To the Girls of Camp Mystic

Many of us have been impacted by the news of the devastating floods in Texas on July 4th, 2025. Over the past week and a half, I have read messages from people who went to summer camp themselves, or who are related to a victim, or are a parent themselves. We are all grieving, collectively.

For my family and I, the news came as a shock, even confusion. We had been celebrating the holiday in an early morning parade in our neighborhood, laughing as it sprinkled on us, very unusual for a July 4th in Texas.

It wasn’t until noon that we started receiving concerned messages, and the calls and texts only increased from there.

Frantic, our group of mom’s were in denial. Why?

Because our girls knew dozens of friends at Camp Mystic.

This could not be happening.

They must be on higher ground, waiting for rescue, at worst with some scratches and scared stories of their night.

I texted a friend, a mom of three girls at the camp. I asked her if her girls were safe. No, she said, one is missing.

Tragically, 4 Central Austin girls did not survive the flood.

1 was on my daughter’s swim team.

1 had danced with my daughter for the past 3 years.

2 were very close friends, and a part of our tight-knit girl squad, classmates, besties.

The loss is unfathomable.

We do not know how to process this.

But to you girls, you brave, sweet girls:

I will remember helping you with your shoes and costumes at the dance recitals.

I will remember the endless giggles at my house.

I will remember cheering you on at the swim meets.

I will remember the mischievous sneaking of cookies at the Christmas parties.

I will remember the field trips and the class parties.

I will remember my husband coaching you in basketball, barely able to dribble, showing your cute dimples.

I will remember your voices.

I will remember how you talked about your new puppy who loved cuddling you, but loved your mom the most.

I will remember the happiness, community you brought my daughter, and our family.

And to all those who are processing, trying to make sense:

Grief is just love.

Grief is just love.

Grief is just love.

Until next time,

Emily