By Marissa Mullens
In recent weeks, our community has faced an unthinkable tragedy.
As floodwaters rose with terrifying speed, six precious girls — Janie Hunt (9), Eloise Peck (8), Lila Bonner (9), Hanna Lawrence (8), Rebecca Lawrence (8), and Hadley Hanna (8) — were taken far too soon.
Their names now echo through our town, through tearful prayers and handwritten notes, through candlelight vigils and green, purple, pink, and white ribbons tied to trees. They were daughters, sisters, classmates, teammates, and friends. And in one heart-wrenching moment, they became angels.
There are no words that can fully carry the weight of such loss. But what I’ve come to know in the 16 months since losing our daughter, Molly, is that grief seeks out the light — and finds it in the love of others.
On March 16, 2024, our family’s life changed forever. Molly was killed in a tragic car wreck.
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Our two sons were critically injured, and I was too. We should not have survived. But by the grace of God — we did. And I believe we survived for a reason.
It’s become clear that part of my purpose is to stand beside families now facing the same devastating loss. To walk with them, sit with them in their sorrow, and remind them that though this road is long and unbearably quiet — they are not alone.
After the wreck, our community surrounded us. They tied pink bows around trees for Molly, filled our porch with meals, and spoke her name with reverence.
Those simple acts held us together in the early days. And now, I see our community doing the same for these five families. The ribbons, the prayers, the memorials — they’re not just symbols. They’re promises. That we will remember. That we will carry one another.
Grief has no map. But I can share what has helped us keep going.
We celebrate Molly the way she lived — with creativity and heart.
On her birthday, we painted pigs in her honor. At Christmas, we filled her stocking with her favorite little treasures. We talk about her every single day.
We’ve poured our sorrow into purpose — improving highway safety, dedicating a mile in her memory, and fostering rescue dogs, something Molly adored.
We’ve leaned into our faith, into each other, and into those who’ve been where we are.
To the families grieving Janie, Eloise, Lila, Hanna, Rebecca, and Hadley — I see you. I feel your pain in my bones. And I will walk with you.
This is the club no one wants to join. But God puts people in our lives to help carry the weight. I will help carry yours.
And through it all, we keep breathing — together.
Each day brings us closer to the most beautiful reunion. Our daughters want us to live fully, to find joy again. Grief and joy are companions. We carry both. And somehow, with their love woven into us — we keep going.
