Perfect Victim by Elizabeth Southall and Megan Norris

This book is a true story about the disappearance and murder of 15 year old Rachel Barber in March 1999 in Victoria, Australia. There are two “stories” running parallel – the story of Rachel’s family’s anguish and grief as told by her mother, Elizabeth Barber (using the pen name of Elizabeth Southall), and, an account of the investigation and court case by criminal court reporter, Megan Norris.

Because of the nature of the book, I do not feel it’s relevant to dissect the book as I usually do and talk about characters, plot, setting and voice. These things are what they are…true, disturbing, heartfelt and a complete waste of a young life. It would be wrong for me to “critique” a book which has been written out of love, need and pain, so I am going to talk about this book in relation to the loss of my son in 2006.

The loss of a child by murder and the loss of a child by suicide are two completely different things, yet they are so similar as well. The loved ones of each are left with unending questions that may never be answered. The deep feelings of guilt are overwhelming, although usually unwarranted. The grief is never ending. The lives of everyone close to the person who has gone forever are never the same.

Reading Elizabeth’s words made me cry…not only for her and her daughter, but for me and my son. As I read the Barber family struggles with accepting what had happened and their feelings of isolation, distress and frustration, I thought of my own family facing those same issues.

And then, when Elizabeth spoke directly to her daughter through the book, my heart broke. In her words I heard echoes of my own thoughts and feelings. It was like Rachel’s mother had crawled into my mind and plucked secret thoughts from my head.

Finally, Elizabeth mentioned that she wrote the book not only for herself or for Rachel…she wrote it to make the appropriate authorities – such as the police and the court system – aware of how the family of someone who has gone missing and murdered are feeling, how stressed they are. She needed them to know the anguish, frustration and total devastation felt by Rachel’s family and closest friends. It was important to her to inform and educate them of these things because she didn’t want another family having to deal with the lack of communication and isolation she experienced during the disappearance and then the murder investigation of her daughter. I could relate to the reasons, although in this regard my reasons are quite different. For me, I want to raise suicide awareness in others and I feel the need to educate people about grief.

In conclusion, Elizabeth said that at the time the book was published, it had been three years since her daughter’s death. It has been three years now since my son’s death. She said that her family were trying to move forward, although Rachel’s memory would never be forgotten. My family feels the same way. She mentioned the pain she still felt and the tears still shed on an everyday basis, but especially on “important” dates. I can attest to that as I’m the same. She also said how difficult it was to face everyday questions from strangers, such as “do you have children?” and then the inevitable questions that follow, like “how many?” and “what are their ages?”. For most people, these are easy questions and they eagerly reply. For a parent who has lost a child these questions are difficult and bring a lump to their throat because it’s hard to know how the questions should be answered as we are fully aware that whatever we say someone will feel uncomfortable.

It’s been three years. I miss your smile, your laugh and your hugs but I treasure the memories you gave me.

Love you always,
Mum

In three months it will be two years since Barry decided to end his time on Earth and move into the great unknown. For the family and friends he left behind, we grieved in many ways, for many months. In fact, the process continues for most of us, to varying degrees.

However, I have reached the end of the road when it comes to sharing that grief in public. The words on this website were necessary and they were put here for other people as much as for me. The words are private, yet it was my choice to make them public. I wanted, needed, to tell people what it’s like to lose a son to suicide and how a family suffers. It was important to me. In fact, it was the only thing that kept me going at one stage. It was therapy. I also wanted to raise people’s awareness because I couldn’t stand the thought of another mother having to go through to agony I’ve been through. I thought if I could inform people of the risks, then maybe – just maybe – it might make a difference to another family.

It was my choice to share, and now it is my choice to stop sharing. I feel sad that I never did write about Barry’s life in the way I really wanted to, but grief plays tricks on the mind and I couldn’t write about something that I couldn’t really remember. Now, nearly two years down the track, I realise it doesn’t matter. My son is in my heart and he is in the hearts of everyone who loved him. I will write Barry’s life story in private and I realise now that’s how it should be.

This morning, I wrote the following in an email to a grieving aunt:

I feel happy and content…and so peaceful. It’s a wonderful feeling. I don’t know what the future holds, and I may or may not decide to write again, but I know I can face whatever is thrown at me. I guess in some ways I feel cleansed.

I’m telling you this because I want you to know that it will get easier. You just have to give yourself lots of time. The healing stops and starts unexpectedly, but you do heal.

I don’t know why you came to this website. Are you curious about suicide? Are you a grieving parent/sibling/child/grandparent? Or was it just a complete accident that brought you here? It really doesn’t matter how or why you are here. I just hope you leave feeling some form of comfort or more suicide aware after reading my words.

Two weeks ago I found a long, lost aunt. I had been searching for her for some time and was overjoyed when I saw her photo on a company website along with her contact details. I have since reunited her and my mum and it made me feel proud that I succeeded in doing that.

However, my efforts provided a reward for me that I never envisioned. You see, my aunt is only five years older than me and she lost a fifteen year old son to a drunk driver fifteen years ago.

