"A messenger bird and very noisy," she said in 2016 during her maiden speech after becoming the first Aboriginal woman elected to the House of Representatives.

Wrapped in a kangaroo cloak, the newly elected federal Member for Barton was a "freshwater kid from the Riverina", who grew up in the little town of Whitton.

"I was born at a time when the Australian government knew how many sheep there were but not how many Aboriginal people," she said.

Ms Burney was raised by "two very brave people" (her great aunt and uncle - siblings of Scottish heritage) "who no doubt were made to pay for the bravery and generosity they displayed."

"I wondered often had they not stepped up to raise me where my life would be now."

She met her Wiradjuri father, Lawrence Ingram, when she was 28.

There were 10 brothers and sisters she did not know existed; they grew up 40 minutes apart.

"The power of racism and exclusion were not things you could see but you certainly felt them," she said.

Ms Burney went to school in Leeton - she was taught her ancestors "were the closest thing to stone-age man" - and trained as a teacher.

The three factors that motivated her to pursue a career in politics were her Aboriginality, the lack of women in parliament and the fact "my whole life has been about the pursuit of social justice".

Linda Burney, 64, who vowed to bring the "fighting Wiradjuri spirit" into Parliament, has been a tireless champion for education, Indigenous rights, victims of family violence and marriage equality.

And she is a survivor of great loss.

She has known the horror of a violent relationship, which she fled with two children in tow, Willurei and Binni.

Later the love of her life and partner of nine years, Rick Farley, died when he fell from a wheelchair after being treated for a brain aneurysm.

Within months of Rick's death, Willurei was diagnosed with a rare neurological illness that nearly killed her.

Then, in October 2017, Binni took his life; the 33-year-old had battled mental illness and addiction.

"He tried so hard to conquer his demons, as I and my family have tried so hard to support him in every way we could," a devastated Ms Burney said at the time.

Three years later she has accepted a long-standing invitation to speak at the Winter Solstice.

"When my son first died it was a bit raw for me," she says.

"Now I feel compelled to try and get involved; with time and processing I feel I can participate."

Ms Burney, who has "lots of fond memories" of Binni, will remember him as "loving, kind and loyal".

"The most important thing is how you remember a loved one," she says of surviving the grief of suicide.

"I saw my son was no longer in pain and had struggled for a long time ... that's something I understood."

Ms Burney understands, profoundly, the fragility of life:

"It's precious and you have to celebrate it - whether it's a few hours, a few years or longer."

Truth-telling is integral to changing outcomes, not only for Indigenous people but for all those marginalised in the community, according to Ms Burney.

The heavy weight of inter-generational trauma and history of Aboriginal people is "finally being recognised".

"A lot of Indigenous kids can't imagine a future," she says of the intolerably high rate of suicide in her people.

"If you have that amount of desperation and dislocation and really poor social justice outcomes, it's a pretty toxic mix."

And while there is "no magic bullet from our side", huge investment in mental health and culturally appropriate facilities is a must.

So too is a whole-of-community effort - one that values and validates the Aboriginal story.

"The key to preventing suicide is not to stop them falling off the cliff - it's to stop them getting to the edge in the first place," she says.

At times, Ms Burney admits "I oscillate between joy and despair".

But this extraordinary woman continues to be a messenger; to call noisily for her people - carried on the wings of those loved and lost.