Keli Rabon's banner
Keli Rabon's profile picture

Keli Rabon

@KeliRabon8,532 subscribers

Lifestyle blogger by day, reliving my award-winning TV investigative journo career by night. Boy mom, Texan, EDM fan, fierce advocate, truth seeker.

Shorts

One year ago, around this time, I was speeding across Texas, fighting back tears and streaming live news coverage on my phone, trying to get to my sons at Camp La Junta in Hunt, TX. There had been a massive amount of rain overnight, and I woke up to a text saying they were without power and cell service. Little did I know that just hours earlier, 119 people in that small county (139 total) had lost their lives in an unfathomable flood. My 7-year-old, Brock, fresh out of Kindergarten, had one full day at camp. My 9 yr old, Braeden, was in a different cabin. Around 3 AM, Brock woke up on a soaked mattress. The Guadalupe River had already risen nearly level with his bottom bunk. His teenage counselors lifted the little boys to the top bunks. Within minutes, that still wasn’t high enough. In the pitch black, freezing water filled with debris, gasoline, branches, snakes—everything you can imagine—kept rising. The boys were moved higher, into the rafters and onto the tops of the shower stalls, just trying to stay ahead of the water. Little did they know those bunk beds and vaulted ceilings would be a key reason they survived—while 27 girls at Camp Mystic, just minutes away, did not. They had followed orders to “shelter in place,” but the girls simply ran out of room. Back at Camp La Junta, about 60 boys were trapped in a triplex of three cabins. The oldest counselor was maybe 18. There was no prior camp safety training, barely any cell service, and no clear plan. Their 911 calls were answered occasionally, but help wasn’t coming. By then, the whole area was overwhelmed, and Kerr County was wholly unprepared. Some 911 calls weren’t just being routed to other counties - they were even forwarded to the local library. At 4 AM on July 4th, no one was there. It was kids saving kids. The cabins started breaking apart. Windows, doors, and even a wall crumbled as the water ripped through. One teenage counselor couldn’t handle the terrified screams of the little boys anymore and took his chances in the flood. He survived—but it was a choice no kid should ever have to make. A small cabin with young staffers inside tore off its foundation and slammed into the triplex where Brock was, like a bowling ball hitting the bumpers, before miraculously being stopped by a tree. Their security guard, brand new to the job, had taken refuge in the Dining Hall. As the building fell apart, she was pulled into the river. She grabbed a Gatorade cooler and held on for dear life, colliding with vehicles and barbed wire as the thick, freezing water tore off her clothes and broke her finger in a surreal, incomprehensible ride downstream. When she finally managed to grab onto a tree more than a mile away, she stumbled through the dark and the storm until she found a home. Nearly naked, she rang the doorbell of a stranger who took her in. The worst of the terror lasted only a couple of hours. The nightmares have lasted much longer. Now, my sons fear the sound of heavy rain. They instinctively scan rooms for higher ground or emergency exits. And that’s just their piece of the trauma. So many others lost lives, homes, their entire sense of safety. As a family, the boys & I will never forget the July 4th Floods. We’ve advocated for help and change - not just because of what my kids went through, but because of what that entire community endured: a natural disaster full of manmade failures. I hope you will never forget either.

One year ago, around this time, I was speeding across Texas, fighting back tears and streaming live news coverage on my phone, trying to get to my sons at Camp La Junta in Hunt, TX. There had been a massive amount of rain overnight, and I woke up to a text saying they were without power and cell service. Little did I know that just hours earlier, 119 people in that small county (139 total) had lost their lives in an unfathomable flood. My 7-year-old, Brock, fresh out of Kindergarten, had one full day at camp. My 9 yr old, Braeden, was in a different cabin. Around 3 AM, Brock woke up on a soaked mattress. The Guadalupe River had already risen nearly level with his bottom bunk. His teenage counselors lifted the little boys to the top bunks. Within minutes, that still wasn’t high enough. In the pitch black, freezing water filled with debris, gasoline, branches, snakes—everything you can imagine—kept rising. The boys were moved higher, into the rafters and onto the tops of the shower stalls, just trying to stay ahead of the water. Little did they know those bunk beds and vaulted ceilings would be a key reason they survived—while 27 girls at Camp Mystic, just minutes away, did not. They had followed orders to “shelter in place,” but the girls simply ran out of room. Back at Camp La Junta, about 60 boys were trapped in a triplex of three cabins. The oldest counselor was maybe 18. There was no prior camp safety training, barely any cell service, and no clear plan. Their 911 calls were answered occasionally, but help wasn’t coming. By then, the whole area was overwhelmed, and Kerr County was wholly unprepared. Some 911 calls weren’t just being routed to other counties - they were even forwarded to the local library. At 4 AM on July 4th, no one was there. It was kids saving kids. The cabins started breaking apart. Windows, doors, and even a wall crumbled as the water ripped through. One teenage counselor couldn’t handle the terrified screams of the little boys anymore and took his chances in the flood. He survived—but it was a choice no kid should ever have to make. A small cabin with young staffers inside tore off its foundation and slammed into the triplex where Brock was, like a bowling ball hitting the bumpers, before miraculously being stopped by a tree. Their security guard, brand new to the job, had taken refuge in the Dining Hall. As the building fell apart, she was pulled into the river. She grabbed a Gatorade cooler and held on for dear life, colliding with vehicles and barbed wire as the thick, freezing water tore off her clothes and broke her finger in a surreal, incomprehensible ride downstream. When she finally managed to grab onto a tree more than a mile away, she stumbled through the dark and the storm until she found a home. Nearly naked, she rang the doorbell of a stranger who took her in. The worst of the terror lasted only a couple of hours. The nightmares have lasted much longer. Now, my sons fear the sound of heavy rain. They instinctively scan rooms for higher ground or emergency exits. And that’s just their piece of the trauma. So many others lost lives, homes, their entire sense of safety. As a family, the boys & I will never forget the July 4th Floods. We’ve advocated for help and change - not just because of what my kids went through, but because of what that entire community endured: a natural disaster full of manmade failures. I hope you will never forget either.

373,300 görüntüleme

This is pretty dang compelling. Lance, dat you?

This is pretty dang compelling. Lance, dat you?

78,664 görüntüleme

Videos

Daha fazla içerik yok.