On a scorching summer afternoon, David Taylor Sr. stands under a tent in his hometown of Buckhannon, West Virginia. He is dressed formally -- his tie, accented with stars and stripes. Before him, two Marines fold the flag 13 times, as is Honor Guard protocol. As the clouds break, Taylor links arms with his family. The summer rain pings off the red tarpaulin, almost masking the soundtrack of their collective anguish. They desperately miss their “Bubbie.” David Taylor II was only 25 when his life ended on the battlefields of Syria. David Taylor II Less than a month later, on Labor Day, it is another family’s turn to grieve. They are in a place far from the open fields and trees of Buckhannon’s Jawbone Park. Robert Grodt’s family gather at Theatre 80, an off-Broadway space in New York’s East Village. Inside are a scattering of left-leaning activists wearing photos of a young man on their lapels. Grodt, too, was killed in Syria. He was 28. His four-year-old daughter, Tegan, runs circles around strangers who sign a book placed in the lobby by her mother. Tegan knows her father won’t be there for her upcoming fifth birthday; that he is never coming back. But she’s not talking about it much. It’s all too fresh. Taylor and Grodt came from disparate backgrounds. One was a Marine whose captain considered him reliable enough to be his personal alarm clock. The other had hitchhiked across the country to join Occupy Wall Street protesters in New York’s Zuccotti Park. Robert Grodt Both were leading comfortable lives in America until they felt compelled to risk all for their beliefs. The two were chasing separate versions of the same dream: one that married American values of freedom, equality and justice with the fight against ISIS on the dusty plains of Syria. Taylor and Grodt were among an estimated several hundred foreign volunteers who, for different reasons, dropped everything to fight for a Kurdish militia thousands of miles from home. They were killed in July, within two weeks of one another, in separate bomb blasts in Raqqa, the city that was an ISIS stronghold until it fell in October. The Taylor and Grodt families were once strangers, but in shared grief they’ve found one another online, keeping in contact ever since. They are connected by a desire to make sense of their sorrow -- and the drive to bring justice to memories of their loved ones lives lost too soon.

Framed by a blue sky, a newly printed banner containing David Taylor II’s Marine headshot flutters in a momentary breeze. Attached at the bottom is a black piece of fabric with the words: “Killed in Action. Raqqa, Syria.” Taylor’s father had come up with the idea to transform the entrance of Jawbone Park into a “walk of valor,” a canopy of banners honoring the town’s fallen soldiers. He never imagined that one day it would become this personal. The banners are now a backdrop to his son’s service. An Upshur County Honor Guard salutes veterans and service members as the ceremony begins. Patriot Guard riders flank the park's perimeter. “We stand for the fallen, we stand those who stood for us,” ride Captain Wayne Turner says. Taylor’s family heads toward reserved chairs under a tent while friends trickle in. They pause to find the right seat long the open-air corridor. Many are from Buckhannon, a tight-knit West Virginian community of 5,612 people. Others have driven hundreds of miles from Florida, New York and the nation’s capital. The guests approach the family, comforting them with stories about Bubbie. The words “brave” and “freedom” are never far from their lips. Beneath the banners, a photo slideshow plays curated memories on a screen near the podium. David Taylor Sr. spent weeks meticulously planning the service he calls a celebration of his son's life. The crowd mourns. The Honor Guard prepare a rifle salute. We see Bubbie in diapers, dwarfed by a guitar in his lap; a blond child blowing out six candles on a chocolate birthday cake; a young man drinking beer at a baseball game; a clean shaven, uniformed Marine hugging his grandmother; a bearded volunteer fighter in camouflage fatigues adorned with the tricolored patch of the YPG, the acronym for the People’s Protection Units, the US-backed Kurdish militia leading the fighting against ISIS. In 2014, the YPG ran a daring campaign to rescue Iraq’s minority Yazidis from impending genocide at the hands of ISIS. That victory catapulted the YPG into the international spotlight, bringing attention to a well crafted social media campaign that helped to recruit foreign fighters like Taylor. The YPG offers former service personnel the chance to fight ISIS on the ground without constriction -- and dreamers the chance to rebuild a new society in northern Syria. Taylor was trained as a soldier, driven by a vision for humanity. His service has the trimmings of a military funeral and the mourners know the drill. Patriot guards hold supersized flags. Musicians perform James Taylor’s West Virginia tribute, “Country Road.” An evangelical preacher’s words rise and fall as baseball caps are removed and eyes, lowered. Taylor's mother, Becky is given a Bible by the Upshur County Honor Guard. Taylor’s former Marine commanding officer takes the stage to speak of Taylor’s dedication during his four years of service and the qualities that made him unique. “Who brings Shakespeare to war?” he says of the avid reader, who loved classical literature, poetry and music. Special guests stand at the podium as a recorded tribute to Taylor II's mother plays over the loudspeaker. Nearly 500 banners hang in the park's Wall of Valor. Taylor II's is the most recently printed. Taylor’s best friend, Alex Cintron, delivers a soliloquy as circuitous and deep as the story of Taylor’s journey to Syria. “When David was in the service he saw the atrocities that took place,” Cintron tells the crowd. “And he said to himself: ‘You know these aren’t Syrian problems, they’re not Middle Eastern problems, they’re not Muslim problems, they’re human problems. They are people problems and if I have the power and the knowledge and the ability to do something, then damn it, I have the responsibility to do something about it." “So he did it. Selflessly, courageously.” Taylor’s family nod in silence. This was the Bubbie they knew. The clouds open as the service concludes with a flag folding ceremony. The man who they knew less was Zafer Qerecox, Taylor’s nom de guerre that translates to “Victory of Qerecox,” the YPG’s headquarters. Representatives of the YPG and the Kurdish American community have traveled far for Taylor’s service. There is even a man calling in from Raqqa. Nuri Mahmud, a YPG officer speaks of Taylor’s service, dedication and the quest for freedom against a common enemy. It’s a story that feels familiar to a crowd filled with American veterans and his words bring an once distant war home to small-town West Virginia. The reasons why Taylor risked it all becomes very real. Ozlem (left), a member of the North American Kurdish community comforts Taylor's sisters Katie and Lauren (center). "We are now your sisters too," she says. Many locals attend the service, including some Boy Scouts. The ceremony celebrates a life lost. But it does not fully explain why a young American felt a calling. As the guests begin leaving, Taylor’s parents tell me about their son’s 10-month tour of Afghanistan. “The behavioral changes in him were significant. We knew that the impact of war had taken its toll,” Taylor’s father says. His son’s discharge papers pointed to post-traumatic stress syndrome and the trouble he had re-adjusting to civilian life. Taylor was unable to erase the horrors of suffering he had witnessed, yearning for an opportunity to right some of the wrongs in the world. Taylor's family visit the Reed Cemetery, where his VA headstone would be placed. He saw that opportunity with the YPG. When the Arab Spring swept the region in 2011, Kurds living in northern Syria started a revolution of their own in a region known as Rojava. They called for democracy, equal representation of the sexes and a cooperative-based economy. Taylor found the YPG’s commitment to women’s rights and the environment more in line with his worldview. Enlisting with the militia, he thought, would be a more efficient way of tackling terrorism. Alex Cintron (right) speaks with Taylor's close friends at an informal gathering after the service. Over late night drinks last December, Taylor confided in his best friend Cintron. Then he embarked on a trip across America, spending time with his family in Florida and West Virginia before setting off on what everyone thought was a European road trip, but now realize was a good-bye tour. Cintron hugs Becky Taylor, David Taylor II's mother. “The YPG allowed him to be himself more than the Marine Corps,” Cintron says. Hey dad it’s David, I’m using a friends phone right now. I haven’t had internet for a while. Im in northern syria now with YPG doing the whole fight ISIS thing. I’ll be back by Christmas. Dont tell anyone where I am and dont put anything online. Love you and ill email you when I can.



