If you are new to this blog, you may want to read the posts “In a Nutshell” or go to July 2012 and read “Sending out a Letter.” My daughter Emma Katherine Roey lied about a friend being raped and attempting suicide, claimed to have been molested by a priest, and then, just as her attorneys were about to file a law suit, Emma accused her mother (me) of physically abusing her and later of poisoning her with DDT. Emma claimed to have a toxicology report to confirm that her mother (me, again!) poisoned her, but would never turn over this report to my attorney. If you read through the blog, you will find many other examples of Emma’s lying. At one point, she even complained about the way her dad touched her and that he called her a “bitch” and a “slut” everyday. (I refused to listen to her when she talked about her dad like that.) As long as Emma continues with the lies, I will tell her story. Love and thanks to all of you who read and have written to me. If you have any questions or comments, please contact me at: losingemma@gmail.com Please continue to share the blog with others.
Emma Roey, Emma Katherine Roey, Emma Kate Roey
Emma is now a married lady at the age of 21. I guess the freedom and independence she wanted so badly wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Most parents would wish their children didn’t get married at such a young age, but sometimes it works out. Emma still has some growing up to do, emotionally, and I would like to believe we will one day reconcile, but knowing Emma for 17 years, I don’t think so. Too many times, I saw Emma decide she didn’t like something or someone, and if you’ve heard the expression, “You are dead to me.” That pretty much describes Emma.
Like the knitting group in the previous post, when Emma decided she was done, that was it. In the knitting group, Emma sat in the corner, by herself, and refused to talk to anyone. I never figured out why she didn’t like the group anymore. When it was just Jan and her daughter, it was fine, but when a few more people showed up, that was it. I saw this same kind of behavior over and over again with people Emma didn’t like, whether it was someone from school, church, or wherever. If we ran into someone on Emma’s list, and I stopped to say hello, Emma was beyond rude in her silence, or would walk away when someone said hello to her, as if she were looking at something, pretending not to hear. Afterwards, I would scold her for being so rude, and told her that I didn’t care if she didn’t like someone, but she still needed to be polite. I wasn’t forcing her to have a conversation, but she could at least say hello.
This behavior never changed. Once you were on Emma’s list, you were dead to her, as I am sure I am to Emma now. I can still have hope that Emma will grow up and accept responsibility for what she did and quit blaming others, especially her parents for anything that didn’t go the way she wanted in her life, but if that even happens, it won’t be until she’s about thirty and she starts to realize her parents did the best they could and made mistakes just like every other parent out there. I can’t honestly say I have much hope though. Kids make mistakes, but as I’ve mentioned before, I think the things Emma’s done go far beyond “mistakes.”
In telling Emma’s story, I want to also tell some of the funny stories about Emma. For much of her childhood, her dad was working, so often, I was the only one to witness some of the funny things she said or did.
Chainsaws
Emma’s drawing of her dad with a chainsaw after a few beers. Emma Katherine Roey, Emma Kate Roey, Emma Roey.
Emma did the above picture in 2004, when she was 10. Phill’s friend, Keith, a mechanic at UPS whom Phill did computer work for, was an expert at cutting down trees. He had the spiked shoes and would secure a tree with rope before climbing up and cutting the top of it off until it got to a manageable level to cut down completely. If you’ve never seen a large tree cut down, it is very interesting to watch.
Phill asked Keith to come over one Saturday to cut down some trees, and decided to ask a couple of friends from church to come over and help and we would have pizza and beer.
In Emma’s 10 year old brain, the thought of chainsaws and beer was not a good mix! (And you were exactly right Emma. I hope you will remember that about drinking and driving!) The afternoon when Phill was talking to me about it, Emma went off to her room to draw and came back to show me this picture of her dad, drunk, with a chainsaw. I thought it was pretty funny, and of course had to show it to Phill. I even scanned it in the computer, so I could show it to my sister. If anyone is concerned, the adults drank responsibly, and I think the only accident was when our friend, Patti, from church, cut a smaller tree down and it came down on the fence. I certainly can’t say anything about that, because I was out working in the yard alone one day, and cut down a tree that landed perfectly on the boombox I had out with me. It was crushed into a hundred pieces. I couldn’t have done that if I tried!
Emma and the Fireflies
One summer night, when Emma was about 9 or 10, she had gone to bed. Our home in Hoschton had split bedrooms with the living room between. Emma’s bedroom had two long windows and then a wide, short rectangular window above those. The long windows were covered with plantation shutters and we’d put a valance over the rectangular window, so it wasn’t light-tight.
Phill and I were in the living room, when Emma let out a blood curdling scream! We both stood up, ready to run to the aid of our child, when she came running out of her room, straight to me and threw her arms around me. I could feel her heart pounding furiously through her PJs. Emma screamed, “Someone was shining a light into my window!!!!”
Phill and looked at each other, not quite believing what we were hearing. Phill went in Emma’s room to look out the window, and I was starting to figure it out. All I could think of was, “Fireflies.”
Sure enough, lying in bed, looking up at her window, beneath the valance, Emma had seen the little blinking lights of the fireflies at her window.
We laughed about this story for years, and Emma even wrote an essay on it for an assignment at Master’s Academy (the homeschool arts program she attended).
Emma in her pjs, holding a little snake I found In the yard. Emma Kate Roey, Emma Roey, Emma Katherine Roey Emma Buchheim
Losing Emma 