Every year in the United States, hundreds of thousands of people vanish — many for days, others for decades, and some forever. According to the National Missing and Unidentified Persons System, approximately 600,000 new missing persons cases are reported each year. The vast majority are resolved: Roughly 97 to 99 percent of missing people are eventually found or return home. But that still leaves tens of thousands of cases lingering, and so many families left behind to deal with the fallout.
“It’s a heart-wrenching realization, panic-inducing,” says Becky Steinbach, a senior producer at the National Center for Missing & Exploited Children, of the moment when families realize a loved one is truly missing. “There’s a desire to want to do something, but there’s sometimes not a lot that you can do.”
While the public often associates missing persons cases with children, adults make up approximately 35 percent of those reported missing each year — particularly people who face mental health challenges, substance-use issues, or unstable housing. And unfortunately, not all cases get equal treatment. Public attention varies wildly depending on the person's age, the circumstances of their disappearance, and even the location from which they disappeared. Some cases dominate national headlines, while others barely register beyond local communities. (The term "missing white woman syndrome" was coined to call attention to the people of color whose cases are often under-publicized.)
“There’s a huge swing of cases that get tons of media coverage, and then cases where they receive none,” Steinbach says.
That disparity sometimes comes down to narrative: whether the press perceives that there's enough information to build a "story," whether family members are willing to speak publicly, and whether the case captivates audiences. Victims with strong personal backstories, extensive photos or videos, or connections to public figures are more likely to break through the din. "In Nancy Guthrie's case," says Steinbach, "you have Savannah, who has a built-in audience. People are captivated by this story and want to help."
That uneven visibility can have real consequences: More media attention often drives tips, and tips can revive investigations that might otherwise stall. “What law enforcement needs is something to investigate,” Steinbach explains. “If somebody comes forward — whether it’s been two weeks or two years — that can breathe new life into a situation.” In other words, some cases go cold not because the person's been forgotten, but because the authorities run out of leads. That’s where community involvement is critical — and where some loved ones step in.
Families of missing persons often become part of the efforts out of necessity: They organize search parties, distribute flyers, create Facebook pages, and hold candlelight vigils. In major cities like New York or L.A., where the population is huge and competition for headlines is fierce, these grassroots efforts can make all the difference. “Families have to cut through that noise,” Steinbach says, "by establishing a good relationship with law enforcement, calling and asking for updates, and figuring out what they can do publicly to continue spreading the word. You have to be a vocal advocate for your missing person.”
That imperative — to advocate loudly, and strategically — is something Rhonda Dequier understands well. As the founder of Missing in America Network, an Arizona-based nonprofit that has worked with roughly 600 families since its founding five years ago, she's seen firsthand how many are left to fend for themselves. She says one core problem isn't necessarily a failure of the police departments — it's a gap between what families need and what the system can provide.
"Unless you can hand foul play on a silver platter to law enforcement, their resources are very limited," she says. "The families don't know what to do. They think somebody's going to come in on a white horse and solve the case for them. And when the report is taken and they're told, 'If we hear anything, we'll let you know' — they're like, whoa. They have no idea what to do next."
Dequier suggests that families treat awareness like a campaign. "You have to 'market' your missing person," she says — a phrase that sounds jarring until she explains the logic. When she worked on a case involving Dylan Rounds, a 19-year-old Utah farmer who went missing on Memorial Day weekend in 2022, she knew early on that without a public push, the case would stagnate. So her team sent packets of seeds — a nod to Rounds' farming life — to anyone who asked, under the campaign "Sow a Seed for Dylan," and grew the Facebook following for the case by tens of thousands. (Rounds was later found to have been murdered.)
But advocacy is only one part of the story: The emotional toll of living with uncertainty is something else entirely, and it's often described as the hardest part of these ordeals. "Every morning I wake up and I have one foot in the past and one foot in the future," one family member told Steinbach — a sentiment she says is common among those navigating the long-term disappearance of a loved one.
That limbo can stretch for years — through birthdays, holidays, and major milestones. Advocates refer to this psychological state as "ambiguous grief," the particular anguish of not being able to mourn or move on. "The unknown eats at them as they try to sleep," Dequier says. "I can't imagine anything worse."
Life continues, even while one central question remains unresolved, potentially forever. Some families hold onto hope indefinitely, while others may eventually accept that answers may never come. There's no single "right" way to cope with that, says Steinbach. "Any feeling is valid," she explains.
For Dequier and her volunteers, the toll of walking alongside families — and sometimes witnessing the worst outcomes — is real. "There are weeks that we experience losses," she says, "and those losses are so hard." She explains that if someone hasn't personally experienced the pain of a missing loved one, it can be difficult to get emotionally invested in the issue. "Everybody knows that foster care and curing cancer are worthy causes," says Dequier. "But if you're never close to someone who goes missing, you don't understand what a crisis it is. I wish that Nancy Guthrie was home safe, and that this had not happened to her. But her case has opened up a lot of conversations across the country, and I am thankful for that."
Still, amid the uncertainty, there's one constant: Persistence matters. Continuing to search, ask questions, and say a missing person's name publicly remain powerful tools. Says Steinbach, "Families have to speak very loudly, and not give up even when it's really hard."
Behind every missing-person statistic is a human story — and, for too many families across the U.S., that story may never conclude. "It could happen to anybody," Dequier says. "It could happen to your mom, to my mom. And are we ready for it?"
