Jordan’s Story.

“The best is yet to come.”
Jordan once wrote these words in a ‘gratitude journal’ we found after she passed.
They have stayed with me ever since.

Jordan was smart, sensitive, creative, funny, and fiercely unique. She was my beautiful daughter, and her loss in March 2023 at the age of 18 left a hole in our world that can never truly be filled.

I first met Jordan when she was just 18 months old. I had only recently learned of my paternity, and I arranged to get us all to Melbourne so I could meet her, unsure of what the future would hold. But the moment we locked eyes, it was as if we already knew each other. In that instant, I knew I would do whatever it took to be part of her life.

And I did. Despite the distance between our homes, her other home in Perth and mine in Broken Hill, we built something strong and steady. Jordan came to visit every school holidays. We never missed a visit, and rarely missed a phone call, twice a week. Even if the conversations were brief or ordinary, just hearing her voice and knowing she was okay meant the world to me. Through all those years, she became a constant presence in my life.

Jordan lived two lives. One in Perth with her WA family, and the other here in Broken Hill with me, Dominique, and her younger siblings Tommy and Charlotte. When she moved to Broken Hill full-time in January 2020 just before COVID, it was not easy, but it gave us the profound gift of everyday life together. I got to experience things I never thought I would: Birthdays, father’s days, driving lessons, her graduation, and even helping her buy her first car. Those moments are now some of the most treasured in my life.

Looking back now, I know I did my best at the time, but I wish we had all worked harder to bridge not just the physical distance between these two worlds, but the emotional one as well. One of the hardest lessons I have learned is that even unintentional or perceived parental alienation, where a child feels torn between homes or unsure of their place, can quietly erode their self-esteem in ways that are devastating. I say that not to blame, but to acknowledge. So many families are doing their best under difficult circumstances. But I hope that part of Jordan’s legacy can be to help us see the importance of being kind and staying connected, not just in logistics, but in love.

Jordan was quirky and creative. Her playful spirit was best captured in a strange but beautiful toy we bought her on that first trip to Melbourne. A little monster we called ‘Ugg’. To me, Ugg symbolises the beautifully quirky and unapologetic side of her I always encouraged, but perhaps like the toy that ended up in the top of the wardrobe,  it was a side of her she kept locked away and forgot how to fully express in healthy ways. Jordan had a wild imagination, a sharp wit, and a monster soul full of love. But like many young people, she also battled anxiety, depression, and deep self-doubt.

After she died, we found that journal. The only page she had filled in simply read, “The best is yet to come.”
At the time, it felt like a dagger to the heart. But now, I see it differently. What if that message was not just a dream for her, but a gift to us? A call to believe that even in the depths of loss, something better is still possible. That healing, joy, connection, and love are still ahead of us if we choose to move toward them.

When she died, the outpouring of love and support from those whose lives she touched was overwhelming. I only wish she had known how deeply loved she was, not just by her family, but by a community. I wish she could have seen the avalanche of support that waited for her if only she could have turned toward it, reached out, and let people in.

She was never afraid to ask big questions or challenge the world around her, but sadly, she struggled to show that same compassion to herself. Her passing has left us with a haunting question: How do we honour her life when it ended too soon?

The answer, for me, is Jordan Liberty. A film that seeks not only to honour her memory, but to ask how we can all be a little kinder, more present, and more courageous with the people we love. It is a way of creating something magical and beautiful from all this, of turning heartbreak into hope.

Suicide creates deep and painful ripples that stretch far and wide. But we have a choice in what we do next. My hope is that Jordan’s story becomes a different kind of ripple: one of love, of gratitude, of courage. Let it move us to live more fully, to stop waiting, to speak what needs to be said. Take the trip. Say the thing. Apply for the job. Make your film. Whatever it is, let this moment be the drop in your ocean that starts a ripple, and leaves a wave of positive change in its wake.

Let Jordan be that ripple.

Jason King

P.S. If Jordan’s story has touched you, and you believe in the power of turning grief into growth, I invite you to support this project. 

Jordan Liberty isn’t just a film, it’s a movement toward compassion, connection, and mental health awareness, especially for young people in rural communities who often feel unseen or unheard.

Your donation will help us complete this documentary, share it with schools, parents, and communities around the country, and support the organisations working to prevent youth suicide.
Every contribution, big or small, helps us share Jordan’s message: the best is yet to come.

Donate now via Documentary Australia and help us turn her words into action.
Let’s make sure no young person feels they have to walk alone.