Heartbreaking Final Goodbye: Mother Whispers Last Words to 11-Year-Old Daughter in White Coffin as Three Louisiana Moms Mourn 8 Children Slaughtered by Their Own Father
Christina Snow bends down and whispers something in her daughter’s ear as the 11-year-old lies in a white casket, her eyes closed as if she were simply asleep.
On the morning before Mother’s Day, Sariahh Snow’s small, lifeless body is one of eight children resting in open white caskets lined along the front of a church hall in Shreveport, Louisiana.
Apart from the soft murmur of church organ music drifting through the sanctuary, Snow’s muffled sobs briefly silence the hundreds gathered to grieve alongside three mothers whose children were all fatally shot by the same man — the father of seven of the eight victims and the uncle of the eighth.
The shocking act of violence, which also left two of the mothers seriously wounded, became the deadliest mass shooting in the United States in more than two years. The tragedy forced an already grief-stricken nation to once again confront the deadly intersection of a mental health crisis and America’s widespread access to firearms.
“This is not a Shreveport mourning,” Congressman Cleo Fields said during his tribute. “This is a nation mourning.”
Now remembered as the “Eternal 8,” Jayla Elkins, 3; Shayla Elkins, 5; Kayla Pugh, 6; Layla Pugh, 7; Mar’Kaydon Pugh, 10; Sariahh Snow, 11; Khedarrion Snow, 6; and Braylon Snow, 5, were killed in the April 19 shooting.
As mourners lined up to pay their respects, one woman closed her eyes after looking at Kayla, who wore a white dress and had her fingernails carefully painted pink. Behind her casket stood a photograph from when she was alive, her bright eyes impossible to reconcile with the stillness of the tiny body before it.
Inside the funeral program, Kayla was described by her family as “K-Mae,” a sweetheart with a big smile who rarely asked for anything, but whenever she did, she melted hearts. She loved going to school, playing with her sisters, brothers, and cousins, and spending time outdoors running, jumping, and even wrestling with those she loved.
The seven other tributes were equally heartfelt. Sariahh was described as “sunshine,” a creative, intelligent, and loving girl. Khedarrion loved helping his family and adored his principal. Braylon was known for being sweet and gentle. Mar’Kaydon, affectionately called “K-Bug,” was cheerful and loved sharing what he learned at school with his grandmother each day. Jayla, known as her family’s “little J-Bae,” taught those around her “more about unconditional love, strength, and resilience than words could ever express.” Shayla was warm and quiet. Layla loved her siblings and cousins so deeply that she “would stand up for them no matter how big the other person was.”
The tragedy sends chills down the spine and leaves a lump in the throat. Throughout the hall, people held one another tightly, wiping away tears. Children filled the pews — innocent, precious, and suddenly even more cherished by everyone present.
The Saturday funeral service was carried by the powerful sounds of gospel music, its melodies rolling through the hall like waves, prompting raised hands in prayer and tears from loved ones and strangers alike.
Yet there were smiles as well. White, pink, blue, and purple stood out among the sea of black funeral attire, woven into bright dresses, pressed shirts, ribbons, and flowers.
“Lord, we ask right now a special prayer for Summer Grove School. Lord God, we pray for Lynnwood Public Charter School,” Pastor Al George said during his tribute, praying for the two schools the children attended.
‘I Wish I Knew Them,’ Boy Says
Some funeral attendees were family members, friends, and teachers. Many others were complete strangers who traveled more than 12 hours simply to witness the unimaginable loss of children they had never met.
“I had to get here,” Kelvin Gadson told CNN.
Gadson had driven from South Carolina and arrived a day earlier to attend an open viewing of the caskets at a funeral home — the first time the mothers had been able to see their children’s bodies.
But he was not there solely to honor those who had been lost. He came for the children who remained — those now burdened with images no child should ever have to carry. He brought two costumes, Minnie Mouse and Mickey Mouse, allowing children to pose for photos and briefly escape the trauma of what they had witnessed.
“They come out scared. But I’m really here because this violence has to stop. It’s killing our children, our precious babies,” said Gadson, founder of the Giving a Child a Dream Foundation. “My mission is about preventing gun violence.”
Children leaving the casket viewing with their parents often appeared confused and shocked after seeing eight bodies that looked so much like their own.
One of those children was Micheal Thomas.
“I’m kind of scared of funerals. I’m scared of the dead bodies, and they were pretty kids,” said the 10-year-old. “They were little. I wish I knew them. We would’ve been playing basketball, football — it would’ve been so fun.”
He said his classmates rarely talk about the children as much as he does. Pointing to his younger brother, who clung tightly to him, he added, “I care because imagine that was your kid. If it was my brother, I would be dying. I would be down bad.”
