MICHEL MARTIN, HOST:
For many families in Texas this year, Thanksgiving is complicated by loss and grief. Fourth of July flooding left at least 138 people dead there. Houston Public Media's Dominic Anthony Walsh reports.
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DOMINIC ANTHONY WALSH, BYLINE: After nearly five months of repairs, Miles Murayama (ph) is back in his home. But he still has one overriding question.
MILES MURAYAMA: Why? Why? Why? Why Fourth of July at wee hours in the morning? Why couldn't it be Fourth of July during daylight, with people who have a chance, maybe?
WALSH: He's leaned into his faith and a newfound sense of community, pushing aside petty disagreements.
MURAYAMA: After this flooding, our neighborhood became closer. You know, people change their ways. We don't have as much animosity against each other, so we're better, better than we was.
WALSH: The rolling hills and the Guadalupe River make Kerr County a popular summer destination. But the river that drew so many visitors turned into a destructive torrent in July. His neighbors, Lilia and Joe Herrera (ph), will have a gathering for Thanksgiving, even though they're still rebuilding.
LILIA HERRERA: I might not have everything, but we will make do with what I have. That's what we're going to do, right, Joe?
JOE HERRERA: Yeah. The best. We're going to have the best ever.
L HERRERA: Yep.
WALSH: They're grateful for a narrow escape on the morning of July Fourth when 5 to 11 inches of rain fell in a few hours, raising the river more than 37 feet. Joe has Parkinson's, but as the water surged into their home, he was more worried about his wife.
J HERRERA: I said, go to the attic. I said, you - worry about saving yourself.
L HERRERA: He said, save yourself. Don't save me. And that's when we heard Ram.
WALSH: Ram is their neighbor, Ramiro Gonzalez. Wading through floodwaters, he pulled Joe up to safety.
RAMIRO GONZALEZ: It's a miracle that they got out of the house.
WALSH: This Thanksgiving, he will still be helping his neighbors.
GONZALEZ: I'll be at the Salvation Army delivering food. And then I come over to Joe afterwards (laughter).
WALSH: It's not a celebratory Thanksgiving for everyone. In Houston, Matthew Childress (ph) will always remember when his daughter, Chloe, left for Camp Mystic.
MATTHEW CHILDRESS: She gave me a big hug and kiss. I told her 17 kisses, which is our way of saying goodbye and good night to one another for her entire life. And she said, don't worry about it, Dad. I'll see you soon.
WALSH: She was one of two counselors, along with 25 campers, swept away from the Christian summer camp for girls. Eight days after their goodbye, he was identifying her body.
CHILDRESS: I went back in and gave her 17 kisses before we said goodbye because that's how we said goodbye, goodnight, every night.
WALSH: She was about a month from starting college in Austin. Instead, on what was supposed to be move-in day, Childress sat in meetings with state officials, advocating for what would become a new state law strengthening safety regulations at camps in Texas. Childress says there's a cloud of grief hanging over the family every day, but especially as they face their first holiday season without her. This Thanksgiving, he says, they're creating new traditions, leaving town, instead of staying in with family.
CHILDRESS: We haven't quite figured out what we're going to do for Christmas, but it may be the same thing, as well, because going back to our usual traditions here in Houston, here at our house, with our family is maybe too hard of a burden to take on.
WALSH: They all return to reminders of the grief - the state investigation of the floods, the lawsuits against Camp Mystic and Chloe's bedroom, the door to which they keep open on purpose, to hold on to the memory of their daughter.
For NPR News, I'm Dominic Anthony Walsh. Transcript provided by NPR, Copyright NPR.
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