This started out to be a post about finding my lost ring.  But before I could start writing, I saw an email from a client whose wife took their daughter on the run for fifteen months.  He finally had a visit with the child yesterday, after much court machinations.  He reports, “there was no recognition in her eyes”.  His heart breaks.

I’ve spent a lot of time lamenting the terrible things that people do to one another.  I’ve yet to hear one legitimate reason for this woman to have taken their daughter from my client.  I’ve not heard reports of domestic violence or drug use.  Her lawyer has hinted at alcohol abuse but has offered no evidence that my client did anything but lovingly care for his daughter.  I’m sure there will be a “he said, she said” tone to the trial, with the judge glancing from one to another, trying to gauge credibility.

The loser in all this?  A five-year-old girl who no longer remembers her father.  I’ve got a legitimate beef about that; and a venue in which to make it with a raging fury that I intend to unleash with cold disdain for this mother, unless she’s got something more than vague accusations and innuendo.

But still:  I will tell my client not to despair, to keep coming to see his daughter, until the dawn of remembrance lights in her eyes. And not to forget:  Hope floats.