One day, he said, he hopes to meet them in heaven and say, “Hey! How you doing? I’m doing good. You broke my heart, but I was talking about you.”
He has not cried since seeing their bodies, but he knows he eventually will.
“The tears don’t want to come,” he said. “But when they do, I won’t hold them back.”
Plastic Trucks and Ribbon-Wrapped Dolls
Days after the shooting shocked Shreveport, police lights, media crews, and grieving relatives flooded the neighborhood where the killings occurred. Sirens echoed through the streets as questions and disbelief filled the air.
Today, however, the home sits in near-total silence.
The main road leading to the Cedar Grove house is under construction. Jagged chunks of concrete protrude from the dirt while orange-and-white warning cones caution drivers about danger. Less than half a mile away, eight innocent children received no such warning before encountering the worst danger imaginable.
Eight balloons sway in the wind above a makeshift memorial. Eight crosses stand in the damp ground, covered with handwritten messages. Toys cover the lawn — stuffed animals, plastic trucks, and ribbon-wrapped dolls left behind for children who will never return to claim them.
Despite the permanent scar left on the neighborhood, much of its beauty remains. Homes sit among lush green grass. Children play on porches. Neighbors blast Michael Jackson songs while families gather around outdoor tables.
A young girl slouches in a chair, her chin resting in her hands, looking bored. In quieter moments, the neighborhood feels like a living memory of childhood itself — fragile, ordinary, and a reminder of how quickly innocence can be shattered.
Near the memorial, a gray cat sits in the rain before wandering to the front door of the gray-and-white house, curling up near the entrance where blood had been spilled only weeks earlier.
The gunman was identified as 31-year-old Shamar Elkins. According to Shreveport Police Cpl. Chris Bordelon, the shootings were domestic in nature.
As the attack unfolded, some of the children attempted to escape through the back of the house, a state representative previously said during a news conference. Bullet holes were later visible in the rear door.
Every so often, a vehicle slows beside the memorial. The people inside sit quietly behind fogged windows — perhaps remembering, perhaps praying, perhaps simply trying to comprehend a loss too immense to fully understand.
Not far from the now-empty house, stripped of the laughter and joyful chaos that once filled its rooms, three mothers dressed in white sit side by side before the eight caskets.
Keosha Pugh — sister of Shaneiqua Pugh, the gunman’s wife — arrived at the funeral leaning on a cane, a painful reminder of the injuries she suffered while escaping with her daughter, Mar’Kianna. She had jumped from a roof during the gunfire, shattering her pelvis and hip. Shaneiqua escaped without physical injuries, but Christina Snow was shot in the face.
Throughout the service, all three mothers visibly carried the weight of trauma. Their legs trembled. Their hands shook. Their heads bowed with anxiety. At times, Snow collapsed into the arms of friends and loved ones as tears streamed down her face.
Prayers were spoken over the children after horse-drawn carriages carried their caskets slowly into the cemetery. Mourners followed behind, some carrying flowers, others carrying young children.
Roses were gently placed atop the caskets before eight white doves were released into the sky. Their wings spread into the clouds — a heartbreaking contrast to the eight young lives below, cut short before their stories ever had the chance to unfold.
Among the mourners was Dollie Sims, who had met the children through community programs attended by their father. She remembered how deeply loved they were and said their deaths left her stunned and retraumatized.
“This was reliving the gun violence involving my son, who was shot 15 times while walking down the street,” Sims said. “This is surreal. As a parent, all of us out here are devastated because what makes this so traumatic is that it was done by their father, who struggled with mental illness.”
Her son survived the shooting and was 19 years old at the time.
“This should open the eyes of Shreveport, Louisiana, and Louisiana as a whole about gun violence, its seriousness, and what we need to do to make communities safer. We need to advocate for and support other families and find ways to prevent another tragedy.”
Sims believes the full weight of the loss has not yet reached the mothers because they have not had time to truly grieve.
“Mother’s Day is just going to be the beginning of them realizing that those babies aren’t there anymore.”
A few blocks from the cemetery, Sharon Pouncy sat beside the road selling Mother’s Day gift baskets. Years earlier, she had lost a child of her own after he became ill.
“I want these mamas to know that every mother is holding them in their hearts today,” Pouncy said from the driver’s seat of her truck. She wore a Minnie Mouse shirt — unaware that the character had been one of the children’s favorites.
“We know your pain. Once you experience that loss, it never really goes away. You just…” She paused, a sad smile crossing her face. “You just find a way to live with it forever.”
As three mothers laid their children to rest, another mother, years into her own journey through grief, found herself thinking about her child as well.
A man pulled over and pointed to a gift basket he wanted to buy. A card peeked out from a pile of teddy bears.
“I love you, Mom.”
