Turning the unthinkable into purpose: Walter Mikac’s message for pharmacy

With candour and hard-won wisdom, he reflected on resilience, community and the unique role pharmacists play in helping people rebuild.

But When Walter Mikac speaks about resilience, he does so without slogans, scripts or polish.

What comes through instead is a quiet, unguarded honesty.

He speaks openly and honestly, as someone who has lived through the unimaginable — and then had to decide, day after day, year after year, what to do next.

“I suppose I would say it’s about what happens when the most unexpected thing in your life could possibly happen,” he says.

When something like that happens, you do think, ‘This is everything I’ve worked for, for 33 years, and it’s all just gone in one afternoon.’  People want to know how anyone could cope.

“How do you deal with it? How do you recover? What things will be a benefit, what things are not, and how to channel the energy of the anger or disbelief into something positive.”

It’s a very simple, but it captures the essence of his message: resilience is not a trait, but a practice.

Questions people ask

Walter has spoken to audiences across Australia for decades — schools, workplaces, community groups — and the questions he receives are often raw.

One moment from a school visit has stayed with him.

“A boy [at one of my talks] in Melbourne couldn’t wait to get his hand up,” he says.

“And his question was: ‘Did you feel like killing yourself at any point?’”

Walter says it was confronting, but honest — and, entirely fair.

“When something like that happens, you do think, ‘This is everything I’ve worked for, for 33 years, and it’s all just gone in one afternoon.’ People want to know how anyone could cope.”

His answer is never neat.

Resilience, he says, is, “trial and error”.

It’s grief, identity loss, and the slow work of rebuilding a life.

You’d hope that over time violence in the community would improve. Firearms violence has, but domestic violence is worse. It’s perplexing — and it’s something we all need to think about.

Writing his first book was, Walter says, “painful but cathartic”.

Travelling overseas for four months allowed him to, “just be me — not the person this happened to”.

Those experiences now shape the way he speaks about courage, recovery and purpose.

A message for pharmacists

Although Walter is widely known for his gun safety advocacy, he is still very much a pharmacist — and his reflections on the profession are grounded in lived experience.

He speaks warmly about the human connection of community pharmacy, and of the community in which he now lives in Byron Bay.

He says it is a privilege knowing customers’ families, recognising when someone is struggling, and of being a trusted presence in people’s lives.

You don’t think loneliness is a huge issue, but when you delve into it, you see how many people are becoming disconnected. They need someone to ask how they’re going.

Just before Christmas last year, a woman walked into his Byron Bay pharmacy with two children, visibly distressed.

One of his senior staff quietly asked if she was okay.

"She replied, ‘No, actually we’re homeless, and we can’t go back to the house'," Walter said.

"We were able to connect her with a local program that helps displaced women.

"That’s the kind of thing pharmacy can do — but it’s harder in big, busy settings.”

Courses can help

Walter has also completed a PGA-supported loneliness course, which he describes as unexpectedly eye-opening.

“You don’t think loneliness is a huge issue, but when you delve into it, you see how many people are becoming disconnected. They need someone to ask how they’re going.”

For pharmacists navigating 60-day dispensing, workforce pressure and shifting scope of practice, Walter says he hoped his APP session offered something grounding.

“I’m hoping to bring some inspiration,” he says.

“To help people look at opportunities rather than the downside ...  I hope [they left] with a renewed sense of vigour, a renewed appreciation of life and what they can achieve.”

Building purpose

The Alannah & Madeline Foundation, established in honour of his daughters, remains one of Walter’s most significant achievements.

It gave him purpose in the early years after the tragedy and has since grown into a national force for child safety and wellbeing.

Walter says the foundation has supported more than 2.4 million children over its 28-year history.

He says the organisation has also distributed around 140,000 Buddy Backpacks, which are given to children fleeing domestic violence or crisis situations and contain essential items such as pyjamas, toiletries, a book, underwear and a teddy bear.

Walter also speaks about the foundation’s impact, including the story of two brothers who witnessed their mother’s murder and were supported through its programs. One is now an ambassador.

“It’s difficult to find examples because of privacy, but their story shows what the foundation can do,” he says.

“You’d hope that over time violence in the community would improve.

"Firearms violence has, but domestic violence is worse. It’s perplexing — and it’s something we all need to think about.”

A life rebuilt

Today, Walter lives and works in Byron Bay, in northern NSW, Australia, where he owns an independent pharmacy and embraces a less hectic, more grounded lifestyle.

He laughs about dispensing in bare feet — “the medical receptionist always asks if I’ve got shoes on today” — and talks fondly about the compounding work he still enjoys.

He swims in the ocean daily. He knows his customers by name.

“It’s fantastic,” he says. “When you finish work, the time you’ve got is yours. There’s a lot to be said for that.”

It’s a long way from suburban Melbourne, where he grew up, or from the years after Port Arthur when he stepped away from pharmacy entirely.

But it’s a life built with intention.

“I hope people walk away [from my presentations] with a renewed appreciation of life,” he says.

“And of what they can achieve in it.”