Renee Taylor cried as she talked about the last morning she had with her youngest son.<\/p>\n
She drove Dayemen to school. They stopped at Dunkin\u2019. He wanted his doughnut and coffee. She dropped him off around 8:30 a.m. Hours later, Taylor was at work when her sister called, screaming. \u201cI couldn\u2019t understand what she was saying,\u201d Taylor recalled, fighting through tears. \u201cShe said, \u2018He in the street.\u2019 And I\u2019m like, \u2018Who is in the street?\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n
Her 17-year-old son had been shot.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy son got out of school at 3:30. My son was shot at 3:47. My son was pronounced (dead) at 3:53,\u201d Taylor said. \u201cI remember the times just like it was yesterday.\u201d<\/p>\n
More than two years after Dayemen Taylor was killed at an Ogontz Avenue bus stop, his mother still lives with the loss. At a recent gathering at the Anti-Violence Partnership of Philadelphia\u2019s (AVP) Parkside office, she sat among others carrying their own memories of gunfire, frantic phone calls, hospital rooms and funerals.<\/p>\n
AVP, led by Executive Director Natasha Daniel\u00e1 de Lima McGlynn, Deputy Director Johnathan Davis and Tone Barr, director of Victim and Witness Services, calls the gathering \u201cBeyond the Pain,\u201d a monthly program where people affected by homicide and other violence can eat together, talk, remember loved ones and spend time with others who understand that grief does not disappear when police tape comes down and everyone else goes home.<\/p>\n
\u201cAfter the lights go off, you still need someone to put their arm around you, listen to your story, pick that phone up, or just be somewhere to listen,\u201d an AVP official told the families.<\/p>\n
That need can last for years.<\/p>\n
Emotional and crisis support<\/p>\n
AVP has served Philadelphia victims and survivors of violence since 1983. Its Families of Murder Victims program offers free emotional and crisis support, information on police investigations and court proceedings, court accompaniment, assistance with victim compensation and referrals for other needs. The organization also provides professional counseling to adults and children affected by homicide and other violent crimes, without requiring insurance.<\/p>\n
During a recent gathering, much of the afternoon was devoted to the families who hugged, shared stories, played Bingo and shared a meal.<\/p>\n
Taylor described Dayemen as the baby of four children, separated from his older siblings by more than a decade. \u201cHe was the joy. He was the glue of everybody. He was love,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
The words brought on more tears.<\/p>\n
Dayemen was a junior at Imhotep Institute Charter High School when he was shot on March 4, 2024, as students boarded a SEPTA Route 6 bus near Ogontz and Godfrey avenues. Police said two gunmen opened fire on the crowd. Dayemen was struck multiple times and rushed to Einstein Medical Center, where he died. Four other people were wounded.<\/p>\n
Taylor remembered racing toward the hospital after learning her son had been shot. She remembered the crowd outside the hospital. She remembered doctors finally walking toward the family. Deep down, she said, she already knew it.<\/p>\n
When Taylor was allowed to see Dayemen, she hugged him. \u201cHe looked like he was asleep,\u201d she recalled.<\/p>\n
Police told her not to touch him because his body was evidence. \u201cHe\u2019s dead,\u201d Taylor remembered telling them. \u201cWhatever evidence you need, go find it. He\u2019s dead. I\u2019m touching my child now. I\u2019m talking to my child.\u201d<\/p>\n
Then she had to leave the hospital without him. \u201cI\u2019m going to my house, and my son\u2019s not coming with me,\u201d Taylor remembered.<\/p>\n
The killing tore through more than one life, she lamented. She watched her parents grieve their grandson and her other children grieve their brother.<\/p>\n
\u201cA lot of times people don\u2019t understand when there\u2019s a murder, it don\u2019t just affect the mom or the dad,\u201d Taylor stated. \u201cIt affects whoever he was attached to.\u201d<\/p>\n
Public descriptions of Dayemen after his death caused another kind of pain.<\/p>\n
\u201cAt one point, I felt embarrassed as a mom that my son was plastered on the news,\u201d she said. \u201cAnd they said \u2018he was targeted. He was this, and he was that. He was none of that.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Tarik Ryant shares how he was affected by gun violence.\u00a0\u2014TRIBUNE PHOTO\/KAYLA BROWN<\/p>\n
Kayla Brown
\nTRIBUNE PHOTOGRAPHER<\/p>\n
