Jade was not a girl who was the center of attention. She did well in school, she was a wonderful swimmer and a hopeless basketball player. Like me, she didn’t like sand. Sadly, Premier Minns respectfully never patrolled Brontë Beach on a January morning. Maybe the cafeteria for a cappuccino? She was a splendid architect, a loving friend, a kind and kind-hearted mother, a fabulous and generous daughter, a fan of a newly acquired schnoodle, Teddy, who, I might add, behaved perfectly at the vigil.

In a matter of moments, on a sunny Saturday afternoon in Wollongong, my husband and I emerged from a quiet retreat after 40 years of work, uprooted into a world of co-parenting two beloved, vulnerable and traumatized girls.

We are so lucky that Jade and Noel were already surrounded by wonderful families, friends and neighbors who embraced and supported us; hugging, laughing, howling, feeding, driving, playing with the children, building Lego, persuading the little ones to eat, checking that the oldest daughter has eaten more than sour candy and grapes.

Our lives have been fractured and there will be no return to normal. There is no longer anything normal for us.

At Sunday’s vigil there was talk of consolation. Believe me, there is no consolation.

I want to thank the New South Wales Police who have helped and supported us; They’ve been awesome, especially Leah Collins.

I also thank Westfield Bondi Junction for allowing me to kneel sobbing and incoherent with grief, where my beautiful Jade died.

I thank the wonderful members of the Brontë Surf Club who have hugged us and cried with us.

I am grateful to a teacher, Leanne, who took my granddaughter who was with her mother moments later.