(Originally written 12.04.2020)
I feel everything, and I feel very deeply. It’s a blessing and a curse. A week ago today, my next door neighbor, a young man with mental health challenges was shot, not too far from our houses, maybe a few hundred feet away.
Our co-op community consisting mainly of seniors, including his dad, was rocked. I’m new, having just moved here only two years ago. But most of my neighbors have been here from the beginning. They are proud residents of Ralph Bunche Co-Op. Each and every one that I’ve met is proud to tell me that they’ve been here since the complex opened about 50 years ago. They keep their grass cut, they plant flowers, they support the local high school and community football teams. They are hardworking retirees who have raised children and some, grandchildren here.
They have been failed. We have been failed. The young man who was shot has been failed. I learned late last night that he lost his life. He is no longer here. I’m devastated. He and I had issues because he was usually off of his meds, but I would talk to his father, a very kind and gentle man, to get an understanding of what he was dealing with. Most of us here saw his illness on display from time to time. We believe that he came across someone who wasn’t aware and found his behavior threatening. I initially did when I moved in, but I talked to his father frequently who explained that he wouldn’t take his meds, and that he could be challenging during those times. The police frequently visited their home.
I wish we would talk more. I wish we would take the time to understand each other. I wish I could stay here. I put so much love and care into my new home, but it doesn’t feel like home anymore. I’m devastated. I can’t imagine not ever seeing his face again. He had just come knocking on my door twice looking for his father the night before, Thanksgiving evening. He should still be here. He was only 24. I’m happy that his battle with mental illness is over, but he should still be here. Rest in peace, Rashad.
I feel everything, and I feel very deeply. It’s a blessing and a curse. A week ago today, my next door neighbor, a young man with mental health challenges was shot, not too far from our houses, maybe a few hundred feet away.
Our co-op community consisting mainly of seniors, including his dad, was rocked. I’m new, having just moved here only two years ago. But most of my neighbors have been here from the beginning. They are proud residents of Ralph Bunche Co-Op. Each and every one that I’ve met is proud to tell me that they’ve been here since the complex opened about 50 years ago. They keep their grass cut, they plant flowers, they support the local high school and community football teams. They are hardworking retirees who have raised children and some, grandchildren here.
They have been failed. We have been failed. The young man who was shot has been failed. I learned late last night that he lost his life. He is no longer here. I’m devastated. He and I had issues because he was usually off of his meds, but I would talk to his father, a very kind and gentle man, to get an understanding of what he was dealing with. Most of us here saw his illness on display from time to time. We believe that he came across someone who wasn’t aware and found his behavior threatening. I initially did when I moved in, but I talked to his father frequently who explained that he wouldn’t take his meds, and that he could be challenging during those times. The police frequently visited their home.
I wish we would talk more. I wish we would take the time to understand each other. I wish I could stay here. I put so much love and care into my new home, but it doesn’t feel like home anymore. I’m devastated. I can’t imagine not ever seeing his face again. He had just come knocking on my door twice looking for his father the night before, Thanksgiving evening. He should still be here. He was only 24. I’m happy that his battle with mental illness is over, but he should still be here. Rest in peace, Rashad.
#RashadMichaelKimball #RashadMATTERED #BLM #sayhisnametoo
Mae Boatwrite 