The forces that descended upon the Guadalupe River in Texas’ Hill Country in the very early hours of Friday, July 4, 2025, were a generational, worst-case scenario.  

Four months’ worth of rain fell in just a few hours. Water-laden thunderstorms stalled in place. When combined, this “perfect storm” gave rise to a wall of water that surged down the river in the darkness of the night. This in itself limited the number of people who could get warnings and move to higher ground.

Sunrise revealed the devastation and horror inflicted upon Texas. Summer camps along the Guadalupe River were buried under a choking tsunami of flood water. And yet, we still did not understand the extent of the tragedy to be revealed. Reports began to trickle in of people whose lives had been taken by this tragedy. Search and rescue operations conducted by numerous first responder units were shown on television and on social media. The grisly numbers began to be disclosed.

11 dead and many missing. 20 dead. 30 dead. The number kept rising just as surely as the flood waters had. The confirmed death toll reached 70 on Sunday afternoon. 90 or more on Monday morning, over 100 Monday night. Many of those found dead had not yet been identified, including children.

For the parents of the children who are still missing or have not been identified, they are existing in the worst hell imaginable. Sleep will not come to them. Their hunger is gone. A terror which can only be experienced by a parent who has had a child taken, grips their every moment. For some, it even snaps their will to live.

If ever there was a time for our nation to come together as the search continues, as hearts are broken, as souls are taken, that time would surely be now. Families are far greater and more important than any political party. The pain caused by the death of innocent children is universal. This would be the time and event which could start the path of healing. One could think that. And yet, one would be wrong.

Even as first responders and volunteers were placing their own lives in harm’s way, as a parent’s worst nightmare played out before their eyes, the social injustice, keyboard warriors, including some in the eating disorder community, began to spew forth their hate filled narrative. A narrative which gave new life to a quote widely attributed to Josef Stalin, “One death is a tragedy. A million deaths is a statistic.” Perhaps we have a tendency to feel more deeply individual losses rather than full scale tragedies. Regardless, the tsunami of political venom flowed with incredible force.

At this point, it would have been so easy to wrap oneself in righteous indignation, to call out the callous and unfeeling. To point out how people, lost in their own self-importance and identification politics, have exacerbated the pain for those families whose loss cannot be imagined.

Numerous people use social media as the vehicle to parade their ignorance. They believe that an entire segment of our society, literally millions of people are fundamentally bad because of whom they supported in the last election. As a society, we cannot allow ourselves to degenerate into this madness.

I choose to believe that people have the ability to rise above a crisis and to embrace the very best in humanity. That we can see the best in people. That when confronted with seemingly overwhelming strife, we have the ability to care the most for our fellow human beings. We hug parents who have experienced the most horrific loss possible. We honor those brave warriors who saved so many lives.

We remember. We mourn. We cry. We support those who must bear the most horrific loss possible. We feel and must remember our humanity.

In this article, I had intended to go off on those who had used this tragedy as a platform upon which to build their own destructive narrative. But then, loved ones (all 2 of them) and friends (all 3 of them) in essence stated, “Dunn, you are a f*cking loon if you do that! You will be no better than them if you do!”

They were and are … right. And I would have been so wrong. Wrong to pontificate. Wrong to inflate my views above all others. I cannot and will not, castigate others while my character flaws and faults are so prevalent and are a work in progress.

My heart goes out to those parents whose beloved children have been so cruelly taken. I know what it is like to experience that type of pain. The agonizing, soul crushing pain. But it would be so wrong to impose my own narrow views upon others. We are all unique, singular souls. And so, I mourn with you. And should any parent reach out, I will cry with you, I will hold you … you have a safe place.

And maybe, just maybe for the briefest period of time, we can escape our pain, our sorrow, our anger, our fear, through grace. And perhaps through humor. For me, Robin Williams provided that respite from heartache at least for a little while. I hope everyone can find their own goodness and love of life somewhere. Somehow.