David Hey Bubbie ---- I love you……please be careful and I can not wait for you to get home……I won’t post anything at all…..proud of you 1000%

Do you want your mama and papaw to know. She calls every few weeks wanting to know where you are and what you are doing



Did the Corps call you back? How did this come about…. Hey pops you can let them know just make sure they know to keep it to themselves. The sisters as well. Usmc didnt call me back just decided to volunteer because it’s the right thing to do. The US is arming the kurds now so we’ll have support. The YPG is a kurdish military that accepts foreign volunteers. Love you too! Ok. I just spent the last 2+ hours reading everything I can online from credible sites about YPG. PLEASE send me notes when you can so I know you are ok. I just read that the US will be backing them more than they have in the past! PLEASE come home at first opportunity but while you are there stay as safe as possible !!! I’ll worry about you 24/7 until you are back home with us. Love you Bubbie!!! Ok. Text messages between Taylor and his father. It’s not illegal for US citizens to join the YPG, but the group’s international standing complicates matters. The YPG and the US are allies in the ground war in Syria, with the YPG providing the bulk of the ground forces that have driven ISIS out of northern Syria. But they’re seen by Turkey, a NATO ally, as an arm of a designated terrorist organization that threatens Turkish sovereignty. For those reasons, and for the simple danger in fighting alone, volunteers often don’t openly talk about their plans. They know that friends, families and even the US State Department might dissuade them from walking into the throes of war without any formal governmental protection or backing. They also know ISIS militants have placed bounties of up to $160,000 on their heads. Taylor’s father shows me the first text message he received from his son in Syria. He told his dad not to worry and that he would be home by Christmas. “The US is arming the Kurds now so we’ll have support,” the younger Taylor wrote. The morning after the memorial, Taylor’s family and friends hike up to the family farm in the foothills of the Appalachians. Taylor’s father walks through the overgrown grass, speckled with small purple flowers and yellow bees. The lyrics to Taylor II's song, "The Farm" read: "Will you take me back, back to the farm / To the place where things were easiest / Will you take me back to the fields of green to the mountain streams / I wish you could take me back" His son was like a butterfly, he thinks. David would go somewhere and land for a bit, flutter away and find another place to land. But no matter what, he’d always found his way back home. This time was different.