Dear Helen, I can't imagine how you're feeling right now, but please know that every person in this place is sending their very best for your recovery. We are thinking of you and we are missing you. Your wonderful husband, Phil, has bravely kept us abreast of your condition, and we thank him sincerely for that.

His words show such love and admiration for you, and it's not lost on us that he has also tried to make us all, the whole nation, feel hopeful and calmer in the face of such horror, because he spoke of your heart and your mind, how they are what make you you and that your heart and your mind are still all that they were: full of kindness and intelligence. We all thank Phil for finding it in his heart to speak with love and concern for you and, it seems also, for those of us trying to make sense of all this. He showed no anger, no hate and no resentment but only calm, consideration and care. He gives us hope. Seems you are a pair, you two. We can see that.

Helen, we see you and your impact as a politician, a person and an advocate in the courage of your staff and the outpouring of emotions from your community. Their responses reflect the person that you are: decent, caring and effective. My heart goes out to your staff, some of whom were first responders and all of whom have chosen to keep going with the work your electorate needs, and to your community, the people of Indi, coming together to show the world that they do not condone what has happened, with people from across the political divide joining in that message.

I know you are being well cared for by fellow nurses and other health professionals. It makes me think of the plotting that we have done to enhance the careers of nurses and midwives and how you and I share hope for making the system better. I hope your family and friends and colleagues and your community can tell how much we care about you here in this place. The Prime Minister has felt it deeply, and it shows as we thank him for helping us steer through the unfathomable, because, you see, many of us here are still in shock and disbelief. I keep expecting to see you humming around the corner with a piece of cake or looking for a quick word or enjoying a joke in the lift or hearing you ask a very pertinent question in question time. It's hard to be in the chamber seeing your seat without you in it, but it's there. It's waiting for you.

What's happened should not happen to anyone, but, Helen, we are all grappling with the fact that it happened to you. So much has been said about the respectful way you go about this business. It's hard to believe anyone would wish you harm, let alone actually inflict it. We can't help but wonder where the world is turning, and the discussion and debate will continue about the 'why's and the 'how's and the 'where to's. But just this weekend, Helen, I want you to know that I went out into my electorate. I walked the streets amongst kids in Halloween costumes. I went to listen to music. I attended a fete. I had lunch in a cafe. I visited a Scouts party. I made myself as visible as possible because we cannot let this stop us being part of our communities. So many people came up to me. They hugged me. They cried. They asked me how I was, but they wanted to know how you were. They wanted me to know they know that things have changed but not them. It made me think. We all have fears and we do things differently now to assess risks. We all have contingency plans. But, at the end of the day, if I can't walk down High Street, Edward Street or Station Street and be with the people I represent, what is this for? What would that mean? As I discovered this weekend, through the care and love shown to me by the good folk of Cooper, the vast majority of people want us out and about. They welcome us being part of their communities. So, Helen, when I think, 'What would Helen do?' I know you'd be saying: 'Keep going. Stay as safe as you can. It's important.' Get well, Helen, from nurse No. 8 in parliament to nurse No. 9 in parliament. See you soon. Love, Ged.