Passion Ignited

When I look back on the beginnings of my advocacy work, one year stands out above all others: 1995.

That year, Arkansas was shaken by two tragedies that forever changed our communities. Nineteen‑year‑old Melissa Ann Witt was abducted from the Bowling World parking lot in Fort Smith and found brutally murdered 45 days later. Just six months after Melissa’s murder, six‑year‑old Morgan Chauntel Nick vanished without a trace from a Little League game in Alma—less than a mile from the local police station.

I will never forget standing in my parents’ living room on June 9, 1995, as news reports filled the air with the terrifying details. I remember turning to my father and asking if he thought Morgan’s abduction could be connected to Melissa’s murder. Alma was only fifteen minutes from Fort Smith. He looked at me, bewildered, and said softly, “I can’t wrap my head around any of it, LaDonna. What kind of person does something like this?” That look on his face is etched into my memory.

The circumstances surrounding Morgan’s disappearance remain haunting. That evening, families gathered to watch a Little League game. Morgan, wearing her green Girl Scouts t‑shirt, blue denim shorts, and white tennis shoes, asked her mother for permission to catch lightning bugs with friends. Minutes later, she was gone. Her mother, Colleen Nick, searched frantically, finding only empty space where her daughter had been moments before. A “creepy” man had been seen talking to Morgan. Within six minutes, police arrived and launched a search that continues to this day.

As I watched those reports, memories of my own childhood came flooding back—the night a known pedophile tried to lure my sister and me from a bowling alley. My father appeared out of nowhere, screaming “STOP,” and pulled us to safety. That moment left a permanent mark on my life. Standing in our living room watching the details of Morgan’s case unfold, I felt an overwhelming pull to do something—for victims who no longer had a voice, for the missing and the murdered.

In the months that followed, I couldn’t stop thinking about Morgan. I spent hours in the library reading everything I could find. The internet was new, but I used it to dig through articles, looking for anything that might lead to her. I never found the answer I wanted.

As technology advanced, I kept searching—studying cases like Adam Walsh, Etan Patz, and the Oklahoma Girl Scout murders. Each story broke my heart and deepened my resolve.

Then, ten years after Morgan’s abduction, I found myself sitting across from Colleen Nick in a small Mexican restaurant in Rogers, Arkansas. We talked for hours about Morgan, about advocacy, about what it means to fight for missing children. At the end of our conversation, Colleen surprised me: she invited me to volunteer with The Morgan Nick Foundation.

I said yes.

As a volunteer, I planned events, wrote newsletters, answered media questions, and eventually managed a satellite office. That year with the Foundation taught me how to speak out, how to advocate, and how to fight for those who cannot fight for themselves.

But I also began to see a gap: there were very few services for families of missing adults. My heart was pulled toward that need, and after a year I made the bittersweet decision to co‑found Let’s Bring Them Home, an organization dedicated to missing adults.

Looking back, I see how those early traumas shaped everything about who I am and what I do. As a child, I learned far too early that the world is not always safe—that predators can strike anywhere, at any time. But I also learned that trauma can fuel purpose.

Stories like Melissa Witt’s and Morgan Nick’s will always intersect with my own. I am captivated by the image of a little girl chasing fireflies and haunted by how quickly innocence can be stolen. I know what it feels like to stand on the edge of “what could have been,” and I don’t take my second chance lightly.

I have spent years fighting through the darkness of my own experience, emerging stronger, determined, and ready to fight for others.

This is my mission. My purpose. My calling.

For Melissa. For Morgan. For all the lost girls whose stories are still waiting to be told.