Carer Maddie Page’s voice cracked as she spoke publicly for the first time about the boys she had known and loved for more than a decade. Tears streamed down her face while she described Leon Clune, 16, and Otis Clune, 14—two autistic teenagers whose lives ended abruptly in a Mosman Park home alongside their devoted parents, Jarrod Clune and Maiwenna Goasdoue. What began as a routine welfare check by a support worker on January 30, 2026, turned into one of Western Australia’s most devastating family tragedies: a suspected double murder-suicide that claimed four lives and three family pets.

Page, an autism mentor and long-time support worker for the Clune family, did not mince words. She portrayed the parents as unwavering champions who poured every ounce of energy into ensuring their sons thrived despite profound challenges. “Their parents were their biggest, fiercest advocates,” she said, her words heavy with grief. Yet beneath that fierce love lay exhaustion, isolation, and a growing sense of hopelessness amplified by systemic shortcomings.

The Clune household revolved around the complex needs of Leon and Otis, both diagnosed with severe autism that required constant supervision, tailored therapies, and round-the-clock care. School newsletters from their earlier years captured glimpses of innocence—Leon excited about exploring rivers with friends, Otis dreaming of beach trips and fish and chips with tomato sauce. Those simple joys painted a picture of boys who, when understood, could light up any room. Page recalled how the brothers taught her to think creatively about communication, reminding her that connection often transcends spoken words.

As the boys entered their teenage years, however, the demands intensified. Autism at this level frequently involves physical strength, sensory overload, self-injurious behaviors, and minimal prospects for independence. Parents in similar situations describe relentless days without breaks: no spontaneous outings, fractured sleep, social isolation, and the constant fear of what happens when caregivers age or can no longer provide support. Jarrod, 50, and Maiwenna, 49, faced these realities head-on, but friends and advocates later revealed mounting pressures.

Central to Page’s emotional statement was a pointed accusation against Australia’s National Disability Insurance Scheme (NDIS). She asserted that the system “failed them,” leaving the family feeling cornered. Reports from friends indicated recent cuts to funding packages essential for respite care, therapy sessions, and behavioral support—resources that had helped prevent carer burnout. Without adequate assistance, the daily grind became unbearable. Page suggested this erosion of support contributed to the parents’ belief that they had “no other choice,” a phrase that echoed across tributes and media coverage.

The discovery unfolded tragically. A scheduled carer arrived at the Mott Close residence just after 8 a.m. and found a note on the front door instructing not to enter and to contact police immediately. Officers entered to find the bodies of Jarrod, Maiwenna, Leon, Otis, and the family’s pets. A second note inside reportedly contained further details, though authorities withheld specifics pending coronial investigation. Bloodstains observed at the rear of the property added to the grim scene, underscoring the violence that investigators believe occurred.

Public reaction poured in swiftly. Tributes flooded social media, with many sharing photos of the boys from happier times. The Australian Neurodivergent Parents Association organized a candlelight vigil, encouraging people nationwide to light candles at 5 p.m. in remembrance. A mother of an autistic child penned a poignant poem honoring Leon and Otis not as burdens, but as individuals deserving dignity and joy. Advocacy groups seized the moment to demand urgent NDIS reforms, arguing that preventable failures in funding and support had contributed to this outcome.

Page’s tribute struck a particularly raw chord. She spoke of witnessing the family’s resilience amid “extreme difficulty and countless obstacles.” She praised the boys for capturing hearts once understood and lamented the systemic rejection the parents endured whenever they sought help. “My heart feels unbearably heavy,” she said, urging the NDIS to “do better.” Her call resonated with countless families navigating similar battles—those who live with the unspoken terror that support might vanish when most needed.

This tragedy highlights broader issues within disability care in Australia. The NDIS, designed to provide individualized funding for people with significant disabilities, has faced criticism for bureaucratic delays, plan reassessments that reduce supports, and inadequate provisions for high-needs families. Carer burnout remains a silent epidemic; studies show elevated rates of depression, anxiety, and physical health decline among parents of autistic children, particularly when multiple siblings are involved. For families like the Clunes, the fear of outliving their ability to care—or worse, leaving vulnerable children without advocates—can become overwhelming.

Experts emphasize that murder-suicides involving dependent children often stem from prolonged despair rather than malice. Perpetrators may rationalize their actions as a merciful release from suffering, both for themselves and those they love. While no justification exists for taking innocent lives, understanding the context of extreme carer strain can inform prevention. Calls have intensified for expanded respite services, mental health integration into disability plans, and proactive outreach to at-risk families.

Leon and Otis deserved futures filled with the small joys they once expressed—beach days, school adventures, moments of connection. Their parents, described by those closest as dedicated and loving, deserved robust support that matched their commitment. Instead, cracks in the system widened until tragedy struck.

Page concluded her statement with a promise to remember the boys’ smiles and the love that defined their family. Her tears, shared publicly, serve as a stark reminder: behind every disability support story lies human beings fighting for survival. When those fights end in silence and loss, the entire community must ask why—and demand change before another family reaches the point of no return.