booklet filled with drawings (by Bianca) of a butterfly, a rose and a rabbit, and a tribute cartoon by the Herald Sun’s Mark Knight.
The day and the booklet were meant to be a celebration of Bianca’s life, a defining statement about her infectious charm. But the sadness of the occasion was evident. How could it not be?
More than a thousand mourners turned up, some holding hands, some swatting at flies, some of the men holding their jackets because of the heat.
They looked too young, by and large, for a funeral crowd. They were teenagers, mostly, who accepted bottles of water as police and paramedics watched on.
They wore bright colours, as requested.
They also wore their pain, in expressions of powerlessness described by Beaumaris Football Club president Nick Heath a few weeks ago when Bianca lay ill. He spoke of feeling “helpless” and “inadequate”.
The mourners looked numbed walking in and shell-shocked walking out.
There was no sense in Bianca’s death. It defies logic or celestial notions of fairness. The nature of it, methanol poisoning from drinking spirits in Laos, was – as felt by everyone from the prime minister to Pearl Jam – so needless.
Bianca was only 19, and relishing the first of many planned adventures overseas with her friend Holly Bowles, with whom she had been tight since early childhood.
Bianca could and should have been like any other young Australian, as so many do, who accepts a beverage of unverifiable content in a foreign land and never needs to wonder if it was wise to do so.
There was local footy, university, and many years in the community of the school which hosted her farewell. A prayer card handed out to mourners showing Bianca in school uniform.
Hymns could be heard from within the hall. The mourners, who had pinned on little red ribbons, heard words from Bianca’s father Mark, mother Michelle and brother Lachlan.
A family statement spoke of “immense love” and “kindness” for a nation so moved by their plight.
There was constructive hope, too, for their “ongoing mission” to “drive change” so that no other families would suffer their pain.
The cruelled assumption of Bianca’s future, a promise lost to a catastrophic quirk, appeared to bear down on the mourners when, after an hour or so, they gathered to see off the hearse.
Bianca’s white coffin blazed in a mass of orange, red and pink roses on top. The colours screamed joy. The mourners wiped their eyes and didn’t say a word.
One of them, a young man, walked away to cry in private, wiping at tears that just wouldn’t dry.
Among the mourners was Zara, Bianca’s golden retriever. Zara led the pallbearers, who included Bianca’s father, brother and Shaun Bowles.
Mr Bowles’ daughter Holly was poisoned alongside Bianca. Holly died in a Thai hospital the day after Bianca.
They were two of six international victims of the methanol poisoning which united Australia, along with Britain, Denmark and the United States, in disbelief.
Many of the mourners on Friday will attend Holly’s funeral in coming days.
As someone said on Friday, of the grim faces set against crumpling, in the collective hush of the crowd, how could this scene be any more heartbreaking?