Thursday, October 6, 2011

GUNMAN TARGETED EX-GIRLFRIENDS & RELATIVES"

For days, stuffed animals would show up on her doorstep. She has stacks of sympathy cards, many from strangers near and far.

She has shared hugs and tears with so many since that terrible day. Even in her own grief, she sees the grief of others, and knows so many really care.

“I just want to thank the whole community for the outpouring of support and love,” Patricia Emkens said last week.

“I’ve just been amazed at how many people have just opened up their hearts. That just floors me.”

Emkens’ daughters, Amanda Emkens, 27, and Kimberlee Emkens, 23, and Amanda’s daughter, Marissa, 10, were among seven killed in Rodrick Dantzler’s July 7 rampage on the city’s Northeast Side.

Dantzler also killed his wife, Jennifer Heeren, 29, their daughter, Kamrie, 12, and his wife’s parents, Thomas Heeren, 51, and Rebecca Heeren, 52, in the Heerens’ home.

Dantzler shot two others and took three hostages before he turned the gun on himself.

Emkens has tried to come up with answers. There are none. Her younger daughter once dated Dantzler but hadn’t seen him in a couple of years.

Dantzler left only victims and questions in a crime spree that Mayor George Heartwell said has “shaken our community to its roots.”

Dantzler’s wife had just left him, and he apparently wasn’t taking medication for mental-health issues, but no one can understand why he would take out his rage on so many, including two children.

“I’m never going to know why,” Emkens said.

Emkens recalled feeling numb when she found her daughters and granddaughter. She knew Dantzler did it.

“Nobody hated my kids,” she said. “They didn’t have any enemies. I knew the minute I walked in the door.”

She wouldn’t talk about Dantzler. Her focus is her family and healing.

She showed photographs of her daughters and granddaughter, who all lived with her in the house where she grew up on Plainfield Avenue NE.

“That’s my baby — that’s Kim,” Emkens said. “That’s a picture of Marissa, pretty recent. They all smiled, all the time.”

Both daughters were outgoing, with many friends. Amanda was the “neat, organized one” growing up. Emkens was just glad when she could see the floor in Kimberlee’s bedroom.

Amanda was a “good mom” and a “smart girl” who had just gotten a new job.

Kimberlee had just been accepted at Ferris State University, where she planned to study criminal justice.

“I got the mail from Ferris two days after she died that she had been accepted,” Emkens said.
Kimberlee worked two jobs, including at Payless ShoeSource, where the “shoeaholic” left a lot of her paycheck.

Of the two, Kimberlee was the athlete. She played basketball, soccer and softball. Emkens was the girls’ biggest cheerleader. Sometimes, the girls thought she was too enthusiastic. She recalled that Amanda would cringe or try to hide on the bleachers when her mom cheered at Kimberlee’s ballgames.

Emkens said her granddaughter reminded her a lot of Amanda. They had the same blue eyes.
Once she turned 10 — “‘I’m a double digit now, Grandma,’” she would say — she tried to be more independent. She was “a pistol” at times, her grandmother said.

But late at night, when Marissa couldn’t sleep, she would slip into her grandma’s bed and ask if they could read books together. Emkens, no matter how tired, could never tell her no.

The little girl was an athlete, too. She loved Little League softball. A banner at the ballpark reads: “Northern Little League Remembers Our Teammate Marissa Emkens.”

At North Park Elementary School, a large pink ribbon hangs as a tribute.

Emkens broke down in tears when she saw the banner. She took a photo, too.

She has collected nearly 200 stuffed animals from her front porch. She is going to donate them to an agency that helps children. They fill a plastic mattress bag.

These gestures mean a lot. Shortly after the tragedy, the daughters’ friends organized a benefit. Local businesses stepped up beyond what Emkens could imagine. Local restaurants provided gift cards.

She frequently stops to see Sean Allan, funeral arranger at Reyers North Valley Chapel. Grand Rapids police Officer Curtis Satterwaite, the first officer at Emkens’ house after she called 911, stops by most shifts just to make sure she’s OK. They know what she has been through.

Her granddaughter’s father, Chad Cole, calls every day.

She has a friend, Juli O’Rourke-Lillis, “my angel,” who has been at her side since the tragedy.

O’Rourke-Lillis said Emkens is incredibly strong and helps others as much as they help her.

O’Rourke-Lillis showed up at Emkens’ home shortly after the killings were reported. Emkens was outside while police investigated.

O’Rourke-Lillis recalled saying, “‘Is there somebody I can call for you?’ And (she) said, ‘They’re all in the house.’ That just ripped my heart out.”

She can’t imagine going through such loss.

Last week was particularly rough. Emkens has trouble eating and sleeping. Tears come easily. Her sense of humor helps. She recently was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder. She figured she could have diagnosed herself.

She has moved in with family but returns periodically to her home. She bought the house after her mother died and raised her girls there. She doesn’t want to leave the good memories there and looks forward to one day remembering only the “fun parts” of their lives. But it’s going to take time.

Every night, she would kiss all girls good night. Everything seems so quiet, now. As she described her girls, she would smile, but pause to wipe tears. It is an unthinkable loss, less than a month ago.

She still sees a lot of her daughters’ friends. They are so hurt. The mother in her makes her want to help.

“I wish I could fix this for them because I feel so bad,” she said.

“I can’t fix it.”


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