I have mentioned him a couple of times on this website as his death was needless and a shock to the family. At the time of the accident, as a mother, I looked at my two young sons and thought I understood my aunt’s anguish. I felt for her and thought I could imagine what she was going through. It wasn’t until after 18 May 2006 that I realised I had no idea how she felt. No idea whatsoever. My imagination didn’t stretch far enough. How could it? Only those who have experienced the tragedy of losing a child could understand. I didn’t know that then and that’s why I can excuse those who think they understand now, when I know they don’t.

My aunt has walked the path I’m on now. In fact, she’s still on the path except much further along and I now have the benefit of her knowledge. She can tell me what to expect. She has already assured me that I’m not insane and that my thoughts and moods are normal. She said she still cries, she still gets angry, she still wonders what his life would have been like if he were still here, but she has mainly accepted what happened and moved on.

The one thing she said to me that I found incredible is…she claims that one day I’ll climb into bed and suddenly think to myself, “oh, I haven’t thought about Barry all day” and then another night I’ll think, “I haven’t thought of Barry for a few days” and then it will be a few months. She made it sound so natural, but I’m not at a stage where I can imagine that happening…but I guess it will sometime in the future.

Since Barry’s death I have been in contact with many people who are in a similar situation to me. Without even knowing those people personally, I felt a certain closeness with them that I wouldn’t normally feel. However, this contact is different. This woman is family. And she stood where I stand now. This makes that closeness more concrete. I started looking for her because I wanted to reunite sisters who had lost contact, but I found so much more than I expected. The search was definitely worth the time and effort.

My family has experienced a second Christmas without Barry. From my point of view, and that’s all I can really comment on, we did extremely well.

I deliberately changed the ways we do things this year. I invested in a new tree and decorations. I invited the family to join us for Christmas lunch – I haven’t done that in a decade. I purposefully didn’t leave the wrapping of Christmas presents until Christmas Eve as that would have tormented me and this time of year is meant to be happy.

This year, I did things differently, but I still included Barry in my own little ways. On Christmas Eve, Gary and I visited the cemetery. We removed the flowers in the tiny vase (which we will return in the New Year) and placed a festive decoration in there instead. We spent some time walking around the cemetery and then we wished Barry a merry Christmas and left.

On Christmas day I had intended to light a “flame of life” while everyone opened their presents, but in the chaos I forgot. I did feel guilty about this later, but quickly told myself that it was OK. Not lighting a candle isn’t like forgetting Barry. He was with me all day. I wore a locket with his photo inside. I looked at the photos we have on the walls and shelves numerous times. Barry’s name came up in conversation several times too. Life goes on.

Gary’s grandson (aged 3) asked his mum who the drawing was of and I heard her say, “That’s your Uncle Barry.” She didn’t know I saw or heard this, but it felt good to know that Barry has not been forgotten or overlooked.

I feel we have made progress. We are mending. We are moving on. Barry would have wanted it this way. Barry would be pleased that we managed to enjoy Christmas.

Today I found out that my uncle passed away from cancer on Sunday 2 December. It was a shock, even though the time frame given when diagnosed was unbelievably short. I think he was only diagnosed four or five months ago. I didn’t know him well, as they live 3,000 kilometres away from us, on the other side of the country. I did, however, have a high opinion of him and was saddened and quite upset to hear of his passing.

Once, before losing Barry, I would have said something stupid like “at least the pain is over”, but now I know these words do nothing to comfort those left behind. Why does anyone have to suffer? It really isn’t fair. Personally, I think life is cruel.

We all grieve in our own way, so I have no idea what my aunt is feeling right now. I can only imagine she is in shock and might be feeling numb. I know family are trying to help her and I pray that she gets through the coming weeks and is able to find peaceful moments in the turmoil. My heart goes out to her. I don’t know what else to say except this is a sad time.

Below is a photo taken in October 2002 – left to right: Graeme (my uncle), David (my brother), Karen (me) and Margaret (my aunt).

This will be our second Christmas without Barry. We survived last year, so there’s a good chance we’ll survive this one too. In fact, you would think our chances are much improved. Although I’ve heard differently.

Last year, I wrote several posts about how we were coping. Today, I went back and read them. Admittedly, my own words upset me, but they also gave me hope. We’ve come a long way in the last twelve months and I hope the journey proves positive for coping over the Christmas season.

Here is what I said last year:

Oh, Christmas Tree

Switched On

Grief and Hope at Christmas

Twinkling Star on Top of the Tree

Our Christmas Tree

Just for Today

Merry Christmas, Barry

Reflections

This year, I have put myself out on a limb and have invited both sides of the family to join us for Christmas. This is something I used to do a lot, but haven’t done for the best part of a decade. My brother and sister-in-law took over from me for several years and there were a few times we all booked a table at a restaurant.

However, this year I decided that my brother and sister-in-law shouldn’t shoulder this burden every year and it’s time for me to do my part. Besides, Gary’s children want to spend the day with him too and it makes sense for everyone to come together at our home. And…it means Daniel has people his own age around, which will make the day more tolerable for him too.

