The day I held Carly
Saturday, August 16, 2025, is a day I will hold close to me forever. Three hundred and five days after our very first communication, I finally got to see Carly in person. I was able to hug her, hold her hand, sit with her, and share real time together.
I had been approved for visitation at Central Mississippi Correctional Facility as one of her visitors. My first application, at Carly’s request, was sent in early July, but it was denied. I tried again, two more times, this time including a letter explaining who I am and why I felt so strongly about being one of the few visitors Carly is allowed. I am not sure what part got me approved but whichever it was I am so grateful for my persistence.
I have never been in a jail, let alone a maximum-security prison. Walking into the visitation building felt surreal. There were double fences, barbed wire in every direction, and a very heavy feeling of being watched in every direction. The area where visitors check in has a window looking into the rec room where visits take place. It was through that window, so unexpectedly, that I first saw Carly. She was already seated at her table, waiting eagerly, almost coming out of her seat with excitement.
The moment my eyes landed on her, I spun around in shock, covering my mouth as tears began streaming down my face. Her family hugged me and helped me steady myself, but my hands were shaking so badly I could hardly sign my name at the check-in desk. After a pat-down by an officer, I was cleared to enter.
I could hardly feel my legs as I rounded the corner. Thinking the whole time that this is a moment I never expected to have. Then, there she was, hugging a family member. I heard her say, “I’m going to go hug Tara now.” I remember almost falling into her as I was so overtaken with emotion. The next thing I knew, she was in my arms. Just like I do when I hug my grown boys, I held her tightly, trying to burn that moment into my soul. I cupped her face in my hands and told her how beautiful she was. She looked at me and said she loved my eyes.
I will never forget that complement.
We sat together for the visit. Hot dogs, potato chips, punch were served to us but I gave mine to Carly because I was too overwhelmed to eat. Carly looked happy, surrounded by people who love her. For those few hours, the barbed wire and guards were not there, just all of us talking and laughing. We held hands often, and she was excited to compare the size of our hands…which turned out to be almost the same. Before we left, we stood back-to-back to see who was taller. (She won.) It wasn’t until later that it truly struck me how deprived Carly is of something as simple and essential as human touch. I’m so grateful I was able to give her that.
Soon four o’clock came, and an officer announced the end of visitation. My anxiety rose as I gave Carly one last hug, crying onto her shoulder, not wanting to let go. Walking away from her was unbearable. I kept turning back, trying to hold onto the sight of her for as long as possible. Goodness her strength continues to amaze me.
Outside, we watched as she was escorted away, walking along a fence topped with barbed wire. We called out to her, and before disappearing, she lifted her hands to form a heart. And then she was gone. Gone into a facility none of us can see. Lost in a system where she is reduced to a number instead of recognized as a human being. In my mind, one thought echoed again and again: She doesn’t belong here. I left the prison with intense anger and emotion.
This past weekend, I stayed at Carly’s grandparents’ home. Their house is the perfect example of pride and love every grandparent’s house should be, every wall has photos of Carly, her mom, Ashley, her baby sister, Natalie, Heath, her aunt and uncle, and all the happy memories that came before the tragedy. I couldn’t help but imagine the day Carly finally walks back through their front door, Scooter barking wildly at her arrival, and seeing her grandparents finally free of the crushing weight they’ve carried for way too long. I will be there to witness it.
This family is fighting every single day to get Carly the help she needs, to demand a fair trial, and to expose the flaws in our justice system when it comes to children. They are doing this not only for themselves but, as her grandfather reminded me, “for Ashley” as well. Ashley would have never wanted this for her daughter, and that truth comes directly from Ashley’s parents.
I am so thankful to stand and fight beside this strong, determined family, as well as the amazing individuals in our advocacy team, some of who experienced this weekend with me. Saturday, August 16, 2025, will forever remain one of the most emotional and important days of my life. None of us will not stop until Carly comes home.
It is not lost on me that visitation day also fell on what would have been my grandmother’s birthday. I know she was looking down on me with pride and I just imagined what a beautiful sight it would have been if Ashley and my grandmother watched together.💜