Llodra and Praver went to the firehouse near Sandy Hook. Praver helped with prayers. Llodra served as the town spokeswoman, addressing the media and offering comfort as families were told their loved ones were dead.
People say Llodra was a calming presence amid parents who collapsed, cried and wailed.
Llodra could relate. Three years before, her 42-year-old daughter died suddenly from a bacterial infection.
"It just so rips your heart out that it's hard to recover from," she says. "The horrific circumstance that I had is multiplied by the circumstance of this event, because there was violence involved and because of the innocence, the age, involved of those sweet little babies."
She attended 22 funerals or wakes of those slain. She missed four because of schedule conflicts.
She has since met with President Obama, Vice President Joe Biden, Connecticut Gov. Dannel Malloy and other top leaders, along with the victims' families, first responders and countless Newtown residents.
Amid the tragedy, she's had to continue managing the town's $111 million budget during a time of cutbacks, while dealing with the extraordinary. She has kept a close eye out for cracks that could split the town open, like alcoholism, suicide, divorce or depression.
"To be sure, if we see any of that fracturing," she says, "we can immediately step in and help where people might feel very vulnerable.
"I understand that journey a little bit -- that there are times in that grief when you're in such despair that bad choices sometimes are made."
'Everything's going to be OK'
Like Llodra and Praver, Neil Heslin went to the firehouse that day, too -- but for the most agonizing of reasons. He learned shortly after midnight that his beloved boy, Jesse, had perished. "I don't wish it upon anybody."
Since then, he has traveled to Washington to speak on "Jesse's behalf without Jesse." He's met with the president and other top lawmakers about curbing gun violence. Heslin so wishes he and Jesse were taking their trip to the nation's capital together.
"There's nothing good about me speaking and testifying about my little boy."
He has taken on the gun industry, accusing manufacturers of profiting from the Sandy Hook killings. As he has become more vocal, Heslin has received a few death threats from people he calls "cowardly scumbags."
With activism comes consequences. Gun rights advocates recently celebrated when the pro-gun group Connecticut Carry released court records on Heslin's past, showing arrests for driving under the influence in 2001 and 2002 and one for possession of narcotics in 2002.
"A felon with a long rap sheet of fraud, substance abuse and reckless behavior is the poster boy for background checks and gun bans," declared Connecticut Carry. That phrase was picked up and repeated on dozens of pro-gun sites.
In early May, Heslin appeared before a Superior Court judge on charges from July 2011 of writing bad checks for his contracting business and driving with a suspended license. He has pleaded not guilty.
Heslin says his troubled past is behind him. Praver has helped him with his grief and his spirituality since the massacre. What haunts Heslin now is that last morning he spent with his son, and how he'll never see him again.
He and Jesse had eaten breakfast at the Misty Vale Deli. Jesse had ordered a sausage, egg and cheese sandwich, his favorite. He only ate half. "That morning he was kind of quiet. I asked him if he felt OK; he said he felt fine."
Father and son then drove to Sandy Hook. The two walked together into the school.
Jesse hugged his dad, told him he loved him. "Everything's going to be OK, Dad."
It was 9:04 a.m.
Heslin missed Adam Lanza by 26 minutes.
"Even if it meant I lost my life," Heslin said, "I wish I was there."
Now he's on a mission -- for his son who didn't deserve to die.