Australian Primary Principals Association’s Angela Falkenberg details her heartbreak after the loss of her husband and son in a fire

She is one of the nation’s most well recognised faces in education but her four decade-long commitment to other people’s kids masks a silent heartbreak – the loss of her husband and son.

As a young teacher, veteran educator Angela Falkenberg could never have imagined the crushing personal heartache that would shape her approach in the classroom – and to life.

The Australian Primary Principals Association president was at an evening work function when an electrical fire started at the home in Adelaide’s northern suburbs she shared with her loving husband of 17 years, Paul Thewlis, then 10-year-old daughter, Elizabeth, and six-year-old son, James.

The adored father and son were killed – the little girl’s life saved by a last-minute sleepover.

“You know we talk about the ‘fight, flight, freeze’? Well, there’s another two, which is fall and flop – I literally felt my body just give way,” she recalls of the moment she learned of the fire from her sister who had been frantically trying to contact her.

“I was literally in shock, I was in shock for months.

“When I got to my street, it was blocked off by fire engines … I remember my sister-in-law, bless her, just grabbing me and saying, ‘expect the worst’ but at that point you just can’t take it in.”

She soon learned her “passionate Crows supporter” and “gold star parent” house husband, who she describes as a “gregarious, funny guy and extraordinary cook”, had died in the blaze.

Paul Thewlis, the husband of Angela Falkenberg, and their son James about a month before they died in a devastating house fire. Picture: Supplied

Her beloved “Jamesy-boy” – the miracle baby who’d defied the odds after being born extremely preterm – had been taken to the Women’s and Children’s Hospital.

“My brother, a stoic man, had gone with James and when I arrived he just kept saying, ‘I want you to know, you’ve been the best mum to that boy,” she says, her voice breaking with emotion.

“I went in and they were trying to resuscitate him … they stood back, looked at me and said, ‘we’ve tried everything’.”

James’ doting big sister was located and brought to the hospital.

The fateful night was June 22, 2003.

“I never cry but I’m going to do it now … I just remember (Lizzie) sitting outside and crying,” she says, wiping the tears from her eyes.

“My children were both IVF babies and born prematurely; Lizzie at 27 weeks and Jamesy at 23 weeks (weighing 720g) … incredibly, he got through it all and while he did have some low level disability, it didn’t define who he was.

“When he was diagnosed with global (development) delay, my husband simply said, ‘that’s great, it means the world’s waiting for him’.

“(With Lizzie) Paul was the first dad to stay in the hospital for the transition-to-home program designed for parents of ‘fragile’ infants to feel comfortable caring for their baby … he did the same before James went home.”

Angela Falkenberg with her two precious children, Elizabeth and baby James who was born at 23 weeks weighing 720g. Picture: Supplied

Many family photos were lost in the fire but this one remains precious to mum Angela, it shows Elizabeth with her little brother James who was attached to oxygen for the first year at home. Picture: Supplied

The former principal of Hampstead, Lake Windemere and Marryatville primary schools was pushed beyond what she thought possible in the aftermath of the tragedy.

“I needed hope … the very next week I was at the public library, I wanted to read stories of people who had … come out the other end of a horrendous event,” the now 63-year-old says.

“Seven months after the fire, I was T-boned by a taxi and my car was written-off … I remember just thinking, ‘are you freaking kidding me?’.

“I was bruised but all right … a woman appeared in a dressing gown and I just began to cry … so, she took me into her house, gave me a cup of tea and just held my hand – how amazing are humans?”

Young siblings James and Elizabeth Thewlis one Christmas Day. Picture: Supplied

There were more challenges to come. She learned her regional education office job was to be restructured.

“I recall the moment it hit me, ‘you’re trying to apply for a job for next year when actually you might not survive tonight’– that’s how bad I felt,” she says.

“I was just so exhausted; grief is a full-time job.

“I remember looking at my daughter who was really close with her dad … and thinking I had to get it together for her; I can say I wasn’t a fabulous parent at that point.”

Little James, who was born at 23 weeks, on the chest of his dad Paul Thewlis when he was about three weeks old. Picture: Supplied

Grief counselling proved paramount.

“I learned grief is a wound that has a scar and early on, like a scab, it gets knocked off easily,” she says.

“I read somewhere that it can take seven years to feel strong and I honestly felt stronger after seven years but it takes that long … moving forward is an intentional, everyday effort … life can be good (again) but it’s a different good.

“I have found solace very much in people … but also in being active; gardening has always sustained me … I also like to sew and make quilts.

“I travel a lot, it allows you to redefine yourself and reminds you that everyone has a story – it has helped me understand grief is not new (to me) … I go to cemeteries in every culture, I want to know how they honour or commemorate the dead.

“Sometimes it is just laughter, my thing is to watch Graham Norton shorts with comic actors.”

She has never sought new love.

“(Paul and I) were real partners, sometimes, all of a sudden I will say to myself, ‘I wonder what Paul would say here?’,” she says.

Paul Thewlis and Angela Falkenberg at their wedding in 1986. Picture: Supplied

She admits there are comments which jolt.

“There is a thing called post-traumatic growth and I had that, I see things differently now, I am not good with dickheads,” she says.

“People make assumptions about you … I recall one teacher saying, ‘you know the reason Angela works so hard? She’s got nothing else to live for’ – I did have to laugh, I’ve always worked hard.

“And people have said to me, ‘how can you go and work with children when yours isn’t here?’ … every child is unique, every child deserves an opportunity; I can honestly say, hand on heart, that my son had a good life.”

Angela Falkenberg with her “joyous” two-year-old granddaughter Hilda. Picture: Keryn Stevens

And what was her son like?

“The night before they died, I had my feet on a footstool and Jamesy got some hand cream and said, ‘I’ll rub your legs’ … I said, ‘gosh, he’s gonna be a fabulous partner to someone one the day’ and Paul said ‘yes … or he’ll be a priest’,” she says with a smile.

“He was a kind and spiritual little kid … on his headstone I’ve put, ‘a little boy who dreamed and loved beyond his years’.”

She thinks of the darling little boy she lost as she watches Elizabeth’s delightful two-year-old daughter, Hilda, twirl and laugh in her tutu.

“Look, she just reminds you of joy, she’s just a little pocket of joy,” the proud grandma says.

“I think I’m stronger about what matters. That’s where I think I’ve changed.”

Originally published as Australian Primary Principals Association’s Angela Falkenberg details her heartbreak after the loss of her husband and son in a fire