Friends mourn loss of ‘life of the party’ in Vegas massacre
200 gather in California for vigil
PLACENTIA, Calif. — In the days since the shooting, it’s been hard to sleep. They laugh watching cellphone videos of their fun-loving friend singing along to Bon Jovi. Moments later, they break down crying, clutching one another’s hands.
They went to Las Vegas to dance at a country music festival, seven members of a group of friends so close they call themselves “framily.” They came back only six. Now, a week after the massacre that stole 58 lives, including the one that mattered most to them, they try to carry on because they know that’s what 38-yearold Nicol Kimura would have wanted.
Kimura was a relative newcomer to the group, many of whom grew up on the same street in Yorba Linda, in northern Orange County.
She was raised in nearby Placentia, where she played sports and was a high school cheerleader before heading to college. She loved hiking and her dog, Sadie.
After one of the neighborhood buddies married Kimura’s longtime friend, she quickly became one of the gang.
By then, they had all grown older and their circle had expanded to more than a dozen who gathered on weekends for pool parties or trips to the beach. They even made up their own celebrations — an annual friendship dinner at Thanksgiving time and an international-themed potluck modeled after a popular street fair that had gotten too crowded.
When seven in the group planned to head to the Route 91 Harvest festival in Las Vegas — which was fast becoming yet another of the group’s annual traditions — Kimura had special T-shirts printed for each one listing their favorite drinks.
Country music concerts were among the friends’ favorites. The songs and crowds were upbeat, and they always ran into old friends and made new ones.
Kimura was standing with Chad Elliot and friend Tracy Gyurina not too far from the stage, enjoying the outdoor music in the crowd of 22,000 people.
Then the friends heard a popping sound and thought it might be a broken speaker. The noise returned. The lights went dark. Singer Jason Aldean was rushed from the stage.
People screamed and dropped to the ground.
What happened next was a blur. Bullets pinged off bleachers by the stage. Men threw themselves in front of women, hoping to shield them from what they then knew was gunfire.
They thought an assailant was running toward them. They thought they’d be shot any moment.
The friends huddled together, hands over their heads.
Kimura told them she couldn’t feel her legs. Her top was bloody.
The crowd began to move during breaks in the gunfire. The friends scattered as people fled toward exits and hid under the bleachers.
Elliot tried to move Kimura but couldn’t. So he stayed there, the bullets flying.
“I was just waiting to get hit, but I wasn’t going to leave her,” he said.
Finally, a man came over and said he was a doctor. He started chest compressions and told Elliot how and when to assist. The man kept going for a while, then turned to Elliot and stopped.
“He said there was nothing else that we could do.”
Elliot stood up. By then, it was eerily quiet on the concert grounds. Hardly anyone was around him.
Elliot and Gyurina called and found each other, dazed, outside a nearby convenience store. They swapped texts with others in the group, relieved to know they had escaped.
Elliot phoned Kimura’s dad and told him she had been shot.
Her family rushed to Las Vegas and headed to the city’s convention center, where they and Gyurina fielded questions about what Kimura looked like and what she wore.
The friends were hoping for a miracle. It wasn’t until Monday night that officials confirmed what they all knew in their hearts: Kimura was among those killed.
By then, Elliot, Gyurina and the other friends had returned to California. They found bullet holes in the hat Ryan Miller’s wife wore to the concert.
The group started raising money to help cover Kimura’s funeral costs.
At least 200 people gathered for a vigil to remember her Sunday night. Carrying cream-colored candles, friends and relatives gathered at the field outside the elementary school she attended.
Pictures showed a glowing, smiling Kimura. In one, she is jumping in the air wearing cowboy boots, her hair flying behind her.
Friend Courtney Calderon said Kimura touched those who barely met her and those she knew for years with her huge heart and love for life.