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.
THE DAY I LEARNED WHAT TRUE STRENGTH LOOKS LIKE
The sun beat down mercilessly, reflecting off the asphalt in shimmering waves. Sweat stung my eyes as I wrestled with the last stubborn lug nut. Another long day on the construction site, another day spent pushing my body to its limits. I was used to it. I was a construction worker, built like a bull, and pride myself on my strength. I could lift steel beams that would make most men wince, and I never backed down from a challenge.
Thirst gnawing at my throat, I stopped at the gas station, the promise of an icy soda beckoning. As I stepped out of my truck, I noticed an elderly man struggling with his car. His back was to me, but I could see his shoulders hunched, his hands trembling as he wrestled with a tire iron. Sweat stained his shirt, and he looked utterly defeated.
Something in his posture, the way his shoulders slumped, the way he seemed to shrink under the weight of the situation, tugged at my heartstrings. I walked over, a question forming on my lips. “Need a hand?”
He startled, turning to face me. His eyes, the color of faded denim, were filled with a mixture of surprise and apprehension. For a moment, he just stared, as if deciding whether to trust this hulking stranger. Then, a flicker of something akin to surrender crossed his face. “Yeah,” he rasped, his voice rough with exertion, “I think I do.”
As I knelt down, loosening the stubborn lug nut, he began to speak. His voice was weathered, like an old leather boot, but surprisingly steady. “Name’s Arthur,” he introduced himself. “Never been one to ask for help,” he confessed, his gaze fixed on the ground. “Always been the one doing the fixing, the helping.”
He went on to tell me about his life – a life of hard work, of providing for his family, of always being the strong one. His wife, bless her soul, had passed away last year, leaving a gaping hole in his life. “She always told me,” he sighed, “not to be so stubborn. To ask for help when I needed it. But I… I never could. Pride, I guess.”
As I tightened the last lug nut, I looked at him. Arthur was watching me, a flicker of something akin to awe in his eyes. “You don’t know what this means to me,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.
And in that moment, I realized something profound. True strength wasn’t just about brute force, about lifting heavy things and overcoming physical obstacles. True strength lay in acknowledging your limitations, in recognizing when you needed a helping hand, and in having the humility to accept it. It was about recognizing that asking for help wasn’t a sign of weakness, but a sign of strength.
Arthur, in his vulnerability, had taught me a valuable lesson. That day, I not only helped an elderly man change a tire; I learned a valuable lesson about true strength, a lesson that would stay with me long after the memory of the hot summer day and the rusty tire iron faded.
From that day forward, I approached my work with a newfound perspective. I learned to appreciate the value of teamwork, to recognize the strengths of my colleagues, and to ask for help when I needed it. I learned that true strength wasn’t about being invincible, but about knowing when to lean on others and allowing yourself to be vulnerable. And every time I faced a challenge, I would remember Arthur, and the valuable lesson he taught me about the true meaning of strength.
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