07:55
Faizan
"I am so sad about this." That is how I reacted to the news and shared it with some friends. Another young person, which now makes three, has died since I camped with them on Freedom Plaza in Washington, D.C. in the fall of 2011. All three died long before their time, in strange and unexpected ways. All of them were so inspired, so full of life and such an integral part of our community. It is hard to believe it has happened again.
Kyle, the latest to fall, was killed in his home yesterday where he lived with his father and brother. He died from smoke inhalation on the second floor of his home. His brother tried to reach the window where Kyle struggled to escape, but was unable to find a ladder in the predawn darkness. Only 25 years old, Kyle had already effected the lives of many. Like most of the people who were there on the plaza, Kyle showed up with a backpack, the clothes he was wearing and not much else. Despite a lack of possessions, he carried a huge load of enthusiasm, he just brimmed with energy that was as memorable as it was infectious. Kyle was constantly in motion, talking, sharing and waving his arms trying to express the strong beliefs he held. He believed in people, he believed in justice and he believed in helping others.
Over the days and weeks I spent on the plaza, I came to know Kyle with his wild blonde locks dancing in the breeze as he walked. Actually, he seemed to float over the ground, his excitement lifting him as he went. Initially, he and I talked about New England, home for both of us. He was from Maine, one of my favorite places on earth. As time went on, I saw that Kyle's vision was bigger than he could sometimes hold. This vision took him away from our camp many times. He left to participate in rallies, marches and any event that spoke to him, often marching for long distances. During a cold and wet November, Kyle and many others walked 300 miles from Occupy Wall Street in New York to our camp in D.C. As they neared the city, I went to march with them in the rain on their last five miles. Along the way, Kyle learned much and eagerly shared his experiences with us upon his return. Sometimes, he left to return to Maine to help his folks, traveling on foot, bicycle and by bus when he could afford it. Like many others who knew him, I am sad to see him go. He had so much to offer the world.
Kyle, the latest to fall, was killed in his home yesterday where he lived with his father and brother. He died from smoke inhalation on the second floor of his home. His brother tried to reach the window where Kyle struggled to escape, but was unable to find a ladder in the predawn darkness. Only 25 years old, Kyle had already effected the lives of many. Like most of the people who were there on the plaza, Kyle showed up with a backpack, the clothes he was wearing and not much else. Despite a lack of possessions, he carried a huge load of enthusiasm, he just brimmed with energy that was as memorable as it was infectious. Kyle was constantly in motion, talking, sharing and waving his arms trying to express the strong beliefs he held. He believed in people, he believed in justice and he believed in helping others.
Over the days and weeks I spent on the plaza, I came to know Kyle with his wild blonde locks dancing in the breeze as he walked. Actually, he seemed to float over the ground, his excitement lifting him as he went. Initially, he and I talked about New England, home for both of us. He was from Maine, one of my favorite places on earth. As time went on, I saw that Kyle's vision was bigger than he could sometimes hold. This vision took him away from our camp many times. He left to participate in rallies, marches and any event that spoke to him, often marching for long distances. During a cold and wet November, Kyle and many others walked 300 miles from Occupy Wall Street in New York to our camp in D.C. As they neared the city, I went to march with them in the rain on their last five miles. Along the way, Kyle learned much and eagerly shared his experiences with us upon his return. Sometimes, he left to return to Maine to help his folks, traveling on foot, bicycle and by bus when he could afford it. Like many others who knew him, I am sad to see him go. He had so much to offer the world.
Posted in: arts
