Reflections on the Loss of Charlie Kirk

Many people don’t quite grasp why the murder of Charlie Kirk affected them so deeply. It’s hard to articulate, really—perhaps it’s tied to the journey of California liberals who remember him fondly.

I remember attending my first Turning Point USA event in 2022. At that moment, I felt completely out of place.

Back in late 2021, CBS News terminated my contract because I resisted the Covid vaccine mandate at a San Diego affiliate. That’s a story in itself, but the essence is that I felt lost, unsure of where I belonged.

For years, I had climbed the ranks in local TV news, following the hopeful narratives that emerged from political discourse. My laptop was plastered with feminist bumper stickers my mother gave me; that was my identity.

Then, when I witnessed the chaos unfolding in the news media during these turbulent times, everything shifted. It was as if someone had smashed the rose-colored glasses I was wearing.

At that point, my boyfriend, now my husband, and I retreated to a quiet island in Florida. I began reporting independently, trying to navigate a political landscape without a clear identity. The mainstream Democrats pushed me away, and I saw many Republicans as complacent in falsehoods.

“If 2020 didn’t wake you up to the evil around us, perhaps 2025 will be the year that truly opens your eyes,” I often muse.

On my channel, I began interviewing other truth-seekers. It struck me that many were slated to speak at the hour-long event I had finally decided to attend.

I submitted my application for a press pass and was approved to cover the Turning Point USA Student Action Summit in July 2022, held in downtown Tampa.

Honestly, I didn’t know who Charlie Kirk was back then, and that’s not a slight. I had spent too long in an ideological bubble. I remembered hearing about TPUSA in college in California and thinking it was just another gun club.

My husband questioned, “Why do you need to go? You could interview them on Zoom.” I felt a bit isolated in that moment, but I explained that I needed to see I wasn’t alone. It was refreshing to witness what Charlie had created, a coalition focused on genuine concerns.

Thousands gathered at the convention center. While I don’t recall the exact figures, the sheer number of people is etched in my memory. Our online communities were being censored daily; we needed those in-person connections. And there they were—young, unmasked, unafraid.

As a press member, I generally felt comfortable covering events. Years of experience prepared me for that. Yet, I wondered if I would fit in—almost like being back in high school. What I discovered was a community eager to question the absurdities of the times.

The venue itself was vast, with air conditioning blasting to battle the summer heat. Lines of attendees stretched throughout the day, waiting for headliner President Trump. I hadn’t seen him in person since his 2018 visit to South Dakota, where I had dismissed him to friends and family as a clown.

In Florida in 2022, the atmosphere felt less like a political gathering and more like a concert from my youth. The speakers, staff, and volunteers effortlessly connected with the audience.

I vividly recall Karoline Leavitt making her initial bid for Congress. Her casual remarks were surprisingly impactful for someone so young. In a time when modern Democrats stifled questions, Charlie had cultivated a space where people felt at home. We were all isolated, yearning for community—and he had given that back to us.

I initially thought the crowd was filled with lifelong conservatives—those who had portraits of Ronald Reagan hanging in their homes. I learned I was mistaken. Person after person shared stories similar to mine, having come from progressive backgrounds until the pandemic shattered their illusions. The cycle seemed relentless—wash, rinse, repeat.

That’s what TPUSA represented to me—a community beyond just speakers, round tables, and booths. I will remember the moment Charlie walked past me. I was fumbling with my phone tripod at the time.

Since then, I’ve interviewed many members of his team and we’ve become acquaintances. Our lives intersected in surprising ways; Charlie’s pastor connected me with my husband, and he later officiated our wedding in 2023.

I’ve never spoken to Charlie. Even today, I’m unsure of my place in TPUSA, or if it defines me at all. What I do know is that God has called me to be a journalist. I feel compelled to express gratitude to Charlie for creating a space where the quiet majority could find their voice.

Fast forward to September 10, 2025, and I found myself at a station in Connecticut, my phone buzzing with shocking news. Charlie Kirk was gone, taken by an assassin’s bullet. I shut my eyes and prayed, and when I opened them, his name and image flickered on the screens of strangers nearby.

Instantly, my sadness morphed into a sobering realization: everything was colliding.

Some radical groups would prefer to see us silenced, even dead. It might sound extreme, but scrolling through their posts, filled with vitriol, quickly makes you lose your appetite for discourse.

Over the past five years, I’ve faced repercussions for my evolving beliefs. I was quietly ousted from my political affiliation without any explanation. Old friends distanced themselves, fearing they might lose opportunities by maintaining a connection with me. Some I once considered close even targeted me online. Instead of embracing me, those who were supposed to care turned away completely.

Nobody has shown me more hatred than those I thought were allies. I was threatened, but Jesus and the people He put into my life offered unexpected solace. This understanding deepened through mutual respect. Yet Charlie bore a weight none of us could fully comprehend. His grassroots initiatives saw a tangible outcome, but, tragically, it cost him his life.

I know some people dislike me because I oppose the vaccine, cherish my faith, fly the American flag, and choose principles over celebrity. I even hoped that some might hate me for my stance. I don’t know, though—maybe I was naive.

Now, however, I realize that some genuinely want us gone. They don’t hesitate to voice it anymore, and the number of those openly wishing death upon us is staggering. I see teachers, military personnel, nurses—even my local pharmacist openly expressing these sentiments.

Sadly, Charlie’s assassination, like past attempts on presidents, has made a mark in American history. Chaotic individuals have always posed a threat. Yet, Charlie was not a president—he was never in office, nor was he even old enough to run.

At just 31 years old, he identified as a Christian and a conservative.

In 2025, that alone became grounds for hate, even celebration of his death online.

That’s the gut punch. Some might have already come to terms with this, but I still held onto my hopeful lens until recently.

Radical elements genuinely wish for our demise, and some like to remain quiet about it. You might find that dramatic, yet the evidence is all over social media—write-ups expressing glee at the violence. It’s suffocating.

In a godless culture, the byproduct is something akin to madness. Now, you might better understand why Charlie’s death impacted you more than you can articulate. If 2020 didn’t awaken you to the true evil out there, perhaps 2025 will be pivotal for us all.

And to those who harbor such hatred for fellow Americans—whether shared online or buried deep within—seek help. It’s essential to be humble and turn to God for healing.

May God protect us from the chaos we’ve unleashed. I pray for comfort for Charlie Kirk’s grieving family. It’s now on us to honor his memory and ensure his voice continues to resonate.