A friend of the Clune-Goasdoue family has lifted the veil on the private, exhausting struggles that unfolded behind the closed doors of their Mosman Park home in Perth, Western Australia. In the wake of the devastating discovery on Friday, January 30, 2026, where Maiwenna “Mai” Goasdoue, 49, Jarrod Clune, 50, and their teenage sons Leon, 16, and Otis, 14, were found dead alongside three family pets, this revelation has ignited fierce debate across Australia. Police are treating the incident as a suspected double murder-suicide, with the parents believed to have taken the lives of their severely autistic, non-verbal sons before ending their own. The friend’s account paints a harrowing picture of a loving but utterly overwhelmed family “in the trenches,” battling extreme behaviors, profound isolation, and what they describe as a catastrophic failure by the National Disability Insurance Scheme (NDIS).
This tragedy is more than a singular heartbreak—it’s a stark indictment of how society supports—or fails to support—families caring for children with profound disabilities. As details emerge from friends, former carers, advocates, and officials, the story forces uncomfortable questions: How many other families are silently crumbling under similar burdens? What does it take for desperation to override every instinct of protection and love? And why, in a country with one of the world’s most ambitious disability support programs, do some feel utterly abandoned?
The Discovery That Shattered a Community
The morning of January 30 began routinely for a carer scheduled to assist Leon and Otis. Arriving at the family’s Mott Close residence in upscale Mosman Park—a leafy, affluent suburb known for its proximity to the Swan River and million-dollar homes—she found an ominous note taped to the front door: a directive to call police immediately and not enter. Inside, another note awaited, believed to detail the parents’ intentions and reasoning. Authorities discovered the four family members deceased in different parts of the home, along with the bodies of three pets—a dog and two cats, including one named Diego and another Loretta. No weapons were found, and police emphasized there was no sign of external violence or ongoing risk to the public.
Western Australia Police’s Homicide Squad classified the deaths as a suspected murder-suicide. Detective Jessica Securo, speaking at the scene, confirmed both boys had “experienced significant health challenges,” later identified as severe autism spectrum disorder. Otis was non-verbal, and both exhibited “extreme behaviors” that demanded constant, intensive care. The investigation continues, with a coronial report pending, but early indications point to a deliberate, tragic pact born from years of unrelenting strain.
In the days following, tributes poured in. Community members gathered at Gibbon Park for a vigil, about 50 people sharing grief and memories under the summer sky. Online, photos circulated of a once-vibrant family: Mai cradling her sons, Jarrod playfully posing with them, moments of joy that contrasted sharply with the darkness that enveloped their final chapter.
Behind the Facade: A Life Defined by Severe Autism
Mai and Jarrod presented online as devoted parents—posts on social media showed family outings, advocacy for autism awareness, and glimpses of everyday resilience. Yet friends describe a reality far removed from those curated images. Both Leon and Otis lived with profound autism, characterized by minimal or no verbal communication, sensory sensitivities, and behaviors that could escalate into self-injury, aggression toward others, or property destruction. Otis, in particular, required round-the-clock supervision to remain safe.
The boys had attended the Peter Moyes Centre at Christ Church Grammar School, a prestigious institution’s specialized program for students with disabilities. School records highlight Leon’s “cheerful personality” appreciated by staff and peers, painting a picture of boys capable of connection despite their challenges. However, in recent years, they stopped attending—one reportedly asked to leave due to unmanageable behaviors. This loss of structured support thrust Mai and Jarrod into full-time caregiving without respite, homeschooling, or alternative programs that could provide relief.
A close friend from Perth’s autism community, speaking anonymously, shared the raw truth: families like theirs often form fragile networks of mutual understanding, yet “the people who understand you best are in the least position to give you support.” She described daily life as “violence, meltdowns, vicious behaviour that could leave you with injuries.” These weren’t acts of malice but overwhelming responses to an unaccommodating world. For Mai and Jarrod, it meant constant vigilance, physical exhaustion, and emotional depletion. “We’re all in the trenches trying to survive,” the friend said, highlighting the isolation that deepens as friends and extended family withdraw, unable to comprehend or endure the chaos.
Former support worker Maddie Page, who cared for the boys for over a decade, offered a heartfelt tribute: “I witnessed firsthand the immense love within their family, as well as the courage and resilience they showed during times of extreme difficulty and countless obstacles.” She praised Mai and Jarrod as the boys’ “biggest, fiercest supporters,” who fought tirelessly for their sons to “feel seen and heard.” Yet Page’s message ended with a pointed plea: “NDIS – do better.” Her words underscore a shared sentiment among those who knew the family—that despite unwavering love, the system designed to help ultimately failed them.
The NDIS: Promise vs. Reality
Australia’s National Disability Insurance Scheme, launched in 2013, aimed to revolutionize support by providing individualized funding packages for therapies, equipment, and carers. For many, it has been life-changing. But for families with children exhibiting “extreme behaviors,” the scheme has drawn sharp criticism for bureaucratic hurdles, inadequate funding levels, and a dire shortage of trained support workers.
Friends claim the Clune-Goasdoue family recently faced a cut in NDIS funding, exacerbating their crisis. Mary Butterworth, CEO of Developmental Disability WA, stated bluntly: “In Western Australia we do not have enough trained support workers who can provide support to families… The reality is, families do not have enough funding in their plans.” She called for greater investment in training and mentoring to ease the burden on parents who feel “it is all up to them to try and survive.”
The friend echoed this: “The very people the NDIS was created for are the very ones who can’t get the services they so desperately need. There really isn’t support for families like ours. There’s nothing meaningful.” Reports suggest inconsistent carer availability, mismatched skill levels, and endless appeals for additional resources. In high-needs cases, plans often fall short on crisis intervention, specialized behavioral support, or sufficient respite care—leaving parents like Mai and Jarrod to shoulder impossible loads.
Federal Disability Minister Mark Butler expressed sorrow, calling the deaths “an unspeakable tragedy,” particularly the loss of two children who “did not choose to die.” Due to privacy laws and the ongoing investigation, he could not discuss specifics of their NDIS packages, but pledged cooperation with authorities. The NDIA extended sympathies while emphasizing its commitment to fair support.
A Dangerous Narrative and Calls for Reform
Australia’s Disability Discrimination Commissioner condemned attempts to frame the boys’ disabilities as justification for the act, labeling such commentary “dangerous.” Advocates stress that severe autism demands better systemic responses—not blame on the children or parents.
The tragedy has sparked vigils, online discussions, and renewed scrutiny of NDIS reforms. Groups like Every Australian Counts and Autism Awareness Australia advocate for equitable funding, emergency respite, and proactive crisis support. Similar past cases highlight a pattern: carer burnout leading to despair when isolation becomes total.
Mai and Jarrod’s story reminds us that love alone cannot conquer every challenge. Their fight—for understanding, for help, for survival—ended in unimaginable loss. Yet their legacy could drive change: increased training, higher funding for complex needs, and communities that refuse to let families disappear into the trenches.
As Perth mourns, the question lingers: How many more families teeter on the edge? The answer lies in action—demanding a system that truly supports, not just promises. For Leon, Otis, Mai, and Jarrod, it’s too late. For others still struggling, it must not be.
