This summer was one to remember, and I couldn’t help but be reminded of another summer, 2017, when I lost my son, Niam, to gun violence. It turns out, life keeps moving after you experience a trauma like that, with all its good but also all its heartbreak.
This was the summer that introduced me to the term “compound grief.”
It began with my sister Facetiming me to tell me she was in the hospital. Of course I didn’t think it was as serious as it was, but I ran to the hospital to see about her. Let’s just say that hospital visit for her turned into a longer stay, and sadly she passed away on July 9.
It was only four days after the anniversary of Niam’s death seven years ago.
A week later my mother was rushed to one hospital but later that night transferred to Temple University Hospital. Of course my heart stopped because I knew it was serious, and it brought back memories of me receiving a call from my daughter telling me they were bringing Niam to Temple. At first they didn’t know what was wrong with my mother but later the doctors determined there was a problem with her heart. Finally, after three long weeks she was discharged and surgery open heart surgery, was scheduled for September.
Thankfullly, it went well, and today she is home and on the road to recovery. But just before this summer’s heartache began, I thought the world was supposed to stop, have mercy, just pause because I had lost my beloved child. Quickly I found out nothing stops around me or for any of us in our time of grief.
My world as I knew it was going so fast I couldn’t keep up with it. I wanted a moment to digest everything and have a chance to grieve as well as reminisce. When I couldn’t, I felt like I was losing my entire mind. The pain was so bad one day I just busted out crying in the middle of the Temple’s parking lot.
I didn’t understand how and why things were so out of control. I didn’t even know who I was crying for. All I knew is I needed for my mother to be whole again, to be home with us and not in any type of pain.
As we continue to walk this walk, we must always remember life will continue. It’s up to yourself to take care of you. Some deal with the unknown by shutting down, getting depressed, overeating, not eating, overworking, not working, etc. I didn’t have time to think, I was jumping into action and being present for everyone except for myself.
My mother would tell me not to come to the hospital each day so I could rest. I ignored her and came anyway. When I would get there she would say, “Kim, didn’t I tell you not to come?”
You see, I’m dealing with my own stuff, and as I researched what I’m dealing with its referred to as compound grief. It happens when multiple losses pile up one after another. I didn’t have a chance to digest these occurrences because they happened so fast.
There are too many of us who have gone through challenges that we have no control over which leaves us in a vulnerable predicament which may harm ourselves or others. I should have listened to my mother some of those times and stayed home.
When one feels this way please take some time to yourself before it gets too overwhelming.
One may ask how? The solution can be as simple as taking a hot shower or bath, taking a walk, pace yourself. Schedule a meeting with yourself so that you can go over your day and get a better understanding of what has transpired.
Write down questions you need answers to, as well as write how you feel and what’s on your mind. Be honest with yourself and find something to do for yourself each day to bring a smile on your face.
In closing, be kind to you and make sure you get a good night sleep. We all need it, especially those who have lost children to violence.
Kimberly Kamara is the author of “Where’s My Daddy,” a children’s book aimed at kids who’ve lost a parent to murder. The book was inspired by her family’s continuing journey of grief after her son, Niam Johnson-Tate, lost his life to gun violence on July 5, 2017. Kimberly has two daughters and lives in Germantown with her husband.
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