by Rosie Batty
Whenever I thought about Luke being in danger in Greg’s presence, especially since the knife incident, I had envisioned scenarios involving the two of them alone. Maybe he would drive off, put a hose from the exhaust pipe into the car and kill them both that way. That was why I’d fought so hard to restrict Greg’s access to Luke in potentially dangerous situations. But it never occurred to me that he would kill Luke in the way he did. In broad daylight, in a public place, in front of mums, dads and kids. In front of me.
But I look back now and I can see that Greg had lost control over me and Luke was starting to pull away from him. To Greg’s mind, I was winning. He killed Luke as the ultimate act of vengeance. He killed him so I would suffer for the rest of my life.
*
I’ve gotten past the deep, deep sadness – the trough that I was in for the first year after Luke’s death. I’m no longer traumatised by what happened to Luke. The circumstances of his death, the meaninglessness and horror of it, no longer consume my every waking thought. And it did for that year, when it was hard to simply get through every day. But I feel like now I have turned a corner.
Now, if I find myself getting melancholy, it’s about what I was unable to give him. I’m sad about the life I wasn’t able to offer him. I’m sad I wasn’t able to build for him the close-knit nuclear family that I too had missed out on – and that I have spent a lifetime observing from afar and coveting. More than anything else, I wanted him to know the unconditional love of family. But at the end, and despite all my efforts, it was just him and me.
The real tragedy for me is that, despite appearances, I am not unusual. My situation, while extreme, has simply captured the national imagination because of the way I chose to react to it. For reasons I have yet to properly understand, I have garnered all this attention and won all these awards, but there are a hundred, maybe a thousand Rosie Battys out there right now. Women who are being terrorised by family violence, women who are victims of a partner’s descent into mental illness. And the system is treating them in the same inadequate way that it treated me.
This is what spurs me on. This is the reason I get up out of bed every morning. I lost my son – my only son. And he was my reason for being. So now I have a choice. I either shrivel up and let his senseless death defeat me, or I stand up and use the platform I have been given to try to ensure no other woman in Australia suffers the same fate as me. Because no mother should have to feel this pain.
Epilogue
In May 2015, I was asked to take part in a Women of Letters event in Melbourne. The concept is simple. A group of women – of varying degrees of prominence or notoriety – are invited to an event at which they read out a letter they have written to a prearranged theme. I was invited to come along and read out ‘A Letter to the Me That Never Was’. This is what I wrote.
Dear Rosie,
I write to you first of all as Rosie, the little girl that really was once upon a time, over forty-five years ago. The little girl growing up on a farm with two younger brothers and a dad that you loved but just didn’t know how to get close to you. The dad who worked hard and read his newspapers but didn’t know how to hug you, encourage you or tell you that he loved you.
The little girl who was six years old, enjoying school and making new friends. Learning how to read, to add and subtract, and beginning to discover the bigger world outside. The little girl whose life was turned upside down forever when her mummy died.
The little girl who watched her mummy taken away on a stretcher, into the ambulance and never to be seen again. The little girl who didn’t get to say goodbye, to hug her or to tell her that she will love her and remember her forever. The little girl who didn’t even know that her mummy had died and wasn’t at her funeral to share the grief and sadness with everyone else. The little girl who couldn’t believe that it really was her mummy that had died, trying desperately to believe that they had mixed her mummy up with someone else and that she would return again one day – that is, until she saw with her own eyes that big black gravestone and knew she would never return again. Ever!
And now I write to the ‘me that never was’. The me that never got the opportunity to know what it would have been like to have my mother be my best friend. To share my life through its ups and downs and to comfort and support me like other good mums do. And I don’t doubt that my mum would have been my best friend and the best mother that I could have ever wished for.
The ‘me that never was’ who never got to see my mum become a grandmother, to grow old and to laugh and cry with. The mum that isn’t here now when I need her the most. The mum that I never had time to get to know and only have distant, dim memories of. So the ‘me that never was’ will never know how different my journey through life would have been if my mum had lived. If my world hadn’t been shattered from that point on, and the fear and loneliness that crept into my life, separating me from everyone, would last forever.
You see, I can’t help but think that the ‘me that never was’ would have been so very different if my mum had lived. If she had been there to nurture, protect and love me. To laugh at me. To laugh with me. To shout at me. To encourage me. To argue with me. To debate life with me. To be a part of my life that I could always trust and depend on, no matter what. To help me understand my emotions and teach me how to express them. To be there for me no matter what.
You see, ‘the me that never was’ could have made so many different choices if she hadn’t died. Would I have been drawn into a pattern of unhealthy relationships with men? Men who drank too much, men who were weak and sucked my strength from me. Relationships that failed because I shouldn’t have been in them to start with. You see ‘the me that never was’ would have walked past those relationships and recognised that they were set to fail. The ‘me that never was’ would have confidently aimed higher and been able to identify a partner who I could trust and see a future life together with.
