Few people mourning Charlotte Dawson's death will understand her more than her family, who stood by the gorgeous, witty, warm, rewarding woman she was.
Her family knew she battled illness every day that she lived, not just the day that she died.
When I first met Charlotte as a possible candidate to front How's Life, the show I was producing, I loved her instantly. She stunned me with her beauty, and had me laughing within minutes. She had a professionalism I had never seen before or since, and she was generous and kind to those she worked with; there was never a hint of the big star.
She startled us with her rigorous grooming routine and ramped up the level for celebrity appearances. She never turned up to an opening or a launch unless she was top to toe perfect, in every way, even if that meant flying in a designer dress from Sydney.
Charlotte as a friend was a different story. As I got close to her I realised she battled depression as well as crippling self-doubt. She had a need to be loved but an inability to receive love, and was hypersensitive to criticism.
