From a father who lost his son, love and hope is the best we can offer them now

There can be no doubt, the loss of a close loved one changes us forever.

When my friend and work colleague lost his young son in a climbing accident last year, people asked me about his welfare and that of his family. I would always respond in part by sharing the view that no parent can possibly imagine what it is like to lose a child unless they’ve tragically experienced it. Sadly, with the loss of our son Jack, I now know exactly what it’s like.

Yet I now find it impossible to imagine the grief of those who lost loved ones in the senseless Bondi Junction tragedy. In particular, a man grieving the loss of his partner and hoping his beautiful baby girl can make it home.

There is no hierarchy of grief and we all grieve differently. I was brought to tears yet again when I first heard the news of the Bondi stabbings. While I know the impact on me would have been significant, I doubt tears would’ve been part of my reaction if I had not recently lost my own son. There can be no doubt, the loss of a close loved one changes us forever.

The gravity of grief is in the mind of the beholder and we all find our own way of dealing with it. But there are two things I’ve learned since we lost our beautiful son Jack. The first is that almost every adult has suffered a tragedy at some point in their lifetime. Second, there is always a story that seems more tragic than one’s own. Yet it’s hard to imagine something worse than what we saw at Bondi Junction in Sydney’s eastern suburbs.

Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. These are the five stages of grief. They all seem obvious and easy to understand. But not all will experience every stage of them, and the weight and impact of each will vary. I suspect some anger will always be felt, but in my own case it was fleeting. It’s hard not to assume it will be intense for the loved ones of the Bondi Junction victims. And rightly so.

Bargaining is the least obvious stage. What does it mean? In grief we look backwards in a desire or promise to do something differently to avert the event and source of grief. In my case I asked myself many questions. Should I have discouraged our Jack from freefalling out of aeroplanes? It brings me comfort that I’m able to tell myself the answer is no.

But what questions can our recent victims of tragedy ask? Their loved ones were doing something that should have been as close as it gets to risk-free. For them, there seems little to bargain with.

Joel Fitzgibbon holding Jack's identity badge,

Joel with Jack when he was a baby, always best mates.

So what might be their source of comfort? As terribly hard as our situation is, my family and close friends are comforted by the fact that our Jack died doing something he loved and was serving his country. He knew the risks and had assessed and calibrated them.

The people we now all grieve in solidarity with have no such comfort. I pray that solidarity is one thing that will help them. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one crying at the weekend for people I don’t know. I bet there were thousands of us who did the same.

And maybe the time will come when the community response brings a smidgen of comfort, particularly from the heroism of those who risked their own lives to save people they’d never met.

These are acts of courage and love that restore our faith in humankind.

The wonderful movie Love Actually begins with a number of deep thoughts from a UK prime minister played by Hugh Grant. “When the planes hit the Twin Towers, as far as I know, none of the phone calls from the people on board were messages of hate or revenge – they were all messages of love.”

Ahmadiyya Muslim Community in an evening vigil for security guard Faraz Tahir who died in the Bondi Junction massacre. Jane Dempster/The Daily Telegraph.

Love is now all around them, all those affected by this senseless and inexplicable tragedy. And we will keep sending our love, all of us, in the hope that acceptance and peace will come sooner than it might otherwise.

Regardless, their lives have now changed forever, just like mine and those of my family. But I trust I now understand their grief better than I might have and I hope our thoughts and prayers help in a small way.

I am reminded of the immortal words of Marcus Tullias Cicero: While there’s life there’s hope. Let us all pray they find both hope and comfort in our collective love and grief for them.

Joel Fitzgibbon was the federal MP for Hunter for more than 24 years, serving as Labor’s defence minister from 2007 to 2009. In March, his son, Lance Corporal Jack Fitzgibbon, died in a parachuting accident at RAAF Base Richmond.