But you see if I had got to be ‘the me that never was’, I wouldn’t have met Greg. I would have walked away when I first saw the signs of abuse and violence. I would have run a mile in the opposite direction never to see him again. Because I deserved better!
A man who couldn’t hold down a job. A man who couldn’t keep friends. A man who sabotaged every area of his life through his delusion and paranoia. That had no money and no prospects. A man who had spent twenty years repeating the same mistakes and never taking any responsibility for his own behaviour. Projecting blame onto me and everyone else. Staying in total denial, never gaining wisdom or insight into his actions and the harm that he caused – no matter what challenges he had to face. I definitely deserved better.
You see, because the ‘real’ me, the little girl who ‘really’ was, gained way more than her fair share of empathy, compassion and understanding because of losing her mum. These are great qualities and qualities to be proud of. But these very positive characteristics made way too many allowances, were way too forgiving and allowed way too many men over the years to hurt and disappoint me. But then if I hadn’t met Greg, if I hadn’t believed at some very early point in our relationship that I loved him and wanted to be with him, then I wouldn’t have had Luke. So, now that I reflect, I’m glad that I lived the life I’ve lived and never was ‘the me that never was’. Because I had Luke.
Rosie
Postscript
It’s August 2015, and I am about to send this book to the printers. I’m at the end of another manic week that comes at the end of eight months of manic weeks.
Since I was named Australian of the Year in January, my life has been a whirlwind. I have travelled the length and breadth of this beautiful country and met many inspiring, wonderful people. I’ve spoken to gatherings everywhere, from small groups in country town halls to conferences of two thousand people. I’ve addressed everyone from nurses, midwives, teachers and students to legal professionals, judges, politicians and business leaders. I’ve given the keynote address at the National Press Club, appeared on th
e ABC TV program Q&A and undertaken more media interviews than I can count.
It has been incredibly rewarding, but sometimes I stop and wonder if I’m making a difference at all. Certainly, for all the support I have received – and it has been both immense and immensely gratifying – there have also been critics and detractors. I’ve become something of a lightning rod – an easy target might be a better description. I understand that comes with the territory when you become a public figure, but it still hurts when people – sometimes in the public sphere – cast aspersions on my motivations and my integrity, despite knowing very little about me. That stings.
Over the last eighteen months or so I’ve also become a magnet for every woman who has ever suffered violence at the hands of her partner. Wherever I go, they come to me in waves, wanting to share with me the intimate details of the horrors they have endured. They need to talk, to confide in me. And often they are horrors they have never shared with another human being. I am now a psychologist-by-proxy to thousands of Australian women who feel I am giving voice to their silent suffering. They write me their stories in email and letters. And while it is humbling and their stoicism drives me on to make the most of this platform I have been given and effect real change, it also takes a toll. Because, invariably on my travels, I go back to a hotel room on my own where, after the applause has long since dissipated and the well-wishes of strangers have stopped echoing, it’s just me and my thoughts.
It’s a funny thing, this Australian of the Year award. While it’s easily the greatest single honour I have received in my life, it’s also an enormous burden. I feel a massive sense of responsibility to make it count, to use every second of my year in the spotlight.
And that can be exhausting, not least because it’s a job that comes with no support staff, no monthly stipend nor even, for that matter, a rule book on how I should conduct myself. It’s just me and my mobile phone and my personal email address and a daily tsunami of demands.
So there have been moments when I have felt completely overwhelmed and wondered if I have the energy to go on. But that’s always when the universe smiles. The gods of compassion always seem to find me when I am at my lowest and most exhausted. And that’s invariably when I receive a letter like the one below.
Dear Rosie,
I want to thank you for your bravery and commitment, even if thanking you for losing a child and rising above it just doesn’t seem right …
I also want to share a story with you. My nine-year-old son came home from school, telling me he had to do a project on his ‘hero’. At first, he mentioned Tim Cahill (he is a boy who loves his soccer), and so I asked him to go to the computer to see what information he could find and what aspect of that puts Tim into the ‘hero’ status. After about ten minutes, my son returned and said, ‘Mum, I’ve decided Tim hasn’t done anything heroic, but Rosie Batty has and I want my project to be on her.’ My jaw fell to the floor – what nine-year-old boy gives up the opportunity to discuss a sporting person? I asked him what he knew about you and he said: ‘Well, her son was killed by his father when they were playing cricket and then she became Australian of the Year.’ Google does provide children with so much …
In any case, whilst he was amazed at your strength, I asked him exactly what it was that made you a ‘hero’. His response was quite simply that through your profound loss, you have created so much hope.
I have attached his project to show you that you have reached the heart of a little boy, who idolises his parents, and thankfully lives in a safe and secure home. As much as we all want to protect our children, you are right: domestic violence does occur everywhere. To create hope in the hearts of little people and victims is an immensely heroic thing to do, so THANK YOU.
