Joel Fitzgibbon on the worst night of his life and how he wants to remember his heroic son Jack

It’s a little over two weeks since the worst night of Joel Fitzgibbon’s life. The former defence minister was at dinner at a restaurant in Sydney, unaware everything would change.

Former Australian Defence Minister Joel Fitzgibbon has been grieving and honouring his son Lance Corporal Jack Fitzgibbon. Picture: Britta Campion / The Australian

As darkness fell on one of the worst days of Joel Fitzgibbon’s life – the lush lawn at the back of his Cessnock family home became a dance floor. The thought brings a brief smile to his face.

More than 500 people, many of them burly young soldiers, racked with a stabbing, visceral grief, did the one last thing they could for Lance Corporal Jack Fitzgibbon.

“We sent him off exactly as he would have wanted” says his proud, heartbroken dad.

Last Monday evening, after his funeral, was one of sharing stories, of laughing and crying and dancing together to Jack’s Spotify playlist. Beers and a BBQ at the home where he grew up. Days later, that lush lawn is almost flattened.

It’s only a little over two weeks since the former defence minister was at dinner with friends at a restaurant in Sydney’s Potts Point when he received a phone call, unaware that everything was about to change.

Jack's military beret and dagger. . Britta Campion / The Australian

Jack was a talented Special Forces soldier who had completed more than 100 parachute jumps. But a routine jump over Newcastle that day had gone wrong.

“You do your very best to be optimistic and, in my long drive, it seemed long, to Westmead Hospital, I tried to try to be optimistic and I hoped for the best,” Mr Fitzgibbon said.

The shattered father would spend the next two days gripping desperately to hope that his only son would live.

He clung to that optimism at his son’s bedside, right up to saying goodbye on the night of March 7.

He now looks at that lawn ­flattened in celebration of his son, which just three months ago ­hosted the “Fitzgibbon Olympics” where the family battled against each other at table tennis, jenga, mini-golf and the water balloon toss.

Just as competitive as the rest of the “Fitzies”, Jack grew up playing for the Cessnock Goannas, with his dad always there to be his assistant coach. “He always knew he could rely on me,” Mr Fitzgibbon said.

And while the 33-year-old knew how to “push the buttons” of everyone in the family, the soldier was like his father, reliable. “They always knew he’d be there in a flash, if he was needed,” Mr Fitzgibbon said.

Joel with his young son.

Jack as a child with his sisters and wearing a military shirt which he always had on. Britta Campion / The Australian

As defence minister, Mr Fitzgibbon had made seven calls to families of fallen defence force members, but he never expected to be on the other end of such a call. And yet, each of those heart-wrenching moments somehow made his own loss more bearable.

“The fact that I was still shedding a tear 15 years after those events is an indication of how deep it affects you,” he said.

“I think it made it a little bit easier because I understood two things better than most would: one … was how much the boys wanted to be doing what they were doing and how much they enjoyed it; two, I understand better than most what it is exactly they were doing and what they are seeking to achieve.”

Despite seeming destined for the ADF, Jack studied engineering and had a stint in construction “holding the lollipop sign”. “But from the time he joined the army he excelled and he had no interest in becoming an officer, or a leader,” Mr Fitzgibbon said. “He just wanted to be in the fight.”

Lance Corporal Jack Fitzgibbon with father Joel. Picture: Facebook

Yet Jack found himself being a leader to so many inside and outside the army. Dozens of people reached out to Mr Fitzgibbon, telling stories of Jack standing up for them against bullies or helping them at sports.

“My hairdresser told me after he died that (Jack) was mentoring her son who wants to join the ADF. I didn’t even know he was doing that,” he said.

“I had 1000s of text messages … some boys he played football with who said, back then, they wished they could be him.” There were messages from foreign leaders he had never met, including the UK Veteran Affairs Minister.

Mr Fitzgibbon said his son would have also wanted to be remembered in one small other way. “Just as someone who did his own thing,” he said. “Sometimes stubbornly so. He knew who he was. He knew what he wanted to be.”