Lizzie came to us on April 12th, 2010. She was 4 months old and had been severely abused by her father. We had Lizzie in our home for 16 months. She will reside in my heart forever. Lizzie’s story is a painful one, painful when she arrived with fractures bones and fractured trust, painful today because we love her so much and miss her deeply. [It doesn't help that the beautiful calendar that my wife makes for me ever year has photos of her strewn throughout.] But Lizzie’s story is more about hope and healing than it is about pain.
Our second weekend with her, my wife was so sick that she didn’t even leave the bed to say goodbye to a friend who was visiting for the weekend. The responsibility for Lizzie and the rest of the kids fell to me. It was my first time soloing since Lizzie arrived and I leaned heavily on my oldest daughter. One thing that occurred that day was that I was unable to comfort her – it was her fussy time at the end of the day and she should have been sleeping. I asked my daughter to hold her while I left to make a bottle. When I returned she was quiet in my daughter’s arms. That changed when I took her back and tried to feed her – she wasn’t hungry, she was just upset.
A few days later I attended a court hearing and met Lizzie’s grandmother. One of our objectives as foster parents is to help the birth-family get through this experience, support them, and encourage them. The grandmother asked me a myriad of questions, most of which I couldn’t answer since my wife took care of her during the day and my 1 day as solo parent was a blur. But then she asked how Lizzie responded to me. I first thought, “She cries and is fussy there is little I can do to calm her down” but I didn’t say that. Instead I just told her she was fine and everything was okay. Her reply stuck with me. She said, “Well, your voice is not as deep as her father’s.”
I didn’t immediately make the connection. But I later tested out my theory using my daughter – Lizzie was fine with her but not with me. I was the representation of her father who did terrible things to her and broke the natural trust an infant has with her caregivers.
Now I understood my mission and I set out on it. Lizzie had an early morning feeding and I used that event as well as some other normally fussy times with Lizzie to help her shape a new impression of a father. As I fed her in the middle of the night I would hold her close to my chest and talk to her, saying just about anything – it didn’t matter what I said, I just wanted her to hear the deep sound of my voice and know that everything was okay. When I burped her I would put her face up against my neck so she could smell my scent, experience my presence and my strength, and know that I was there to provide for her, to protect her, to love her. I was dedicated to alter her experience of a father and I did. It took about 2 solid weeks of early morning feedings but I didn’t stop there, I made sure I was just as big a part of her life as I could.
Lizzie became a daddy’s girl. She was the apple of my eye and she knew it. One trick she used to play on me, and did it even as we drove to drop her off the last time we saw her, was to call my name as we were driving along just to get me to turn around. Her car seat was behind the driver’s seat. As we were moving through traffic she would call out, “Dad … dad … dad …” until I turned around and said, ” What?” She would just smile and giggle. Just smile and giggle at her dad. That was me and now it is someone else. And that someone else is now able to have a healthy, loving, protective, and fatherly relationship with this very special little girl.
I am thankful for Lizzie, despite the pain. I am thankful that I was there for her when she needed me the most. I am thankful for her grandmother for helping me understand exactly what I was supposed to do.
I would love to hear about your experiences as a father. Please share them with us here. And, for the record, Lizzie is not this child’s real name.