I’m not much of a hostess. I don’t particularly like cooking. Gary does most (all) of the cooking in our house. I get flustered easily and although I try hard not to worry about it, I do worry that my hostessing skills make for a lousy day. I realise that is my problem and I have to deal with it. I also realise that I’m probably the only person worrying and caring about it as well.

I want to do the right thing, but I want to be careful about how it affects my stress levels too.

Whilst the northern hemisphere think about cooked dinners and the possibility of a white Christmas because of the cold weather they experience. In Australia, December is the first month of summer and our Christmas day is usually hot and humid. The last thing most families want is to be cooking hot dinners. We are thinking about how to keep cool, and dreaming about spending the day dipping ourselves in a swimming pool (which my family can dream about until the cows come home, because we don’t have a pool).

With this in mind, Gary and I are going to go with the Aussie BBQ. We (or should I say our sons, hopefully) will cook the meat outdoors and this will be put with an assortment of salads for Christmas lunch. Everything used on the day will be disposable so that at the end of the day…the whole lot can be picked up and thrown away. This will mean no one is lumbered with the washing up.

Sounds like a plan to me.

The beginning of last week was…well, what can I say? The word “awful” just doesn’t seem to sum it up well enough. After everything that happened I did, however, give the mother of the girl the opportunity to voice her side of the situation and having done so I have decided that I wasn’t told anything I didn’t already know, I haven’t changed my mind about anything and I stick by my words here. After those events, I took matters into my own hands and have, in fact, wiped my hands of the whole miserable affair.

Since then…

Last week I couldn’t eat. I was hungry and my stomach growled angrily because it wanted food. However, every time I put food of any description in my mouth…I felt so sick. After only a few mouthfuls, I felt full and knew that if I continued to eat I’d be sick. Because I wasn’t able to eat much, I actually lost 4kg in two days.

Sleeping became just a word. Whilst other people slept soundly, I lay awake worrying and feeling angry. Being a person who needs eight hours or more sleep every night, this took its toll and I eventually had to take sleeping tablets. I only took them for a few nights, but it was better to do that and feel somewhat human during the day than not sleep at all and want to rip people’s heads off.

I felt a squeeze of pressure around my chest. Stress has a way of making itself known and the fact that I could not seem to take a deep breath because it felt like someone had a firm grip on my heart didn’t help. This is a warning that I will not ignore.

And then there were the other things, such as the headaches, the lack of motivation and the withdrawal. I’ve found that I don’t want to be around people…and their problems. I don’t want it and I can’t handle it. I’m going to work, but I’ve basically stopped doing everything else.

And now…

I’m eating a bit better…as long as the portions are small. At least I don’t feel sick when I put food in my mouth now, but I still can’t eat much.

I’m sleeping much better too. I’ve stopped taking tablets to help me sleep. I’ve never been much of a “pill popper”, especially when it can be avoided. I do admit that I’m sick and tired of the setbacks I keep experiencing with my sleeping patterns. I guess half a night’s sleep is better than nothing, but I’ll be glad when I can sleep soundly like I used to.

The pressure around my chest is unchanged. I’m acutely aware of this and will be making decisions based on what’s best for me from now on, not what is best for other people.

As for the “other things”, they are unchanged too. I’m looking for a peaceful place to settle in. No, I’m not going to move. I’m talking about mental peace. It seems that when I’m away from people, I’m closer to finding that peaceful place, so this is another area where I’m going to put me first.

The immediate future…

In three weeks it is Christmas. This year the family is coming to our place. That was my choice. I have been given the option to back out of this arrangement, but have decided that I will not do that. Last year, Christmas was a terrible time for our family. Barry was missed like you wouldn’t believe. Immediately after Christmas I became suicidal. This year, I plan on doing things different. Old traditions will be put aside and new traditions will be born. I believe it’s the only way forward for me and, besides, maybe keeping busy will help distract me too.

This doesn’t mean Barry will be forgotten. That will never happen. On Christmas Eve I will visit the cemetery and will “decorate” Barry’s niche. On Christmas day, a single candle will be lit in memory of the son I love and lost.

To top off an already bad week, I got the results of the tests I had done last week, which I wrote about in the post called Finding Myself. A blood disorder I had over two years ago … has returned. This means I’ll experience regular migraine headaches, stomach pains and, on most days, a feeling of nausea. I’ve had all these symptoms for the past few weeks. The migraines average out to once every three or four days and the stomach pains every day, but not all day; it’s worse in the mornings. The nausea is more of a seedy feeling than anything else.

Wonderful!

Two years ago, the doctor and specialist both said there has to be a reason for the disorder, but neither could find it. Then on 23 December 2005, I woke up and had no pain. Over Christmas and the New Year period I counted my pleasing with each pain free day. Later tests proved the disorder was righting itself and we all breathed a sigh of relief.

Now it’s back. Now I’m with a new doctor and she told me that there has to be a reason for the problem. I told her about the previous tests I’ve had – and there were a lot – and she is requesting copies of those reports so that any new tests can be compared to them.

I have a headache now. I hope it doesn’t develop into a migraine. I’m trying not to hold on to the stress I feel, but it’s difficult and an uphill battle. This is just another problem at Grand Central Station … which is my life.