Today I want to share five of the many life lessons Allegra taught me—lessons that changed the way I live, love, and see the world. She was my greatest teacher, in ways I never expected.

Allegra was born with profound hearing loss, vision impairment, and physical disabilities. As a baby, she didn’t respond to her surroundings like other babies did. It took her a while to smile—but when she finally did, it was like the sun breaking through clouds.

She may not have known what kisses or hugs were in the usual way, but she felt them. Deeply. Touch became our way of communicating. It was how she knew she was safe and loved. And it reminded me that connection doesn’t need words—it just needs presence, intention, and heart.

Like most working mums, especially one raising a child with complex needs, I became very good at multitasking. I lived in my head, running through to-do lists. But early on, Allegra had these rare and beautiful windows of engagement—five minutes, an hour—when she was fully alert and connecting with the world.

One day, while I was working on my laptop, she looked right at me. And I just knew: this was a moment that mattered. I closed the laptop, turned to her, and soaked it in. The work was still there after. But that moment—that moment was joy. She taught me to pause. To focus. To be with her, fully. That lesson now flows into how I show up in every part of my life.

Now, anyone who knew Allegra knows how much she loved to travel. She had the heart of an explorer—and the taste of a VIP. After her open-heart surgery at just six weeks old, I asked her cardiothoracic surgeon if it would be safe to take her to Thailand at eight months for a wedding. He said, “Absolutely.” And that was all the encouragement we needed.

Two months before that trip, we did a test flight to Melbourne to visit my dad (testing our packing list, checklist etc) to see if we could manage—and we could. From then on, she became our little globetrotter.

She travelled to:

Phuket, Fiji, Birmingham (Alabama), Singapore, Vancouver, Whistler, Queenstown, Manila, Cebu, Boracay, Bali, Melbourne, Canberra, Cairns, Gold Coast, Adelaide, Port Macquarie, Blue Mountains, Wagga Wagga, Brisbane, Byron Bay, and cruised to Nouméa, Mystery Island, and Vanuatu.

She travelled mostly business class (Thank you to points!) —we figured if we were going to manage all the logistics, we’d make it comfortable for her. She loved the lounges, the early boarding, and all the attention. She was not a fan of car trips or cruise ships—we figured out why: no VIP treatment!

Every trip took planning, energy, and sometimes a bit of panic. But after every single one, it gave us joy. She showed us that her physical limitations didn’t limit her life. She helped us believe—and live—the idea that nothing is impossible.

When Allegra was little, the goals set for her were: walk, talk, and eat. She didn’t achieve those in the traditional way. But what she did achieve? Nothing short of incredible.

She went from no eye tracking to using eye gaze tech to communicate with sass and wit. From hearing only jet engine-level sounds to reacting to our side chats—especially if there was gossip involved. From not being able to use her arms to playing piano and playing her iPad apps.

Once, she even used her hand to gently push Portia out of the way so Serena could sit beside her. She knew what she wanted and made it happen.

When she became lethargic on formula, we didn’t accept that as her baseline. We tried pureed foods, supplements, and natural therapies. By age two, she was medicine-free and pain-free. Doctors labelled her early on with intellectual disability. But if you knew Allegra, you knew—she was smart, independent, and deeply expressive.

Barry and I became a team of advocates—asking questions, challenging doctors, doing the research. We didn’t always get agreement from them. But Allegra taught us to trust our instincts. And that gave her a healthier, happier life.

Before Allegra, I kept my personal life separate from my professional one. I believed that vulnerability might be seen as weakness. But Allegra changed that. Sharing her story opened a door—not just for me, but for others too.

People began to share their own stories—the ones they never told at work, or maybe even to friends. Allegra made it safe to be real. Even people who met her once felt drawn to her. She radiated something beautiful.

Since her passing, we’ve heard from so many people including ones that we’ve never met. They followed her journey, and they felt connected to her through the stories we shared. Even Barry—who rarely writes about personal things—talked about her in his monthly newsletter and received an outpouring of love.

She brought extraordinary people into our lives—carers, therapists, teachers, friends. People with heart. People who chose their path because they care deeply. And for all of them, we are so thankful.

Allegra changed us.

She taught us how to love more deeply, to slow down, to be brave, and to challenge what we thought was possible. She reminded us that even in the hardest times, there’s room for joy, for laughter, and for light.

Allegra, thank you. For everything.

We miss you more than words can ever say. But your spirit, your smile, your spark—they live on in us.