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Love Finds Strength For Anything

“Love is a great thing, an altogether good gift, the only thing that makes burdens light and bears all that is hard with ease. It carries a weight without feeling it, it makes all that is bitter sweet and pleasant to taste. Nothing is sweeter than love, nothing stronger, nothing higher, nothing broader; nothing is more lovely, nothing richer, nothing is better in heaven or on earth.
Love often knows no measure, but burns white-hot beyond all measure. Love feels no burden, and counts up no toil; it aspires to do more than its strength allows; it does not plead impossibility, but considers it may do and can do all things. So it finds strength for anything; it completes and carries through great tasks where one who does not love would fail and fall.
Love is vigilant, it sleeps without losing control; it is wearied without exhaustion, cramped without being crushed, alarmed without being destroyed.” (Thomas à Kempis)

Over the past twenty-three months – very nearly two years – I have come to know this gritty, unrelenting side of love: a father’s love for his daughter. A daughter who was taken from her parents and family.

Taken

To be taken is not the same as to leave.
To leave implies the possibility of return – perhaps even just for tea and conversation.
Lizzie did not leave.
She was taken.

She was taken from her home, from her parents, from her routines.
Taken from her church, her grandparents, her aunties and uncles, her godparents.
Taken from her village, from her support structures, from everyone who loved – and still loves – her.

Lizzie wanted to hold on to those bonds. That much is clear from the messages – the ones the agencies consistently refuse to acknowledge or take seriously.
But she wasn’t allowed to keep those connections.
One by one, they were severed. Cut. Ripped. Torn. Sabotaged. Destroyed.
She was led deeper and deeper into the dark abyss of silence and isolation until she could no longer hear the anguished voices calling for her … or see the arms reaching out to hold her.

Lizzie did not leave.
She was taken.

And I will keep repeating that truth with every breath in my body until Adult Social Care or the police finally take the mounting evidence seriously – until they recognise the criminal levels of coercive control and manipulation inflicted upon a vulnerable young person with FASD, a condition that makes her highly suggestible and prone to confabulation.

A Letter to Lizzie

As Father’s Day approaches – and I remain blocked on Lizzie’s phone – I take this moment to turn the day on its head and express my love for my daughter, my only child:

My dear Lizzie,
(I know that’s not really your name – it’s not like I’ve forgotten!)
I miss you.

You became part of my life in ways I could never have imagined when I first met you as a baby.
We ran.
We sang.
We played.
We hid.
We laughed – oh, how we laughed.

Lizzie, we shared the same humour, the same offbeat wavelength. Despite all the challenges you faced, we could read each other effortlessly. Across a crowded room, one glance told me whether you were happy, bored or anxious.
It hurts so much to feel that this bond was ripped apart.

You would hide and jump out at me. You would hide in the coat cupboard and get stuck. I would wonder where you were … and then hear a muffled call of, “Uh, can someone help me, please!”

We would race each other across the village green. We would take long walks together around Caistor or Claxby, sipping our lattes and chatting.

Games, silliness, seriousness – it was all part of our life together.
It changed as you grew, but the bond never did. It remained unshakeable, unbreakable.

Lizzie, I have not forgotten you.
I have not abandoned you.
I have not given up on you.
With every fibre of my being, I am fighting for your right to reconnect with your family – the very connections that were so cruelly stolen from you.

What happened to you is not fair, Lizzie.
It is not right.
But this much is true:
Everyone who ever truly loved you still loves you.
The voices still call out. The arms remain outstretched.

I will keep fighting for you, for your freedom, for your right to choose connection and love.

On this Father’s Day, all I can do is send my love in this letter and in my thoughts and my heartfelt prayers.

Those who took you do not know the strength of my love.
The cold, emotionless agencies cannot grasp the depth of a father’s love for his daughter.

Lizzie, my wonderfully loopy girl, I love you – always and forever.
Please remember who you are.
Don’t let go.

I end where I began:
I miss you.
We all miss you.
No matter what you’ve been told, I will always be your Daddy.

All my love, always.
And the love of everyone who truly knows you.
xxx

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Thank you for reading. If you have any insights, comments or advice, please feel free to add them below.