Along the muddied, debris-filled banks of the Guadalupe River, the rush to rescue flood victims has turned into the grim task of recovery.

"It's hard," admits an out-of-breath Jesus Gomez with the Acuna Search & Rescue Team. "But first responders—we're a different breed."

Crews search for signs of life

Their physically and emotionally draining efforts are the only way to bring closure to families of the missing.

"The emotional part hasn't hit fully yet. That doesn't hit until a few days after you're back home," says Bob Deeds, a retired disaster responder. Deeds has spent more than three decades on scenes of devastation—from Washington state mudslides to the Jarrell, Texas, tornado, and the aftermath of 9/11 as a canine handler with Texas Task Force 1.

"They're concentrating on the job at hand. They're trying to keep themselves safe. They're trying to keep their dogs safe. They're trying to find that child or adult that's still missing."

Danger still lurks in the debris

Deeds knows every debris pile matters—and that the river remains hazardous.

"Very, very dangerous situation. If you took away all of the live critters that are trying to bite you and eat you, you still have the hazmat, the hazardous materials in the water," he says.

Crews must avoid everything from snakes and floating fire ant balls to buried fences. And while finding the deceased is difficult, Deeds says the hardest part is finding nothing.

The toll of long days grows

With more than 160 people still missing, the recovery effort could stretch on for weeks. And every day, the toll deepens.

"You're starting to get worn out," Deeds shares. "You're operating on very little sleep. The sleep that you did have, you're dreaming about what you're doing the next day — or having a nightmare about what happened the day before. And so those things are huge."

How the public can help

Deeds offered a heartfelt suggestion for how the community can support those who can't turn away from the heartache.

"You want to do something that's really cool? Have your child write a letter. Talk to your local church. Ask them to pray," he says.

Even now, those memories bring a smile to his face.

"I've got stacks of letters. That stuff means the world to me," says Deeds, who admits he'd be on the banks of the Guadalupe right now if his health allowed.

Still, he's doing his part — by sharing this message:

"You want that searcher to get reinvigorated, to go one more day? Send a big group of those letters to a task force so they can deliver them to everybody that's on hand. That's the stuff that keeps us going."