Rebecca's Story - An incredible woman who has created her own destiny

This is my story; but this story is not me. This story is part of my past; it does not define my present. This story made me learn to be the victor; not a victim.

That day is like looking down a tunnel. I know there are things outside the lineof vision; but what they are I do not know. I remember my mother's hand holding mine. I remember being on the bus. I remember that we were not going home; we were going to the place my mother called 'the shelter'. I remember that these were the last minutes before everything would become different, the last minutes before my world would be irrevocably changed.

We were getting off the bus. He had found us. I got off the bus. I was holding tightly to my mother's hand. He was hiding in the bushes. He was holding a knife.

That day I experienced something that no child should ever have to experience. I watched my mother become one of the statistics of Domestic Violence. That day, the story on the news that happens to somebody else, happened to us. I knew something terrible had happened - my mother was there one minute and then she was on the ground and she wouldn't wake up. There was blood. I just did not understand. I remember the confusion.

I was close to four years old when my mother was murdered in front of me and my two sisters. My younger sister has no memory of the event but my older sister has been haunted by too many.

For years the images haunted me too. For years I thought about that day; trying to bring the images into focus. I even walked down that path again as a young woman trying to make it all make sense. It doesn't.

My mother was 24 when she died.

He was sentenced to gaol. Then he was extradited to Italy when I was about 8. He sent us teddy bears that he made. But I did not take mine. I did not want it. He will only ever be 'him'...not even a name...not ever an acknowledgement.

My parents, my adoptive parents, were amazing people. I grew up knowing I was loved.

Kate Bricknell