The Alice Effect

Once upon a time, when the writer was a much younger (fitter) and more naive person, and when newspapers used only black-and-white photos, there was a little girl named Alice.

Alice was everything you could dream about in a child – she was beautiful with white blonde hair, and huge blue eyes and a very loving family.  I met her for the first time at her home, in Griffith, in the beautiful Riverina region of rural New South Wales.

I was a news photographer for the local newpaper at the time – all gung ho, and bulletproof, thinking I could handle whatever the world threw my way (and get the photo to prove it).  I was with a young journalist called Cydonee – and we were covering a story about Alice.  I had probably just finished taking photos of a winemaker and some used cars (for seperate stories and advertising purposes) and Cyd and I chatted non-stop (probably about boys or TV shows like Seinfeld or Friends) in the car as we drove to our next ‘assignment’.

Little did I know that it was one that would alter me forever.

I will never forget meeting this angelic creature and her Mum – it was their eyes that mesmerised me that day.   Alice was very quiet initially, and shy, but those huge, unblinking blue eyes reflected perfectly her mother’s steady gaze.  For deep in those cornflower irises, was the kind of knowledge no daughter and no mother should have to know.  Alice was sick.  Very sick.

Incredibly, it was her father – a pathologist at the local hospital – who discovered her illness.  Rob saw that his own daughter had a cancer known as ‘acute myloid leukaemia’ – an adult strain of the disease in a child’s body.  I remember the words of explanation floating around me like a haze, as Merveen (Alice’s devoted Mother) patiently explained the situation.  Not dramatically, just very matter-of-factly.

There are many facts about this story which are now foggy in my memory, with more than two decades between now and when I first met Alice… I cannot remember how many stories we did on her (lots) or just how I originally won her trust – I recall that she wouldn’t pose for just anyone, and certainly not on ‘bad days’.  I was delighted that she took to me, as I took a little extra time with her.  I know Cyd would become one of her favourite people in the world.  I forget the exact date we lost her.

I remember how she LOVED purple and how she ADORED Jimmy Barnes (who she met more than once and who dedicated his song ‘The Tears We Cry‘ to her).  I remember how – when she was well – she would bubble and giggle and have the cheekiest twinkle in her eyes.  I remember how – when she was sick – she would simply become very still and an aura of pain would settle like an invisible force field around her.

I remember how my knees buckled when I heard she had lost the battle. She was six years old. Six.

I remember how everyone wore purple and how my friend Cyd wrote a beautiful tribute to her.

I remember looking back over the many images I had shot of her, glad I had somehow captured this sweet, sweet girl who had managed to indelibly touch so many in her short time on Earth.  I know for sure that each person she met walked away from their Alice encounter a little better for being with her – from slightly self-absorbed news photographers through bus drivers and doctors to rock stars.  That was The Alice Effect.

I recently managed to regain contact with Merveen – thanks to the wonders of social media.  It wasn’t hard to pick her Facebook page – it was almost entirely purple.

It was also right near Alice’s birthday (May 16) and I noticed that she used one of my favourite photos – one I had taken – to mark the day.  Alice would have been 30.

Thirty years old.  That does my head in – Alice would have been a woman. A gorgeous one. Maybe with a career, a family, children.  The ‘might have beens’ nibble at my mind.  Merveen and Rob have never let her go – and nor should they. She is talked about constantly.  So much fund-raising for Leukaemia and Childhood Cancer has been done in Alice’s name.  She is in every purple update on her mother’s social media page.

Alice is her parents’ purple angel – and I think she has been mine too.

Soon after meeting Alice (and losing her) I was diagnosed with a condition (Arnold Chiari Malformation) which would mess with my head and my outlook quite dramatically.  I will go into the details of it one day, but suffice to say I knew I had to deal with it as Alice and her family might have – calmly, with as clear a head as I could muster, and while I couldn’t hope to control it completely, I needed to ride with the outcomes regardless.

It’s been a bit of a mantra in my life ever since.

“Worry about the stuff you can control.  Work with what you have.  Enjoy the moments for what they are.”

Alice made me a better person.  She made me a better mother (when Dash and Violet arrived into my life).   She made me a better patient when my numerous hospital stays arose, and made me more patient as a human.

Life is sometimes very short.  But value is never measured in time.  The Alice Effect is testament to that.  It continues to this day – almost a quarter of a century after we lost her.

Meet Alice Angel Bear.

Decked out in in purple. Of course.

Alice bear is one of the range of teddies YOU can buy, to help raise funds for the Kids’ Cancer Project.  Click here to check it out and purchase.

I remain good friends with the young journalist who first ‘covered’ the Alice story with me – Cyd and I actually went on to travel the world together.  She wrote a gorgeous, personal article about Alice here.

We were so blessed to have Alice allow us into her life – I don’t think either of us would have led as rich a life, or handled our various crises so well, without her.  That’s the Alice Effect.

Happy 60th Birthday Merveen. Thankyou for sharing your girl with us.

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