An incredibly heartwarming photo showing six generations of women from the same family has gone viral recently as it captured the attention of a large number of people.
At the top end of the age scale is 99-year-old MaeDell Taylor Hawkins who is holding her seven-month-old great-great-great-granddaughter Zhavia Whitaker in her arms while the rest of the women, including MaeDell’s daughter, Frances Snow, 77, granddaughter Gracie Snow Howell, great-granddaughter Jacqueline Ledford, 29, and great-great-granddaughter Jaisline Wilson, 19, are posing behind them. Today, MaeDell has more than 620 grandchildren from her own daughters and their children’s children.
“I know it’s rare for six generations … it’s even rarer for all of them to be the same gender,” MaeDell’s granddaughter Howell, 58, told Good Morning America. “We’re all girls — girl power, as well.”
When they snapped the photo and shared it on the social media, none of them knew it would attract that much attention.
“We just kind of planned a day, and we just all met and grandma knew we were coming,” Howell, who now lives in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, said.
MaeDell got married back in 1940 when she was just 16 years old. Her husband was 50-year-old rail worker Bill Taylor who at the time had 10 children and needed someone to take care of them while he was at work. MaeDell took the role of a mother and went on to have 13 children on her own.
The family lived a very simple life as they lacked electricity, running water, and a stove, among the rest.
Getting married young was normal back in the day. Speaking of it, Howell said, “Now we don’t. We have children later in our life, so families are not that big. Having six generations is very, very rare to start with.”
The Kentucky matriarch now boasts a whopping 623 descendants, according to a family chart shared by her daughter-in-law, Janice Taylor. They include 106 grandchildren, 222 great-grandchildren, 234 great-great-grandchildren and 37 great-great-great-grandchildren.
“If everything goes well, the baby’s doing well, Grandma’s doing well – we’re all going to meet back in June and get another picture,” the family shared.
I Opened a Mysterious Door in My Cellar—Now I Regret Everything
I never believed in hidden doors or secret rooms; those were things from mystery stories. But when Florence and I decided to renovate our cellar, we found more than just a door behind the old wallpaper. It was something we were never meant to discover, and now, I wish I had never opened it.
You never truly understand a house until you’ve lived in it for some time. That’s what I always believed. Florence and I bought this old Victorian house five years ago. We called it our dream home. It had history, charm, and unique details, the kind of house with a past you could feel in every room.
When we started the renovation project, we thought we knew what we were getting into. The cellar was dark, damp, and unused. Peeling wallpaper and cracked tiles told us it hadn’t been touched in years. But we were excited about turning it into a useful space, maybe a wine cellar or storage room. That’s when we noticed something odd—a section of the wall that didn’t match the rest.
I never believed in hidden doors or secret rooms; those were things from mystery stories. But when Florence and I decided to renovate our cellar, we found more than just a door behind the old wallpaper. It was something we were never meant to discover, and now, I wish I had never opened it.
You never truly understand a house until you’ve lived in it for some time. That’s what I always believed. Florence and I bought this old Victorian house five years ago. We called it our dream home. It had history, charm, and unique details, the kind of house with a past you could feel in every room.
When we started the renovation project, we thought we knew what we were getting into. The cellar was dark, damp, and unused. Peeling wallpaper and cracked tiles told us it hadn’t been touched in years. But we were excited about turning it into a useful space, maybe a wine cellar or storage room. That’s when we noticed something odd—a section of the wall that didn’t match the rest.
In the back corner, we found something even stranger: an old wooden chest, covered in dust and cobwebs. It was locked, but the lock seemed weak, like it could easily break. Florence begged me to leave it alone, but I was too curious. I forced it open, and what I saw made my heart race.
Inside were old documents, letters written in a language I didn’t understand, and something wrapped in a faded cloth. When I unwrapped it, I froze. It was a small, strange object that didn’t belong in this world. Florence screamed and ran out of the cellar, terrified.
I should have followed her, but I was too deep into it. I put everything back in the chest and closed the door, but the feeling that something had changed wouldn’t leave me. Since that day, things have been different. Strange noises, cold drafts, and shadows moving where they shouldn’t.
Now, I regret opening that door. Florence refuses to go back into the cellar, and I can’t sleep at night. I don’t know what we uncovered, but I fear we’ve let something into our home that we can’t control. Every day, I wish I had just left the door hidden behind the wallpaper, where it belonged.
Now, the cellar remains locked. I’ve sealed the door with heavy boards, hoping that will keep whatever we disturbed at bay. Florence refuses to go near it, and our once happy home feels suffocating with the tension between us. It’s like the house itself has changed, like it’s watching us.
At night, I hear whispers coming from the floor below. I try to convince myself it’s just the wind or my imagination, but deep down, I know something’s wrong. The object I found in the chest haunts my thoughts—I’ve hidden it away, but it’s like it calls to me. Florence says I need to get rid of it, but I’m too afraid to touch it again.
I tried contacting the previous owners, but they didn’t know anything about the hidden room. They had lived here briefly before selling the house. No one in the neighborhood seems to know its history, and records of the house are vague. It’s like this part of the house was meant to stay forgotten.
I keep telling myself everything will be fine if I just leave it alone, but the strange occurrences are getting worse. Lights flicker, doors creak open on their own, and sometimes, I catch glimpses of something moving in the dark corners. It feels like the house is alive—angry that we disturbed its secret.
Florence is talking about moving, and maybe she’s right. But part of me knows that whatever we let out, whatever we disturbed, might not stay behind. And now, I wonder if sealing that door was just the beginning of something far more terrifying.
I never should have opened that door.
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