In the rapid pace of the world outside, six months can feel like an old chapter already turned, a headline fading into the archives of digital memory. But in a quiet corner of the Hill Country, time has stood still for half a year. Today marks exactly 180 days since the devastating floods tore through the landscape, and 8-year-old Cile Steward remains the sole camper who has yet to be found.
Today, we do not speak of statistics. We are here to speak of a small heart, a family living in the delicate balance between hope and heartbreak, and a community that refuses to let a name be forgotten.
1. When Time Is Not a Healer
They often say that “time heals all wounds,” but for Cece and Will—Cile’s parents—that phrase feels like a cruel irony. For the past half-year, time has brought no answers; it has only thickened the heavy silence of her absence.
These six months have been:
- 180 mornings of waking up to the brutal reality that her bed remains empty.
- 180 nights of going to sleep without a goodnight hug, without the peace of knowing their child is safe.
- Six months of agonizing waiting—a type of psychological endurance that no words can fully capture.
For Cece and Will, every passing second is not a step toward healing, but a reminder of a missing piece—a “child-shaped hole” in a home that was once overflowing with laughter.
2. The Paradox of Hope and Heartbreak
There is an extraordinary but tragic strength that Cile’s parents carry every single day: the ability to carry hope and heartbreak at the exact same time.
They hope for a miracle, no matter how small. Yet, simultaneously, they carry the weight of a loss that has no conclusion. Without “closure,” grief cannot be fully processed. It is like an open wound with no way to be bandaged, because the object of that love has not yet been brought home.
They are waiting for a moment that no family on this earth should ever have to pray for: The chance to bring their daughter home. Not to return to life as it was, but to fulfill the final duty of parenthood—to lay her to rest with dignity, to grieve her fully, and to begin the painful journey of learning how to live in the “after.”
3. Cile Steward: A Spirit Never Forgotten
Cile was never just a “missing person.” She was a vibrant 8-year-old girl with a whole future ahead of her, with dreams yet to be named and childhood joys that were stolen too soon by the rising waters.
Though the flood may have taken her from her parents’ arms, it can never wash away the memory of her from the hearts of those who care. Today, we pause. We pause to look at her photo, to see the bright eyes and the smile of an angel, and to declare firmly: You are still here, in our hearts.
Honoring Cile is not just about recognizing her short life; it is about providing a pillar of strength for those left behind. When we speak Cile’s name, we are telling Cece and Will that they are not walking through this darkness alone.
4. Standing With Cece and Will
To Cece and Will: If you are reading this, please know that we don’t just see your pain—we feel it. We recognize that these six months have been a long, lonely trek through the wilderness of “not knowing.”
Sometimes, it may feel like the world has moved on, but this community has not. We are still here, still watching, still praying, and still hoping alongside you. Cile is not forgotten, and neither are you. Your strength in the face of this unimaginable grief is something that humbles us all.
5. A Call From Heart to Heart
To the friends, neighbors, and even the strangers reading this post: I am asking you to take a moment.
Sometimes, a single word, a message of love, or a small memory shared can be a “lifeline” for Cece and Will on their darkest days. Do not hesitate to leave a word of love below. Do not fear that your words are too small to soothe such a large wound. In the terrifying silence of missing answers, any voice of compassion is as precious as gold.
Let them see a flood of a different kind—a flood of kindness. Let them see that the name Cile Steward is still being carried in thousands of prayers.
Conclusion
Six months. A milestone no one wanted to reach.
Let us pray for the day, hopefully very soon, when Cile is brought home. Pray for Cece and Will to find the strength to navigate one more day at a time. And above all, pray that we never lose our empathy—that we never allow a family to suffer the agony of loss in the silence of community forgetfulness.
Sweet Cile, today and always, we remember you.
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