Meet Emory: A Mother's Story of Love, Loss and Hope

At Reese's Purpose, every mission begins with a child. Before there is advocacy, awareness, or change, there is a little life that forever changed the people who loved them. This month, we're honored to share the story of Emory Georgia-Faye "Emy" Sayre, told in her mother's own words. We hope you'll take a few moments to meet Emy through the eyes of the person who knew and loved her best.

Emory Georgia-Faye Sayre, also known to most as Emy, was born on April 8, 2016. For us, that was the best day of our lives. I was already a mom to three boys, and I had spent years praying every single night that God would bless me with a daughter. On April 8, my wish finally came true.

Being born into a house full of boys made Emy as rough and tough as they come. She was a fierce competitor who found joy in anything that involved sports. She spent hours outside playing what was supposed to be flag football but often turned into tackle football with her brothers, countless games of wiffle ball, basketball games that she somehow made even more exciting by riding a hoverboard while playing, wrestling matches on the trampoline, indoor boxing matches on rainy days, and races with every single person she met.

My wild, free-spirited girl didn't walk anywhere: everywhere she went was a run. If she fell or ran into something, while everyone else held their breath, she would pop right back up like nothing had happened, too focused on her next adventure to notice it might have hurt.

As tomboyish and playful as she was, she also had the sweetest princess side. When she told stories, she did it with so much expression and attitude that only a little girl could. Her hands and face were constantly performing, and sometimes I laughed so hard at the way she was telling the story that I missed what it was actually about.

She loved anything that glittered. If we went shopping, no glitter shoes, shirts, pants, or accessories were safe from Emy. She wanted them all. Her favorite color was, of course, pink, and that girl loved a good tutu.

She was the perfect balance in every way: girly and tomboyish, sweet and sassy, tough and soft. She was the exact daughter I had always dreamed of. She was, and still is, so deeply loved by our family and by everyone who knew her. After all, she was impossible not to love.

April 25, 2022, was the single worst day of our lives, a day that changed our family forever.

It was a Monday, and like so many Mondays, we were running late. Emy hadn't slept well the night before. She had tossed and turned all night, so I had overslept my alarm. I hurried everyone out the door and sent the kids to the top of the driveway to wait for the school bus, just as I had done every school day before.

Work was especially busy that day. After everyone else had left, I stayed a few extra minutes to put together my new office chair. The kids had already ridden the bus home, and I knew there was an adult there waiting for them, so I had no reason to think anything could be wrong.

A few minutes after 4:00 p.m., I saw my son's call come through on my Apple Watch. As I looked for my phone, another call came in, followed by a text message:

"Mom, please answer."

Then another message from a neighbor:

"Call 911."

My heart dropped.

I answered a call from Brandon, my son's dad, who was at my house.

"Tori, get home," he said frantically. "Emy was hit by the bus."

When you hear something like that, your mind tries to protect you. I remember thinking maybe she had a broken leg. I asked him, "How bad is it?"

The tears in his voice told me everything.

"Brandon... is she alive?"

"I don't know," was all he could say.

I called 911, desperate for an update, but they couldn't give me any information and told me to head home. I stood up from my desk, took a few steps, and collapsed onto the floor screaming. Two of my coworkers, dear friends, helped me to my feet.

"Come on, Tori," they said. "You have to go to her."

As we drove into my neighborhood, I saw the ambulance pulling away.

There were no lights.

No rush.

In that moment, I knew.

When I arrived, the street was filled with police cars, fire trucks, neighbors, and the school bus sitting in the middle of the road. I got out of the car screaming, "Is she alive?" before falling to my knees.

The police helped me up and told me to go to the hospital.

The entire drive, I couldn't stop asking myself the same question:

How could this have happened?

How does a school bus run over a child who had just gotten off the bus?

At the hospital, I sat beside my mom while a doctor and nurse came into the room.

"We're sorry. We tried everything, but she didn't make it."

I thought I was going to die there too.

In a way, I did.

Our family was allowed to spend time with Emy before saying our final goodbye. Watching your six-year-old child be taken away in a body bag is a pain that never leaves you. Even now, I can still feel it deep in the pit of my stomach.

In the days that followed, investigators met with our family. Using the cameras on the bus and witness accounts, including those of her brothers, who had to witness the accident, we learned what happened.

Emy was the first to step off the bus, followed by two of her brothers. The children crossed in front of the bus toward our driveway. Before reaching it, Emy turned around to pick a flower for me while her brothers continued home. As they reached the driveway, Emy began crossing directly in front of the bus. The driver, whose attention was focused on the boys in the driveway, put the bus in drive, looked forward, and pulled away, never seeing Emy, who was only a few steps from safety.

A bus is an enormous vehicle.

A six-year-old little girl is incredibly small.

It was the perfect storm for an unimaginable tragedy.

Our lives changed forever that day. While nothing can erase the pain of losing Emy, sharing her story keeps her memory alive and reminds us how precious every moment with our children truly is. She continues to inspire us every day through her joy, her strength, and the love she brought to everyone who knew her.

For now, we know Emy is waiting for us, just happy to know that she beat everyone there.

At Reese's Purpose, we believe every child's story has the power to create change simply by being told. Today, we are honored to share Emy's life, not because of how it ended, but because of how beautifully she lived. We are deeply grateful to Tori and her family for trusting us with her story. In the months ahead, we'll share more about how Emy's legacy continues to inspire efforts to make the journey to and from school safer for children everywhere.