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Your support makes all the difference.Philip is 33 and has three sons: three-year-old twins and a boy aged five. Two months ago his eight-year relationship with his partner ended. He has not seen his children since. Philip works as a manager for a printing company and lives in Salisbury.
That morning started like any other weekday morning; 8.30 start with the kids at the door, waving goodbye as I drove off. My partner phoned me at 9.30 for a quick chat, the way she always did. Her last words were "love you". When I called back later that afternoon she sounded out of breath, so I said, "what have you been doing?" She told me she had just run in from the garden. But something in her voice made me feel funny, so I left work half an hour early. As I was driving home, I had this premonition that something was very wrong. But nothing could have prepared me for what I found when I got back. The reason my partner had been breathless was because she was clearing the house.
I let myself in at 5pm. The house was absolutely empty apart from the fridge-freezer, three-piece suite and dining-room table. My partner and the children were gone. All their clothes and toys were gone. Even my tools were missing. Plus every document apart from my driving licence.
Looking back, I had a sort of breakdown that night. I can't describe the feeling. It was total horror. I ran next door to my neighbours and said "please help me". As soon as they saw the state I was in, they called a doctor, who sedated me. Afterwards, I sat there sobbing like a baby. For the first time in my life I lost all control.
The next day, I took two weeks off work. Work is the least of your worries when something like that happens. The simplest things like bathing, feeding yourself and putting on clean clothes seem like an uphill struggle. All you want to do is close your eyes and forget everything, but sleep is impossible because you can't switch your mind off. I knew the only place she was likely to be was with her parents. So I left dozens of messages on their answering machine, begging somebody to call and at least let me know my family was okay. Silence. Ten weeks later the only way I knew they were safe was via the police.
For the first few weeks I was very tearful. Normally I am a logical thinker.I've always considered people who commit suicide to be cowards. But I have lost everything I have ever worked for. You convince yourself it is all your fault for failing as a partner and a parent. You start to feel you are absolutely worthless and useless to everybody. You start thinking the best thing you can do is end it all.
The bond between a father and his children is like a magnet. I miss them so much. There's all this love inside me and they are not here to give it to. But if I turned up, banging on the door demanding to see my children it would only turn into an unpleasant scene and I don't want my sons to witness that. I've written letters but there has been no reply. I haven't spoken to either my partner or boys since the day they left. Every time I call, her parents tell me she doesn't want to speak to me. I've been trying to analyse why this has happened. We had made love the night before. Our relationship wasn't perfect but we were happy enough. I'm not very good at showing my feelings and I know Jane found that frustrating. I'd also been working a lot of overtime when Jane wanted more support at home. But I never thought we'd reach the stage where we couldn't talk about a problem.
I don't feel angry towards Jane. She's taken everything, but I still love her. The bitterness I'm feeling is directed towards her parents. I'm sure that Jane has not done this of her own volition. She is probably torn between loyalty to me and her family who never thought I was good enough for her and made that clear from the day we met. They were always going on about the apparent failings in my character and dropping hints that Jane could do much better.
The future is too painful. I'd rather not think what I am going to do or feel when the boys' birthdays come round. All I know is that I am desperate to see them. Children adapt and accept things. It petrifies me to think my sons will get used to me not being around. The pain and longing is still so deep that it feels like walking in a blizzard with no clothes on. You know that the further you go, the more it will beat you down, but you can't turn back. You can only go forward into a deeper snowstorm. Right now I'm walking around with a big hole in my chest. I'd give anything to have them back.
`Philip' and `Jane' are pseudonyms.
Families Need Fathers can be contacted on 0990 502506
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