After Port Arthur, Walter Mikac found a ‘superpower’. He’s sharing it with Izzy

Isabella Mikac, 23, is the daughter of Walter Mikac, 62. She was born in 2001, five years after the Port Arthur tragedy, in which Walter’s first two daughters, Alannah and Madeline – and their mother, Nanette – were killed.

Isabella with her dad, Walter Mikac: “We have the same sense of humour, the same eyebrows, the same taste in music,” she says.Credit: Paul Harris

Isabella: Dad says I was born with my eyes wide open, ready for the world. When I was little, he was around a lot. He’d pick me up from school, but he was always late: I’d be standing there, at the spot where everyone waits for their parents, then end up at after-school care. When he came, sometimes we’d go and play tennis and, afterwards, we’d go to the milk bar and he’d let me get three licorice bullets.

Our family [Isabella’s mum, Kim – Walter’s second wife – has two older daughters] was really close. We’d set the table for dinner, watch Home and Away every night. Then Mum and Dad split up when I was 13 and we were separated. It was really sad for me. I was with Mum, then I went with Dad.

I can’t remember learning about Alannah and Madeline: what had happened to them was just always there. When I was a kid, Mum kind of swept it under the carpet – she wanted to protect us – but Dad tried to talk about it. He’d take me to their graves and talk about it openly. But I just shut down: I found it too hard to talk to him about it face to face.

‘I’ve always been very protective of Dad … I can’t be responsible for giving him more pain.’

Isabella Mikac

Port Arthur’s had a massive impact on me. I haven’t properly dealt with the confusion and guilt of feeling like I don’t deserve to be alive because they’re not alive, but also feeling like what I feel isn’t valid because I wasn’t there. Dad really struggles with how much it affects me. He doesn’t make me feel less than or anything, but I don’t think he understands how much I’ve taken it on. He seems to think he’s dealt with it, but I’m like, “[There’s] a lot more there.”

I’ve always been very protective of him. When things aren’t going well, I don’t go to him: it’s like I can’t be responsible for giving him more pain. I feel like he deserves a really high-achieving, perfect daughter. I’m like, “F---, I’m my own person with my own journey,” but there’s a comparison I make with a three- and six-year-old who didn’t have time to f--- anything up. It’s like a perfect memory and I feel guilty for having any issues.

I do admire Dad and look up to him – he’s so hard-working and resilient – and I know he’d do anything for me. Honestly, when I’m happy, he’s happy. I think the happiest I’ve ever seen him was when we finished the Kokoda Track in 2014. He was really proud, and so happy I’d done it with him. I’ve been struggling a bit lately, so we haven’t been in touch as much, but he texts me all the time.

His big piece of advice is: “Live within your means.” That’s not really inspiring! I’ll text him for $50 and he’ll be like, “Live within your means!” We have the same sense of humour, the same eyebrows, the same taste in music. When I was little, we both loved Cold Chisel. I’d love that in the future: being in the car with him, singing along to Khe Sanh, no issues, just happy in the world.

Walter with a young Isabella.

Walter: Isabella was always pretty lively: very vivacious, smiling, laughing, singing. When she was little, we played this game: the bull game. She’d be on our bed and I’d try and get her, and she’d jump onto my back and try to hold on, then I’d go crazy, like a wild bull. It was pretty rough and wild, but she loved it. I remember her doing ballet at some squash courts – only three, in a little pink tutu. It was one of the most gorgeous things I’ve ever seen. We’d play tennis, read books. I just wanted to try to soak up every bit of time with her I could.

We were living in Melbourne and Nanette and the girls are buried in Heidelberg. We’d go there and just say hi, try to make it as normal as possible. I’d say, “Look, these are your sisters. They’re not with us any more, but they’re looking out for you.” It’s difficult to know how all of that rests on a young person, especially when she’s the only child. I definitely feel she carries a weight about it. She’s very often concerned about how I am. I try to explain to her that I’m at peace with it, that life is to be lived and I’m OK. But Izzy has got a huge heart and she worries for me.

‘I still feel she’s worried about asking some of those questions. I’d love to lock her in a room and say, “Ask me anything.” ’

Walter Mikac

I remember when it would have been Alannah’s 30th birthday in 2019 – we always try to do something – and we climbed Mount Warning [in northern NSW]. It was a beautiful day, the view was amazing, and there was this little bird up there that sat on this rock and wouldn’t go away; it was incredible. I try to say to Izzy that out of that horrible thing comes this superpower because you understand the fragility of life: just live every moment and be the friendliest, most loving, most creative person you can.

By the same token, there must be a big whirlpool of emotions that are hard to reconcile. When she was 13, her mum and I split and Izzy was at boarding school for about a year. I really regret that now – I wish we’d never sent her – because she was so lonely and some things happened, so she’s dealing with that trauma as well. But that was also around the time we did Kokoda; this 13-year-old girl, thigh-deep in mud, mosquitoes trying to get into her eyes – just so, so confronting – and she came through with flying colours. I couldn’t have been more proud of her then and, in many ways, I’m just as proud now because she’s on another tough journey of understanding who she is: her identity, her sense of self.

I’d love to help her; I’d love to have 10 minutes with her! I feel like I’m always grasping: “Come over for dinner”; “Let’s do a walk”; “If you want to go surfing, I’ll come and watch you!” And with Port Arthur, I still feel she’s worried about asking some of those questions. I’d love to lock her in a room and say, “Ask me anything: I’m comfortable with anything you want to know.”

What I keep praying for every day, and what I do believe, is that she’ll come out the other side with what I call her “wings of steel” and be happy. She doesn’t need to try to be perfect. The day she was born, I didn’t want to let go of her, she was so gorgeous. To me, she is perfect.

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