The Tragedy in Wimberley: Why This Story Hits Home

On Saturday, May 23, I kissed my precious children as my husband and I dropped them off at my mom’s and headed out into the pouring rain to celebrate my 35th birthday with a group of friends. This holiday weekend, much like other Memorial Day weekends, had been filled with relaxation, laughter, and time with family and friends. But as the rain came pouring down, the lives of three Texas families were forever changed by these same storms, just down the road in nearby Wimberley.

My husband and I woke up on Sunday morning, picked up the kids, and went through our normal routine. At some point during the day, I perused Facebook and noticed the same beautiful, smiling family appearing in my thread. By the third time I passed their photo, I slowed down to see what would cause this stunning family of four to appear over and over again. As I began to read, I was caught short of breath in realizing these four strangers were missing. Strangers, yet in true Texas form, they seemed to be linked to many people I know.

As the day wore on, more details of this story began to trickle in. Not just one family, but three—a set of grandparents, a family of three, and that smiling family of four—were missing, their house taken by the flood and their whereabouts unknown.

Over the next two weeks, I became almost obsessed with these families, learning their names, the names of their children, their stories, where they were from, watching for any updates, following progress of the searches, and being brought to tears as news came of the passing of all but one.

But why? Why did this story so captivate me? Why did I think about these families nonstop and feel the need to follow until resolution was found? As my week went on, I realized I was not alone in my desire to know this story. Everywhere I went, I found friends, young and old, all mothers, weaving the McCombs, the Charbas, and the Careys into their conversations, all eager to know if updates had come in, all carrying accounts of someone who knew them, and all baring sorrow for these strangers.

What I think it comes down to is that when you become a mother, you become bonded to women all over the world and share a common identity. I know in my soul what it is to be a mother, and I know in my soul what it is to love my children, just like Laura McComb and Michelle Charba. I followed the news of Laura and Michelle and my bond to them was as a mother. I saw them and learned about them as mothers, but even more, I learned they were my contemporaries, women my age with young children similar in age to my own precious children. I have similar family photos, posing with smiles and my happy family just as Laura did. I have photos just like Michelle, with me hugging one of my littles, happiness spread across our faces. Just like me, they had started their Memorial Day weekend as one filled with relaxation, laughter, and time with family and friends. And just like me, they watched on Saturday as the rain came pouring down. But unlike me, their night turned into one of unimaginable horrors, while mine went on in celebration. How could these same rains allow one to continue her evening in happiness, while others lives were cut short?

As I read the accounts of what took place that rainy Saturday night, I pictured these mothers’ primal need to protect their children. I couldn’t sweep from my mind how their first thoughts must have shifted to their precious babies, Will, Andrew, and Leighton, as the house was knocked off its platforms. And I am still brought to tears as I write this and think about the moment their children were swept away. There are simply no words.

But I write to process. I write to understand. I write to make sense of what happens in my head. And I write in hopes that these words, in my own odd way, pay tribute to these women, these moms, and their families. I did not know Michelle or Laura…but I know people who did. And their words about these two women, these moms, repeat over and over in my mind:

“We lost a bright and shining star today, whose smile was contagious and who was taken from this world entirely too soon.”

“A gorgeous woman, both inside and out, who led by example in many aspects of her life. In her short time on Earth, Laura inspired many by setting the bar high as a Christian woman in her community, charismatic friend, and dedicated and joyous wife. Early on, she had the gift that many of us STILL struggle to find—of always keeping her priorities in order. For Laura, it will forever be her sweet Andrew and Leighton.”

In the midst of such tragedy, I see many searching for hope, and I see glimmers of God’s goodness shining through. When I hear of the impactful lives these women lived, they make me want to be a better mother, wife, daughter, and friend. They leave me realizing how much I take life for granted, but how, unlike Michelle and Laura, I do still have today, and my today should have no regrets. And perhaps that’s why women across our city and state have so grasped on to these fellow mothers whose lives were lost. We all understand the need to hug our children close, to ensure that they know they are loved beyond measure, to live a life worthy enough to make those we leave behind proud to have known us, and to leave an impact so that people know what we stood for and what was important to us.

I have also seen the true testimony of what it means to be a Texan. I have seen our state surround the community of Wimberley, their search efforts, and their needs with prayer, donations, and volunteer hours. Five years ago, I came home to this community of Texas in the midst of hardship, and I have seen what this generous, loving community is capable of. These last two weeks have left me in awe of the goodness of people and how connected we really all are. We turn on the news and hear the evil that exists in the world, but the love that has surrounded this tragedy leaves me with no doubt that the good in this world far outweighs the evil.

I have no words of wisdom here, just a request that we continue to lift up and support our neighbors in Wimberley, our brothers and sisters in the Corpus community, and Jonathan McComb, the lone survivor from the McComb family and Cristen Carey Daniel. I also ask that you pray for all of the families of those still missing from the floods and the recovery efforts still going in Wimberley and around Texas. There is much healing and restoration ahead, and we must give them the support tomorrow that we have shown today. For more information on how to help in the continued search efforts in Wimberley, please visit www.wimberleytxrescue.com.