A night of chilling with friends was interrupted by that ominous cell phone call. My friend answered and the expression we heard was “Lawd have mercy”. We asked in unison, “Wa happen?” And the answer was what we didn’t want to hear. There had been another shooting. The usual questions followed, “He dead? How much bullet he get? Who he be?” The answer to the last question took me by surprised when I recognized that it was the brother of one of my dearest friends.
I was in shock, how do I handle this, should I call her, does she need me. I knew she did so I called tentatively not knowing the emotional state she was in. She answered but not in her usual happy way. I said, “Hey gurl are you okay?” She said, “Yes” and then I asked, “Where are you?” She said, “Am at the hospital.” I asked, “Do you need me to come?” She said, “No, it’s okay.” I said, “No!!! It’s not okay and I am on my way.”
After dropping off my other friends, I called my mother to let her know what had happen and where I was going. She told me to be careful. As I drove to the hospital, my heart was heavy and there were a million thoughts running through my head. Had my country gone mad? It was only March and we already have so many murders.
I arrived at the hospital and I saw that there were people on the outside with very solemn faces. I parked the car and walked up the steps. And with every step I took my heart got heavier with emotion, but I knew my friend needed my strength and so I put those emotions aside. I walked into the Outpatient area and saw her sister but not my friend. I asked her where my friend is and she replied, “She is in with our brother.” I mustered up all the strength I had and asked the obvious question – “Is he gone?” And she looked at me with tears in her eyes and said yes.
At that moment, my friend walked out and saw me. She walked over to me and placed her hand on my shoulder and leaned on me. I smiled, she also smiled and then I said, “How are you really?” She said to me, “I am fine…really.” She began describing to me his wounds and then asked if I wanted to see him. Of course, being the soft heart that I am, I promptly said, “Oh No.” She laughed at my response and then said to me that she was glad that I was here because I know how her brain gets when she is faced with these kinds of difficulties. Then she smiled again and told me she could not remember her brother’s real name when the nurse asked her. While she spoke, I looked around and observed the presence of several police officers. One of them was actually guarding the outpatient door and when anyone wanted to enter to see the body, they had to ask the officer. I was confused, so I asked my friend what was that all about? She explained to me that when there is a shooting, the body belongs to the police until the autopsy is completed then the body would be released to the family for burial. I was flabbergasted and I asked, “What you mean. So if you want to see your brother’s body you have to ask for permission?” and she responded in the affirmative.
The night dragged on as persons came and went while the family stayed in the area recanting memories of him and how the incident occurred. My brave friend kept going in to see her brother and accompanying any family member who wanted to see him but were too scared to go alone. The family sent for his youngest daughter and that little girl walked in with pure emotions on her face as she had just seen her bigger sister outside crying. They asked her if she wanted to see her daddy, and at first she said yes but when the time came to enter the area where he was she became very afraid and said no. Some persons tried to encourage her to go and I stepped in and said, “No, don’t take her if she doesn’t want to go. Let her remember her dad when he was full of life, not in the state he is in now.”
The police officer pulled my friend aside and told her that they were ready to take the body down to the funeral home and asked if there were any other viewers. She related that to the family members and they all went inside to see him, but I remained outside and waited. As they came out, the pain, the tears, the sorrow, and the hurt were written on their faces and seen in their eyes.
I stayed until the hearse arrived and we saw the body bag go down the corridor. I looked at my friend and she was still standing strong and smiling. I asked her how was she doing that and her response was “it’s my faith that is keeping me strong”. She told to me that she was on her way home from church when the ambulance passed her and she had no idea her brother was in it. When she got the news and she went up to the hospital, her legs started to tremble and she felt like collapsing but she started to pray for strength and grace and she felt when they came upon her. I stayed with her until the body was driven off and I asked her how she was getting home. She told me that she had a ride. So I held her hand and told her to call me should she need anything, and she said, “I know…am good.”
I related this true story because, like most, I was caught up in the sensationalism of the murders this great country of ours has been experiencing. Although I am a compassionate person, like most, I never thought of the real pain that the families of murder victims go through. The pain I sensed that night was truly overwhelming. It was a shock because no one understood why he was senselessly gunned down like an animal. There are no answers to the many questions his family had. All they knew was that he left his house one night and never went back to his mother, to his children, to his sisters and brothers, who are left to carry the stigma of society’s scorn and ridicule of – “He must have been a bad man that is why it happened”. His family are God-fearing people who did nothing wrong but are left to carry this burden.
I didn’t cry on the outside but my heart wept as I watched his children mourn their father and heard of his mother’s reaction to his killing.
Stop ostracizing the family members, stop finding fault with their parenting skills, as it is totally unfair to judge a murder victim’s act without fully understanding and knowing the circumstances surrounding their death. As a society, we must understand that it is our duty to support each other during such times. We are not here to point fingers like we seem to enjoy doing. That is not our role. We must be proactive and sympathetic to those who continue to lose family members in such a brutal manner. We are our brother’s keeper and if we believe this, maybe, just maybe, we can begin to heal our severely wounded nation.
“Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.”
