On a small, grassy hill in Yorta Yorta country, Veronica Nelson's grave lies beside that of her father, Rusty Walker.
The Gunditjmara, Dja Dja Wurrung, Wiradjuri and Yorta Yorta woman's resting place is carefully adorned with tiny turtle sculptures — representing her father's family totem, the long-necked turtle.
Family meant everything to Veronica.
And at Cummeragunja, on the Victorian-NSW border, she enjoyed some of her happiest times as a girl alongside the Murray River, known to Yorta Yorta people as the Dhungala.
"When she was small she used to come down with her father and mother, and swam here with my children and their cousins," Uncle Colin Walker, a Yorta Yorta elder and Veronica's uncle, said.
"So that connection was there all the time.
"She knew who she was and where she came from on both sides, her father's side and her mother's side."
Her family and friends remember her as a woman with a quick mind and a big heart, who held her cards — and personal traumas — close to her chest.
Uncle Colin said his "beautiful" niece was a gentle young woman who always showed respect to her elders.
"She'd come out and say 'Aunty and Uncle, would you like a cup of tea?' And go and get it for you … because she was brought up that way, to show respect for her elders," he said.
But Veronica spent her final hours far from her loving family, crying out in pain for her late dad.
Held in a cell in a maximum-security prison on shoplifting-related charges, Veronica repeatedly asked for help as a combination of malnutrition, severe withdrawal symptoms and a rare medical condition claimed her life.
Uncle Colin said he and his wife Faye were shattered by the evidence aired at the inquest into Veronica's 2020 death.
"That's what broke our hearts," he said.
"I come home a very sad old man, to tell my wife what happened.
"We shed tears together, because she lived with us too, she was our niece, but she was like our daughter too."
To Uncle Colin's daughter May Walker, Veronica was like a sister.
She believes racism played a role in Veronica's treatment by the system.
The inquest heard Veronica made 49 calls for help to prison staff in the space of 36 hours.
"I'm a health worker. The minute you got a sick client or temperature or you're vomiting too much, common sense [tells you] something's not normal," May said.
"And to be so polite to them, and to get treated like that, that's inhuman."
May said she wanted to see the prison system that failed Veronica torn down.
"I'd rather not see any prisons … give us our centres and we'll heal our own people," she said.
'She never harmed a soul'
On Monday, a coroner found Veronica endured "cruel and degrading" treatment before suffering a preventable death in her cell.
Some of the closing words in the inquest were from Veronica herself, in a letter she wrote about her bond with her mum Aunty Donna Nelson.
"Within my mother is my best friend," Veronica wrote.
"My mother has always been like my father — someone who knows the song in my heart, and they have always been the ones to sing it back to me when I have forgotten the words."
After Monday's hearing, Aunty Donna mourned the "kind, caring compassionate" daughter she nicknamed "Poccum", after Veronica's childhood pronunciation of "possum".
"She never harmed a soul other than her own," she said.
Aunty Donna wants to see the state's bail laws — described by the coroner as a "complete and unmitigated disaster" — reformed in her daughter's name.
"I will not let my Poccum's death be forgotten," she said.
"I urge you all to remember her too and support our family in our continued fight for change and for justice for my daughter."
'She was teaching me about life'
Veronica should have been turning 41 in March.
Instead, her partner of more than two decades, Percy Lovett, is coming to terms with a life without his soulmate.
"Just being with her," he said when reflecting on happier times.
"When I was with her, I was always happy."
His Collingwood flat abounds with tributes to Veronica.
A sketch of Veronica by Percy, a self-taught artist, sits against one wall.
On another, a pair of socks in the colours of the Aboriginal flag nods to Veronica's love of rock band AC/DC.
Percy sat through five weeks of inquest evidence, to learn in painful detail why Veronica's life was cut short in such traumatic circumstances.
"I had to feel what she was feeling, that way I knew what was going on," he said.
"Because I know Veronica inside out and I could feel the pain she was going through."
He still struggles to understand how people in the prison system missed so many opportunities to save Veronica's life.
"It was hard, listening to everything … just the way they let her die, you know, I can't get over how people can be like that," he said.
"Everybody knows when someone's in pain and when they're lying and that, and the way they just sat there and let her go … all they had to do was their job, nothing else."
But through the pain, Percy holds onto treasured memories.
Like Veronica's passion for sharing cultural stories and knowledge.
"She knew a lot about culture, which spun me out," he said.
"She was teaching me about life."
Percy, a Stolen Generations survivor, said Veronica and her father Rusty were close "like a father and daughter should be".
"Showed me what a family should be like," he said.
He's drawing on lessons Veronica taught him as he tries to continue his life.
"I just think about what she would have done, how she would have handled things," he said.
"She taught me how to be calm and think about things before I act and that's what I do.
"I just think about what she would have said to me."
Percy draws some comfort from his dog, who came into his life as he grappled with raw grief over Veronica's passing.
So he named the dog after her.
"I just needed someone to keep me company, so I thought I'd call her Ron Ron, it'd suit her," he said.
"She's done me good since I've had her."
Percy, who has launched a lawsuit against those who held a duty of care to Veronica, wants to see accountability.
"Because when we get in trouble we're all held accountable, we've got to pay the price," he said.
"They just should be held accountable for what they've done and what they didn't do."
The voices of Veronica's family have been joined by many, putting pressure on the Victorian government to act immediately to ensure Veronica's horrifying treatment is never repeated.
Already, the government has moved to overhaul the delivery of health care in women's prisons and indicated a willingness to reform the bail laws that put Veronica in a cell for the minor charge of shoplifting.
'She's home with our ancestors'
For Uncle Colin, the end of the inquest cannot mend a shattered family.
"It will never bring her back," he said.
"It doesn't matter what the recommendations are, it'll never bring Veronica back and Donna will never, ever have a daughter again.
"Whatever happens, it's still a disaster and the mother and the family will never forget what happened to her, all through neglect."
Veronica's final hours were filled with pain.
But here at Cummeragunja, her spirit is at peace.
"She's home with her father, she's home with our ancestors," May said.
"She's in the spirit world … she's not in pain or suffering or dealing with justice."
Credits:
Reporting: Joseph Dunstan and Lauren Day
Photography: Joseph Dunstan, Andrew Altree-Williams and Danielle Bonica
