Braiding Hope: Amelia’s Voice from the Heart of Camp Mystic

A Redd Dott Jewelry Interview

Some stories grip you by the heart and don't let go.

This is one of them.

When 14-year-old Amelia Moore boarded the bus to Camp Mystic this summer, she expected it to be like every other year—a return to a place filled with history, ritual, and joy. It was her eighth summer, a rite of passage shared by generations of women before her. Instead, Amelia survived one of the most harrowing natural disasters in Texas history—a flash flood that turned paradise into tragedy.

We sat down with Amelia to honor her voice, her bravery, and the bond she carries with the girls who didn't make it home. As we often say at Redd Dott Jewelry, "Every cuff tells a story—some are hard, some healing. But all are sacred."

This is Amelia's.

Before The Storm

Izzy: Amelia, what did Camp Mystic mean to you before the flood? What made it feel like a sacred place?

Amelia: Camp Mystic has always felt like a second home. This summer was my eighth year there. It's more than just a camp—it's a legacy. So many girls go because their moms and grandmothers did. Everything always looked the same, year after year. That's what made it feel safe. It never changed, even when the rest of life did.

Izzy: And then everything did change. What stands out most vividly from the night the storm hit?

Amelia: The lightning and thunder came so fast—there was barely a pause between them. It felt like the sky was exploding right over our heads. Every clap of thunder shook the cabin walls. It was terrifying.

Izzy: What emotions were running through you in those first hours—was it fear, confusion, disbelief?

Amelia: So much confusion. We were told everything was fine. "Go back to sleep," they said. And so, we tried. But deep down, something didn't feel right.

Living Through The Chaos

Izzy: What happened inside your cabin, Angel's Attic, that night—and how did it feel not knowing what was going on just yards away?

Amelia: We woke up around 1 a.m. to the power being out. It was pitch black. We asked "Should we go somewhere? Should we call someone?" But we were told not to worry.

Around 2 a.m., the lights flickered back on, but an hour later, everything went dark again. We were sitting in silence, just talking, trying to make sense of it all. Then, girls from a different cabin showed up—water was flooding into theirs.

We were trapped in uncertainty. No food, no working walkie-talkies. By the time the helicopters arrived, we still believed everyone was safe. They told us the other girls had been evacuated to the newer Cypress Creek campus. We believed them because we needed to.

Izzy: What was the hardest moment for you during all of this? When did you know it was more than just a storm?

Amelia: When they finally came to evacuate us and we flew out in helicopters. Once we got to the reunification site and saw the other girls—soaked, shaking, crying—we realized this had been a disaster. Not just rain. Not just a flood. Something life-changing.

Izzy: How did you and the other girls stay strong for one another in those moments?

Amelia: Harper—my best friend—and I just kept talking about her twin sisters, Hanna and Rebecca. "They're okay," we'd say. "They have to be." We kept asking if anyone had seen them. We needed to believe there was hope.

Izzy: Were there moments where you had to rise above your own fear for others?

Amelia: Yes. I remember seeing Lucy Claire—a first-year camper—in total shock. I knew she had been in the same cabin as Hanna. She was so scared, just clutching this little stuffed animal. I sat beside her, started braiding her hair, and tried to calm her down. I told her, "Your parents love you. They're coming. I promise." It felt like the only thing I could give her in that moment—comfort.

Aftermath & Reflection

Izzy: What was it like when you finally learned what had happened on the Flats, especially in cabins like Bubble Inn?

Amelia: I was angry at first. The girls didn't have cell service, but the main office had a landline. And we had walkies. Someone could've said something.

But when I got my phone back—164 messages. That's how I learned Hannah and Rebecca were gone. It felt like my chest cracked open.

Izzy: Was there one moment where the weight of it all truly hit you?

Amelia: When I read those messages. Their names on the list. It didn't feel real at first. But then it did—and I've never felt grief like that before.

Izzy: How have you kept their memory alive? Are there rituals or tributes that bring you peace?

Amelia: I painted a piece for them—something I started for Harper while we were still at camp. I hadn't been able to get ahold of her for a while after the rescue. She didn't know I'd been trying to reach her. But when she finally saw the painting… she cried. I just want them to be remembered. I don't ever want them to fade into silence. That painting became a kind of memorial gift, not just for her—but for me.

Empowerment & Healing

Izzy: At Redd Dott, we believe in healing through intention, affirmation, and story. What words or mantras have helped you move forward?

Amelia: "Together." That's what I keep coming back to. Even though some of the girls aren't here anymore, we were—and are—still together. In spirit, in memory. I want to live better because they can't.

Izzy: If you could create a custom cuff that told your story from Camp Mystic, what would it say?

Amelia: "Family Photo"

There's this tradition on the first Sunday—we all dress up and take pictures. It's called "Family Photos." We didn't get to do that with the twins. The storm came too soon. That moment was stolen from us. That phrase holds all of that for me.

The Adira cuff reminds me of Camp Mystic—the flowers, the green, the connection to the girls.

This Is Why We Create Personalized Cuff Bracelets

Amelia's words hold something so many of us understand deeply—that when there are no more photos to take, no more moments to make, we look for new ways to remember.

For her, Family Photo isn't just a phrase—it's a promise to hold on to what was lost.

That's the quiet power of a personalized cuff bracelet. It becomes something you can carry when the weight of grief feels too heavy. Not just jewelry, but a small, steady reminder of love that lingers. A way to keep their memory close, even when everything else feels far away.

Her Message To Others During This Grief

Izzy: Why did you choose to speak out, even when others stayed quiet?

Amelia: Because people were spreading lies—on social media, in the news. I couldn't stand by while that happened. The truth needed to be told. Not just for me, but for the girls and leaders who can't speak anymore.

Izzy: How have you changed since that night—emotionally, spiritually, socially?

Amelia: Spiritually, there was a little girl at camp who said, "I know where I'm going. I'm going to be with Jesus." That stuck with me. I want to have that kind of faith.

Emotionally, I'm in trauma therapy now. They're helping me with tools for anxiety and staying grounded. Like when it rains—I remind myself, "I'm home. I'm safe. I'm not back at camp."

Socially, I've reconnected with some people, and lost others. Some haven't been kind. But many have been. I'm learning who really sees me.

Izzy: Anyone who speaks to a survivor needs to lead with empathy. Anything less only deepens the pain. What would you say to younger girls who are navigating trauma or grief and don't know where to begin?

Amelia: At camp, we had a saying: "Do this hour." Just this hour. Not the whole day. Not the whole month. Just get through this one hour. And then the next.

The Power of Voice

Izzy: Do you see yourself using your voice and this experience to help others one day?

Amelia: I don't know exactly what I want to do yet. But I know I want to help others. That's the one thing I'm sure of.

Izzy: If you could help the world understand just one truth about what you lived through, what would it be?

Amelia: That there was no way out. The bridge was gone. The counselors did everything they could, but no one could have prepared for this.

And Dick Eastland—he was a good man. He died trying to save five girls. Everyone did their best. This wasn't something anyone could have trained or prepare for.

Final Words

Izzy: At Redd Dott, we believe every cuff tells a story. If yours could speak for you, what would it say?

Amelia: "Together in heaven—we will meet again." That's what I'd want my engraved cuff bracelet to say. That's what I believe.

Stories like Amelia's remind us how fragile life can be—and how strong love remains. Tragedy and loss may leave its mark, but so can remembrance.

And the memories of these girls deserve to be honored, held close—and carried forward.

With love and hope,
Izzy
Founder & Chief Artistic Officer, Redd Dott Jewelry