Adalynn’s Light — A Mother’s Forgiveness After Unimaginable Loss.3128
It was still dark when the call came in.
The early hours of May 5, 2025.
A welfare check.
A simple knock on a quiet door that would uncover something no one could ever forget.
Deputies arrived at a small home and called out for the man inside — Leroy Sadler, sixty years old.
There was no answer.
Then, a single gunshot split the silence.
When they entered, what they found was beyond words.
Inside, four members of the same family were gone — Leroy, his wife Judy, their son James, and their two-year-old granddaughter,
The officers stood in the stillness of that home — a home once filled with laughter, bedtime songs, and the sound of a toddler’s tiny footsteps.
Now, it was silent.
Utterly silent.
Investigators would later determine what happened: a murder-suicide.
Leroy, a man described by neighbors as a “doomsday prepper,” had taken the lives of his family before turning the gun on himself.
No one knew why.
No one ever really does.
Outside, flashing lights painted the dawn in red and blue — a cruel contrast to the soft pink sunrise breaking over the trees.
A bomb squad was called to ensure the scene was safe.
But there was no safety left to find.
Hours later, miles away, a mother’s world began to fall apart.
Kara Hanning had tried calling her daughter’s babysitter that morning, just to check in.
No answer.
She tried again.
Still nothing.
Something in her heart told her something was wrong.
She got in her car and drove — fast, breath shallow, hands trembling.
When she arrived, the road was already blocked off with police tape.
The moment she saw the officers’ faces, she knew.
They didn’t have to say a word.
Her little girl was gone.
Adalynn Mae Sadler.
Just two years old.
Bright eyes, wild curls, and a laugh that could melt any heart.
She loved blowing bubbles in the yard, chasing them until she tumbled into the grass.
She loved the color pink, her stuffed bunny, and saying her favorite word — “No!” — with proud confidence.
Sweet and sassy, her mother said.
A little sunshine wrapped in stubbornness and love.
In every photo, she’s smiling — the kind of smile that makes you believe in joy again.
She was full of life.
And she was loved beyond measure.
Kara spoke later, her voice soft but steady, about the man who took that life.
Leroy.
Her daughter’s grandfather.
She didn’t speak with anger.
She spoke with heartbreak.
She said she understood that Leroy had been carrying a weight too heavy to bear.
He’d recently lost a stepdaughter to cancer.
He was caring for his sick wife.
He was grieving, breaking, and alone — trapped in a silence no one around him could hear.
Kara said, “I don’t hate him. I just wish he had asked for help.”
It’s a sentence that lingers.
A sentence that could save lives if only more people heard it.
Because behind so many tragedies are people quietly drowning — people who smile, wave, and say they’re fine, when inside, the storm is already raging.
Leroy’s pain turned inward until it exploded outward.
And in its path, it took four generations of love.
In the days that followed, the small community mourned deeply.
Neighbors brought flowers.
Friends held vigils.
And Kara — broken but unbowed — turned her grief into something larger than despair.
She began to speak out about mental health, about the warning signs no one wants to see, about the need to check in on those who seem strong.
She talked about the importance of asking questions, of offering kindness, of reminding people they’re not alone.
Her words carried a quiet power — the kind that comes only from loss.
She said, “I can’t bring my baby back, but maybe her story can help someone else stay.”
Adalynn’s memory has become more than a name on a headline.
She has become a reason.
A reminder.
A symbol of why reaching out matters.
Because somewhere, right now, there’s another person smiling through the pain.
Another family waiting for a call that might never come.
And maybe, just maybe, her story will make someone pick up the phone.
💔
Two years old.
Too soon gone.
But her light — the small, sassy, beautiful spark that was Adalynn Mae — still shines.
In every bubble that floats into the sky.
In every laugh of a child.
In every act of love that comes after tragedy.
She was here.
She mattered.
And her story might save another.
A Final Goodbye for Coleslaw.605
Yesterday, we lost Coleslaw. The loss was sudden, but in some ways, it had been written for years. Years of neglect, of breeding, of no proper veterinary care, had left their mark on her fragile body. Yet in her final moments, she didn’t face suffering alone. We gave her the one gift she truly deserved: a peaceful, loving goodbye. It was a goodbye filled with the kind of care she had never fully known before.
My heart feels shattered, yet even in the pain, there’s a quiet pride. I would do it again. I have done it again. And I will do it again. Rescue work is exhausting, it tests every ounce of your strength, and it weighs heavily on your soul. But amidst the heartbreak, there is love—and love lifts you, even when it seems impossible. Coleslaw’s last days were filled with kindness, comfort, and joy, a life she had earned but never fully experienced until now.
I imagine her now, running free in a place without pain, where she can find Kenobi and tell him of our walks in the woods, of the times spent playing with Cabbage. I imagine her meeting Mandy, Driftwood, and Kennedy, sharing stories of the love we gave them, of the moments we shared, and the drool we all laughed at. She leaves behind a legacy of trust, of resilience, and of the quiet beauty that comes when a broken soul finally feels safe.
Thank you to everyone who touched her life, who made her ears and skin feel comfort for the first time in a long while. Thank you for making her last days brighter, fuller, and softer. Every moment spent with her was worth it. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I’m grateful I got to meet her, to see her spirit shine even for a brief time.
Coleslaw may have left our world, but the love she received and the love she gave will echo forever. She reminded us why we keep going back, why we keep trying, why we keep rescuing, even when it breaks us. In her quiet way, she showed us that love can transform suffering into peace, and loss into a memory filled with light. Goodbye, sweet girl. You are loved. You are remembered. And you will never be forgotten.