So this is my promise to you, to Australia, to all the abused women and children out there. I might just be a suburban mum but I will keep talking out about this issue, for as long as I can, for as long as I’m asked to. I will keep showing up, and asking difficult questions, and challenging us, as a society, to do better. Because I can. And I know we can do better.
And my message to all Australians is to stand up and say no to family violence, wherever it is, whatever form it takes, whomever it affects. We need to pull together to overhaul our court system, our policing, our support services, education. We need to prevent family violence before it starts and name it, shame it and take immediate action when we see it. No ifs, no buts. Because our future, and our children’s future depends on it.
Never Alone is a campaign by the Luke Batty Foundation.
We will stand with the women and children affected by family violence so that they are supported in the community and have a powerful voice in the corridors of power.
Never Alone will build a groundswell of support for victims that will make it impossible for family violence to be ignored any longer.
We will not tip toe around the issue of family violence. We will say the things that make people feel uncomfortable.
Never Alone will bring people together. We have a vision that change is driven through the eyes of the victims, with a force of supportive people behind it.
We understand that family violence can happen to anybody and that we all have a responsibility to help end this epidemic.
Recently, we handed over a weighty petition with over 13,000 signatures from Never Alone supporters to every state and territory leader, calling for compulsory respectful relationships programs in schools.
They were receptive but we have to keep the pressure up to make sure it happens. Let’s make sure the funding and further development of state-wide roll out models are top of the agenda for every state and territory education minister too.
To stand with us, visit www.neveralone.com.au
TIMELINE
2001: Rosie falls pregnant to Greg.
20 June 2002: Luke is born.
July 2002: Greg becomes angry with Rosie, picks up a wooden chest and threatens to throw it at her. Rosie is advised by Victorian Legal Aid that she cannot return to England with Luke to live without Greg’s permission.
January 2003: Greg threatens Rosie with a large urn and aims kicks at her head.
March 2004: Rosie is advised by Victorian Legal Aid that Greg has a right to see his son.
June 2004: During an access visit, Greg pulls Rosie’s hair and threatens to kill her. The following day, Rosie seeks and is granted an intervention order forbidding Greg from seeing or speaking to Rosie, but not restricting his access to Luke.
June 2005: Intervention order expires.
December 2005: Rosie relieves Greg of duty to pay child support, hoping that by relaxing financial pressure on him, his attitude towards her may soften.
April 2006: Family Court orders Greg can have continued access to Luke, including overnight on weekends.
June 2006: Greg attacks Rosie, pushing her into a wall and telling her, ‘I would like to knock you into next week.’ Rosie calls police. No charges are laid.
May 2012: Greg threatens to hit Rosie with a glass vase at her home. Luke witnesses the attack. Greg is arrested and taken to Frankston Hospital for psychiatric assessment. A new intervention order names Rosie and Luke as protected persons. Police refer case to Child Protection.
June 2012: After assessing the case, Child Protection advises Rosie that Luke is not at significant risk of harm and no further action is warranted.
November 2012: Greg downloads child porn to a USB key at a public library. He is later charged for the offence. Privacy laws mean Rosie is not informed.
January 2013: Greg still has court-ordered access to Luke on weekends. During one handover, Greg tells Rosie, ‘I would really like to kill you’ and ‘I can make you suffer.’ Rosie reports the threat to police, who arrest Greg the following day. Greg is remanded in custody and charged. The following day, Greg is released on bail.
February 2013: Courts issue another intervention order against Greg.
April 2013: Greg fails to show at court to f
ace threat-to-kill charges. Rosie testifies to court that during a recent access visit, Greg showed Luke a knife and said, ‘It could all end with this.’ Warrants are issued for Greg’s arrest. All access to Luke is suspended. Greg living in his car.
7 May 2013: After police have trouble locating Greg, Rosie informs police that Greg is likely to show up at Luke’s footy training. Police tell Rosie to call triple zero if Greg appears. Greg appears the following night. Terrified, Rosie calls triple zero – only to be told by local police that warrants for Greg’s arrest have not been received. Rosie is hysterical.
10 May 2013: Rosie attends Frankston Magistrates Court to seek a variation of the intervention order. Greg is not present. Rosie says she has lost faith in the system. Court officers report her as being a ‘complete mess’.
21 May 2013: Rosie informs police that Greg will be coming to footy training again the following night. Greg shows up briefly but police are busy with other matters and unable to attend.
29 May 2013: Greg arrested by police at Tyabb oval. In custody, he responds aggressively to police, saying God will ‘get’ them.
11 June 2013: Greg faces court and is granted bail. Matter adjourned until 3 July. Rosie says she is scared for her and Luke’s safety.
3 July 2013: Greg applies for a variation of the intervention order.
