In a tragedy that has gripped Western Australia, Jenny O’Byrne—a dedicated nurse who has spent decades comforting strangers in their darkest hours—now faces unimaginable pain following the discovery of her 25-year-old son William “Bill” Carter’s body near Trigg Beach. The young fly-in fly-out (FIFO) worker vanished mysteriously on December 6, 2025, after being dropped off at Perth Airport, only for his lifeless form to be located nine days later on December 15. O’Byrne’s raw, devastating words capture the irony and torment of her situation: “I save strangers every day as a nurse… but I couldn’t save my own son.” “I’ve looked after everyone else… but I couldn’t protect my own boy.”

O’Byrne, a seasoned nurse based in Bunbury with nearly 40 years in the profession—including 14 years locally—has long been a pillar of compassion in hospital wards, holding hands through crises and offering solace to countless patients and families. Now, she finds herself on the receiving end of that same fragility, her world shattered by the loss of her beloved Bill, a quiet, affable young man whose sudden disappearance and tragic end have left a community in mourning.

The story began on a seemingly ordinary Saturday morning. O’Byrne and Bill shared a warm breakfast at a café in Kelmscott, laughing and chatting as mothers and sons do. They snapped a cheerful selfie—just minutes before 12:20 p.m.—which O’Byrne later shared widely in desperate appeals for information. “Come on, let’s take a selfie for your sister,” she recalled saying, capturing a moment of normalcy that would soon become heartbreakingly precious. By 12:40 p.m., she dropped him at Perth Airport’s Terminal 3, waving goodbye as he headed toward his 2:15 p.m. flight to Karratha for his next FIFO shift in the Pilbara mining region.

But Bill never boarded the plane. Surveillance and records confirmed he lingered at the airport for about an hour and a half, carrying only a small 5-liter backpack—most of his belongings were already at the remote site. Around 2:10 p.m., he hailed a taxi, not toward the mines, but to Trigg Beach, a scenic coastal spot in Perth’s northern suburbs. He was last seen alive near the Trigg Surf Life Saving Club around 2:40 p.m., dressed casually in a black t-shirt, shorts, and black-and-white sneakers. His phone last pinged shortly before going offline, leaving no digital trail.

What followed was nine agonizing days of hope, fear, and exhaustive searching. Western Australia Police launched a high-priority missing persons investigation, with coastal patrols, door-to-door canvassing, and appeals for dashcam footage. Volunteers and community members joined the effort, scouring the beach and surrounding areas. O’Byrne’s public pleas tugged at heartstrings nationwide, as she openly shared her grave concerns for Bill’s mental health. He had recently stopped taking anti-anxiety medication after struggling with personal challenges, and the demanding FIFO lifestyle—marked by isolation, long shifts away from home, and the emotional toll of frequent transitions—had taken its strain.

“This is completely out of character,” O’Byrne told reporters during the search, her voice cracking with worry. Colleagues echoed this, noting that missing a flight was unprecedented for the reliable young worker. One coworker even recalled Bill once saying, “If I miss a flight, something’s seriously wrong”—words that now haunt those who knew him.

Bill’s background painted a picture of a grounded, well-liked young man. Raised in Bunbury, he attended Bunbury Cathedral Grammar School, studied at Murdoch University, and recently returned from a family holiday in Zambia to visit his father. Described as reserved yet widely loved, he thrived in his FIFO role despite its rigors, supporting himself in an industry that powers Australia’s economy but often exacts a heavy personal cost.

The FIFO world, central to Western Australia’s resources boom, is notorious for its impact on mental wellbeing. Workers endure weeks in remote camps, separated from family and support networks, followed by brief home periods that can feel disorienting. Research highlights elevated risks of anxiety, depression, and suicidal ideation among FIFO employees, exacerbated by loneliness, especially during festive seasons when isolation feels amplified. O’Byrne’s appeals highlighted this, urging people to check on loved ones: “The holiday period can make things worse.”

On December 15, the search ended in sorrow. Police located a body in the Trigg Beach area, stating that while formal identification was pending, it was believed to be Bill Carter. The death was not treated as suspicious, with a report prepared for the coroner—implying a likely tragic outcome tied to his vulnerabilities.

For O’Byrne, the confirmation brought no relief, only profound devastation. As a nurse who has witnessed countless families navigate loss, she now embodies that grief herself. Her poignant reflection—”I’ve looked after everyone else… but I couldn’t protect my own boy”—resonates deeply, underscoring the helplessness parents feel when mental health crises strike close to home. In interviews, she spoke of Bill’s quiet struggles, the recent holiday that left him seeming “quite sad,” and her desperate wish that someone had spotted him in time.

Tributes flooded in from across the state. Social media threads in Perth communities garnered hundreds of comments, with friends and strangers sharing memories of Bill’s kindness and offering condolences. Flowers accumulated near the surf club, turning the once-vibrant beach into a site of remembrance. Bill’s partner, Janae Williamson, and wider family—including siblings—grappled privately with the loss, supported by a community that rallied during the search.

The tragedy has reignited conversations about mental health in high-pressure industries like mining. Advocacy groups emphasize the need for better support systems, including accessible counseling, peer programs, and roster adjustments to combat isolation. Hotlines like Lifeline saw increased awareness, as Bill’s story prompted many to reach out or check on mates.

In Bunbury and beyond, O’Byrne’s colleagues praised her resilience, noting how she poured compassion into her work even amid personal turmoil. Yet nothing prepares a mother—and a healer—for losing her child. The smiling selfie from that fateful morning, widely circulated, now serves as a final snapshot of joy before darkness descended.

Bill Carter’s life, full of potential at just 25, ends in profound sadness, but his mother’s heartbreaking plea may save others. By shining a light on hidden struggles, it calls for greater empathy, early intervention, and support—especially in tough professions where silence can be deadly.

As Western Australia reflects, one nurse’s unbearable loss reminds us all: no one is immune to pain, and reaching out can make all the difference. Rest in peace, Bill. Your story won’t be forgotten.