Grappling with layers of grief

I have been grappling with my emotions over the past couple of days as the world watches the Guadalupe River in Central Texas unleash its savagery on the land ... and the people who occupy it.

My grief is more profound than your run-of-the-mill natural catastrophes, not that any of them ever should be treated as run-of-the-mill.

The loss of life is staggering. Ninety confirmed deaths the last I heard. The number is likely to grow.

There's an element to the human loss that is even more staggering. So many of the lives claimed by the normally docile river belonged to young girls, many of whom were attending Camp Mystic, a Chrstian retreat for girls in Kerrville. They're recovering the remains of the girls declared missing, bringing untold heartache to loved ones and friends.

My sons have attended a similar camp in Kerrville, so in a strange visceral sense, the loss of those girls hits me at level that is a bit more personal than it otherwise might be.

It could be the location that has stung so many Texans deeply. The Hill Country is a magical place. It is full of recreational sites, including those that feature river water. The Guadalupe River, known for its rafting and other recreational pursuits, is now feared by many as a monster capable of delivering unfathomable carnage.

There's the political element at play. This event occurred just as Donald Trump signed legislation that among other things guts the Federal Emergency Management Agency's role in disaster relief. To his credit, Trump did say FEMA is going to work full-time -- and then some -- while it remains on the books to deliver aid to those stricken by the raging water.

Texas and the nation are grieving the loss of life. The state has been visited many times by nature's vengeance. This one seems to hurt even more deeply than what we perceive as "normal" ... as if we ever should become accustomed to this kind of environmental mayhem.

I fear that more of it will come with increasing frequency.