Navigating Grief and Loss of a Young Mother, 5 Kids
Unthinkable Loss
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Timma Sheffey’s article, titled “I Love My Scar — Finally, my Outside Matches My Inside,” chronicles her continuing struggle, 18 months later, to grapple with the loss of her daughter.
Serendipitously, her story found its way to my Medium feed, aligning with my own journey to comprehend our family’s tragedy and gain insight into the path my cousin may take in the wake of her recent loss of her daughter.
Family Ties
If you’re one of the small group that has ever followed any of my content on YouTube, you’ll note that hardly ever is there a video I create without mentioning a cousin.
Whether I’m sharing that a cousin gave me advice, let me stay at their home in between van life, or gifted me some camping gear they believe will help my Nomadic lifestyle, I talk a lot about my cousins without disclosing their names.
I have a lot, I have dozens of cousins, including 1st, 2nd, and 3rd cousins.
Cousins are an important part of my life, and anyone who knows me will tell you that I frequently talk about my “cousins”.
Family Bond
It wasn’t until the passing of my cousin Nia on August 5th, that I came to realize Nia was my third cousin. She was in her thirties, the same age as my children.
For those of you blessed with as many cousins as I am, you know that a cousin is a cousin, and no one really considers the degree (1st, 2nd, 3rd).
As a Houseless and Zipcodeless Nomad, my home base is in Ohio. When I’m not on the road taking long trips, you can find me staying at a cousin’s house. One of the houses I stayed at was Nia’s mom’s.
If Nia is my third cousin, I suppose that would make her mom my 2nd cousin.
Nia’s mom gave me a key to her place, so I could pop in and out whenever I wanted when I was in town to take a shower, cook, do laundry, or rest.
Even though Nia and her four children had their own place, Nia would often visit her mom’s house to drop off the kids, pick up packages, do laundry, or to do hair (she would hook my hair up!).
It was during these visits that I got to know my cousin better and we developed a strong bond. Nia and I engaged in a wide range of conversations.
I often found myself offering advice to Nia. However, I was cautious not to give preachy advice, reminiscent of the type I received when I was a young mother — which was not always helpful.
I abstained from preaching to Nia about the fast food she served her kids, her relationship with the baby daddy, and avoiding the group of men in the neighborhood who always flirted with beautiful, thick, hood girls with soft voices and infectious laughs.
Instead, I chose to compliment Nia on her various strengths. She was good at styling hair, always making sure her girls’ hair looked beautiful. She was a good mother actively participating in the kids’ school activities.
Nia loved being a mother.
Honoring Resilience
Nia had dedicated over 16 years to the healthcare industry, caring for patients, including family members.
During the peak of the pandemic, I remember Nia working in nursing homes. I recall feeling concerned for Nia when she described wearing hazmat suits and tending to COVID patients. At that time, many of us believed that even the slightest contact with an infected person would be a death sentence.
Nia put her life on the line to support her children, even if it meant working in a field that posed danger to her life. She was pleased to finally earn a wage that was commendable in an industry notorious for low pay.
The toll of working in nursing homes during the pandemic wore her down, and she eventually left the field to become a store manager.
However, that too eventually lost its appeal, and she wanted to elevate her life. I offered some suggestions on how she might achieve that.
I recall her considering a move to Florida, and I shared my thoughts, wholeheartedly encouraging her to go for it!
As I write this, I can’t help but wonder if she had made that move, perhaps she wouldn’t have fallen victim to a brutal murder.
Pause for a moment to hold back tears. I’ll continue.
Nia also provided me with valuable advice. She shared her perspective on a situation that was particularly painful for me. She offered guidance on finding the right mechanic shop to prepare my van for my latest road trip. She gave me tips on hair care and other things.
I’m certain that Nia, like many in our family, including her mother, thought my Nomadic lifestyle was a CRAZY and unconventional way to live, but she never told me.
Nia had a gentle voice, always accompanied by a smile and kind words. I can vividly hear her saying, “Cousin Franki,” as I type this.
When Tragedy Strikes
I sat at a park on my makeshift deck, which I referred to as my porch. The sliding doors of my van were open and the breezes flowing in — ooh wee!
The park was hosting some event, and the old school soul music had me dancing on the bed in my van.
In just two days, my aunt would be joining me. She was the aunt who had given birth to many of my wonderful cousins — not Nia’s mother, but still a mother to my cousins.
Finding Light in Darkness
My celebration was because I was finally taking a break from my nomadic life, the van lifestyle. It was a much-needed respite, as some mistakenly believe that people living in vans are on a perpetual vacation, which is far from the truth.
My aunt, not the one who was visiting but her sister, called me from Ohio. I sensed something was wrong and asked urgently, “Is everything okay?” She replied, “No, it’s not. They’ve just killed Nia.”
My scream pierced through the blaring park music, prompting others to turn and look at me. I leaped out of my van and let out a primal scream that echoed.
I dialed my cousin, Nia’s mother, to verify if it was true. Her voice quivered as she confirmed, “Yes, they killed my baby! They killed her.”
I called my aunt, the one who was en route to see me. She too confirmed the dreadful news, adding that Nia had been killed in front of her children, but they were able to save her unborn baby although she was fighting for her life on a ventilator.
When breath becomes air.
The world around me blurred into a haze of shock and disbelief.
Nia was 34 years old, she is the mother of five children. The baby she was pregnant with, the one she will never meet, was born on the day she died.
RIP Dear Sweet, Nia. Sunrise April 15, 1989 —Sunset August 5, 2023
#Nora GFC: Grown Folk Conversations
Nia’s GoFund Me.
Timma Sheffey’s article, “I Love My Scar — Finally, my Outside Matches My Inside
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