Free Bringing Elizabeth Home by Ed Smart, Lois Smart

morning Elizabeth was taken. That night two FBI agents had to help me up the stairs to my bedroom, since I was unable to make the climb on my own. A little later, around eleven, Lois called my dad and told him she thought I needed help. He came over right away and suggested I get medical attention. The impact of what was happening was settling in, and my mind was overwhelmed by the situation our family was facing. I was checked into the hospital, unable to stop myself from crying.
    By morning I had suffered what my doctors would later tell me was a mild nervous breakdown. I was in my deepest despair—feeling totally and completely helpless and unable to save my missing daughter. I was unable to function in any capacity, let alone offer security to Lois and the children. I needed sleep. I wasn't thinking clearly—I wasn't making good decisions. They sedated me when I checked in, but I kept right on crying. I just couldn't stop. I knew more than anything how much Lois and my family meant to me. Regardless of how bad things felt in that moment, I had to get back to my family. I asked for an ecclesiastic blessing. My father came to the hospital with my bishop. The bishop gave me a blessing that I would be able to cope with things and that I would have the strength and wherewithal to get through this nightmare. I had received many blessings in my lifetime, but I was in real pain and in dire need to feel the comfort that only God can give. During my blessing, I felt that God spoke to me. The Lord wanted me to be home with my family. I realized that life wasn't always going to be sweet, but I knew in my heart that everything was going to work out. I got out of the hospital bed, pulled myself together, and went home.
    At that point, Lois's strength was the glue that held our family together. Our marriage had always been strong, but after I came home from the hospital, we knew that our connection had to get even better. Between the press outside our door twenty-four hours a day, the invasive line of questioning from the police, and the pressure we were both feeling from Elizabeth's absence, the stress could have torn us apart. We were on the edge all the time. This experience brought out the best and the worst in all of those involved. Lois and I learned how to depend on each other for our individual strengths. When nothing tests you, it's hard to know how you'll react in a time of crisis. Up to this point, we had lived a pretty good and easy life. But the situation in which we found ourselves brought out the differences in our personalities and backgrounds, and we learned what each of us was truly made of, our strengths and our weaknesses.
    The searches continued with teams made up of a fascinating cross-mix of the people who make up our city; doctors, students, tourists, construction workers, teachers—everyone seemed to offer some assistance. The one lead we were able to provide was based on what was missing from Elizabeth's bedroom—a description of the red silk pajamas and the running shoes she wore that night. The shoes were size eight, white with blue trim, and with an unusual pattern on the soles.
    On Saturday, Lois and I faced the media once again, standing at each other's side. We knew in our hearts that Elizabeth was still alive. My brother Tom spoke on behalf of the family, echoing our belief that Elizabeth was still alive out there. He pleaded for people to check their basements, check their homes. Someone knew something—of that we were certain.
     
    “If you can hear us, we love you, Elizabeth. We haven't forgotten about you.
We won't stop until you come home.”
     
    Lois choked those words out as she faced the cameras one more time. It was painful to have to make such remarks. Why had we been targeted? We were still so perplexed about the nature of the crime.
    At eleven o'clock that morning, police gave out a composite sketch of a man they wanted to talk to who had attended a number of Elizabeth's harp concerts