Emma Claire was our baby girl. Our firstborn. The light of our lives. She was the oldest, so whatever she was into, that’s what we were doing. You know, pageants to showing pigs. Basketball, photography, cheering for Alabama football and hunting with her Daddy on the weekends. Our world revolved around her.
The barn was her happy place. She loved spending time with her show pigs – always sending us selfies and photos of them. So many photos! We laughed until we cried in that barn, talked about life, love, about everything. That’s what makes it more painful. We weren’t a closed off family, we were close. We ate our meals together, we prayed together, we’d be there supporting her at whatever event or game she had that week.
There were no signs of the darkness she was hiding beneath. No evidence of depression, she didn’t become withdrawn, she didn’t pull out of any activities. Until the last day of her life all we saw was happy and outgoing Emma Claire. Full of a complete love for life. Our beautiful teenage girl.
She had huge hopes for her future. We all had huge hopes for her. She wanted to be a children’s nurse, or maybe a phlebotomist. Something to help people. That’s who she was. Caring, down to the bone. Since we lost her we’ve heard from so many parents in our community about how much she had helped their kids through tough times. They call us and say, “if it wasn’t for Emma Claire, our child wouldn’t be here”. She helped so many people, but she didn’t come to us for help.
The last day of Emma Claire’s life was like any other Sunday, we were getting ready for church. We got the kids ready and in the car but Emma Claire wasn’t in the house. I was about to send one of the other kids to find her, but something stopped me at the last minute. I walked out to the barn.
I saw her legs first and knew something was wrong. I hurried over to her, but it was too late. She had taken her own life. I ran to Ryan. He thought he could fix it, you know. He was her dad. That’s what he did. He thought he could throw her in the truck and take her to ER. But then reality set in. It was the worst day of our lives. We say our lives stopped that day.
In the blur that followed after her death, we discovered that she had been bullied relentlessly. She was receiving horrible, unwanted attention, messages no person should get – let alone a child. And because most of the bullying took place on Snapchat, the messages disappeared. Even though we checked her phone regularly, the messages that were causing her so much pain weren’t visible to us.
We wish she had come to us, but above all we wish we’d never let her get social media. You just have no idea what children go through on there. All the things they have to put up with. All that pain, right there in the palm of their hand. There’s no other product that doesn’t have standard or laws or guidelines. There’s nothing to keep children safe on the internet. That’s our message to legislators, something needs to be done.
We did everything in our power as parents to keep her safe. We always knew where she was, knew what she was watching on TV, knew her friends. We did everything, but it wasn’t enough. Social media companies need to change to keep children safe.
When we find ourselves struggling, The Parents’ Network is a real support. Being connected with parents who know your pain, it’s amazing. Having that common bond really lifts you up. There are people all across the country, all across the world, who have been through the same terrible thing as we have.
Sharing our story won’t bring our daughter back, but it’s our hope that speaking out will stop it from happening to anyone else. It’s the most indescribable pain, the worst pain a human can feel, to lose a child. We wouldn’t wish it on anyone.
We love you, baby girl.