During the last few days, the Kerrville floods, the overwhelming loss of life, children, husbands, fathers, brothers and sisters taken far too soon, has caused me to reflect on a single moment that I have spent years processing through my own grief-journey - the last goodbye.  I can't help but imagine Moms or Dads dropping their kids off at camp, little feet squirreling impatiently as they wait through the registration line. Little voices squealing as they notice their friend has just arrived. The tensions of keeping an 8 year-olds feet close by, while Mom runs over the details of packing; did I remember her toothbrush, swimsuit, towel, store money? How is she going to do without me? He is going to have so much fun! How am I going to spend the week? Swirling thought after thought, as Mom or Dad wrestles between the responsibilities of sending an 8 year-old off to camp and the ball of first-day-of-camp energy crying out to be unleashed.  Then the moment comes. Cars are unloaded...