It was about 6 a.m. on July 5, 2017 when I left the hospital to go to tell my mother the worst news ever.
I recall driving and asking God to give me the correct words to say. I got to her house not knowing she was already up, and I began to tell her what was going on.
She just looked at me and said, “Kim, that was Niam on the news?”
I busted out crying. She said, “Let me get my pocketbook,” and the next thing we were out the door going to the hospital.
When we arrived, she went into the room and looked at him. I saw the pain in her eyes and then a smile. She walked out of the room saying, “I just want to beat him. I love him, but we couldn’t stand one another.”
You see, each one of my mom’s grandchildren has their own special relationship with her. Niam didn’t want to work for anything and she knew it. If he wanted something from her, he knew work came with it. They would always go back and forth, and it hurt her to see him lying in a hospital bed not saying anything to her.
Grandmothers are the glue that holds a family together. You see, they are filled with knowledge, love, understanding, compassion, fun and empathy rolled up in one. Most can go to grandmom’s right now and have a hot meal and good conversation if we needed to.
When grandmothers cry because her grandchild has been murdered, it’s a different cry. She is normally the strong one, the one with the answers. But now, she is silently crying and fighting hard to hold onto her strength and remain the backbone of the family.
As she comforts her daughter and son-in-law, she selflessly hides behind a mask she puts on each day. She carefully chooses the right words to comfort not only to her child in mourning but the other family members. Grandmom is the first one on the phone in the morning ensuring her child is alright, reminding her child to eat, go to sleep, take care of things and asking what you need me to do.
But when does grandmom mourn the death of her grandchild? When is it all right for her to cry? When is it all right for her not to be all right? Why does she have to go through this?
Grandmom, I’m here to tell you today you are our queen. You have done a remarkable job as a mother, and grandmother, and today is your day to allow yourself to take that time you need to cry, scream, holler, rest, laugh, and just breathe. We understand that you don’t have all the answers, you are hurting just as I am, and I appreciate and applaud you. But it’s okay to take off that mask and let it out.
We all have a lot of grandmom memories, and I’ll share one with you Niam and my mother both shared with me. One day Niam got suspended from school for a couple of days. My mom came up with an idea: instead of him hanging out at home, his punishment was to go to work with her at the shop to begin to learn the jewelry business.
Of course, Niam had an attitude because he thought he was going to sleep all day. When he had to get up early to go to work, he was mad, but got over it. He learned how to conduct customer sales, meet people, and even tried jewelry design. His task was to flatten a penny and make a piece of jewelry out of it. He made a charm and hand-carved his name on it, and we still use to this day to make keychains and charms.
As they were closing the store for the day, my mom had a lot of things in her arms and asked Niam to carry the laptop. Instead, he wanted to pick with her and told her no, then took off running down 7th Street.
My mom chased him and was close to catching him. As they ran, people laughed and he finally stopped and said, “For an old lady you was on my heels, Grandmom.” Once in the car they laughed and he kept saying, “Grandmom, you can run, you’re no joke.”
No parent wants to see their child go through pain, let alone bury a grandchild. How fair is it to bury a grandchild?
From that point on I realized grandmothers are just as important as the parents in a child’s life. We go throughout life taking things for granted and not realizing we have a village behind us. I will never forget the pain I saw on my mother’s face for the love of her grandson. Although they didn’t see eye to eye, they had a bond that no one could come in between. My mom is more of a disciplinarian with a little soft spot, but you have to know how to get to her soft spot as Niam learned as he matured into a young man.
Grandmom gets in her quiet place and will say, “I miss my grandson. He was finally getting what I was trying to tell him.” During one of their last conversations, she said that if you can stand on a corner, you can get a job and continue to learn. That’s what Niam did. He enrolled in college and was working at Lord & Taylor to better himself.
They would talk on the phone and he would visit her, and she was so happy with how his life was going. She said, “He finally got it, Kim, and his life was cut short. That’s what hurts the most.”
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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