\u201cI had to remove myself from watching and listening to what people said,\u201d she said. \u201cBecause I know who I raised.\u201d<\/p>\n
She remembered a teenager who made people laugh, dreamed of owning a mobile barbershop, and talked about becoming an electrician. She remembered driving him to school each morning because that was their time together.<\/p>\n
Dayemen never made it to his graduation.<\/p>\n
His mother walked for him in 2025 and received his diploma.<\/p>\n
Taylor also works with young people who have been arrested for gun-related offenses, mentoring them while they are monitored by the juvenile justice system. After her son\u2019s killing, returning to that work forced her to confront emotions few people could see.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m their mentor. I\u2019m their advocate,\u201d she said. \u201cI encourage them to go right.\u201d<\/p>\n
For a time, she questioned whether she could continue.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy son never had handcuffs on. My son was never in the police car. I never had to get up in the middle of the night to go find him,\u201d Taylor said. \u201cHe was always home.\u201d<\/p>\n
She went back to work. \u201cWe can\u2019t give up on them,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
Taylor said she even tried to persuade authorities to intervene regarding one of the young men responsible for her son\u2019s killing, before that young man was later killed himself.<\/p>\n
\u201cI did everything I could to save him,\u201d Taylor said. \u201cI called the DA. I called everybody to save the young man that I knew killed my son.\u201d<\/p>\n
Her losses did not end with Dayemen\u2019s death.<\/p>\n
‘I\u2019m not being judged’<\/p>\n
On June 6, 2026, Taylor said an arson fire that started at a neighboring property destroyed her home and many of the belongings she had kept for her son.<\/p>\n
Her voice broke again as she talked about his coat. It was the coat she could still go into his room to smell when she missed him. Now it was gone.<\/p>\n
Firefighters managed to save photographs, his yearbook and a Quran that belonged to him.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhen I come here, I feel a sense of release,\u201d Taylor said of AVP. \u201cI\u2019m not tense anymore. I can tell my story. I\u2019m not being judged.\u201d<\/p>\n
She looked around the room at people listening to her.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhen I\u2019m here, I feel like I\u2019m home,\u201d Taylor said. \u201cI feel like I can just talk about my baby. Can y\u2019all listen? I feel like I need to talk about him.\u201d<\/p>\n
A mother\u2019s grief still raw<\/p>\n
Across the room sat another mother, her grief much newer.<\/p>\n
Nakeisha Slappy\u2019s son, 21-year-old Joseph Sumpter, was killed on May 23 at an after-prom gathering in the 500 block of North 11th Street. Four other people were wounded. Philadelphia police said Sumpter was not involved in the disturbance that preceded the gunfire.<\/p>\n
Slappy cried as she talked about the son she called her \u201cgentle giant.\u201d<\/p>\n
Sumpter stood about 6-foot-6, she said. He worked, helped care for his 2-year-old daughter and usually stayed home with his child rather than going out.<\/p>\n
That night, his brother persuaded him to join.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe had nothing to do with nothing,\u201d Slappy said.<\/p>\n
Video, she said, showed her son waiting outside for his brother as they prepared to leave.<\/p>\n
\u201cFive minutes more, my son probably would have been home,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
The words were hard to get through.<\/p>\n
Sumpter had come home early from work that day to help his family prepare for the prom. Slappy had taken him to work that morning. Hours later, her family was waiting for word on whether he was alive.<\/p>\n
\u201cI never thought I would get that type of phone call,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
Sumpter left behind a daughter who recently turned 2 years old.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Tone Barr of Anti-Violence Partnership of Philadelphia hosts a lunch on Thursday where families affected by gun violence come together and share their stories.\u00a0\u2014TRIBUNE PHOTO\/KAYLA BROWN<\/p>\n
Kayla Brown
\nTRIBUNE PHOTOGRAPHER<\/p>\n
\u201cI was mad at him for having a baby, but now I\u2019m glad he did have a baby because he left something for us to have,\u201d Slappy said.<\/p>\n
She cried as she spoke about the child her son left behind and the other children and grandchildren who still need her care.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis hurt so bad,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
For Slappy, the killing is still close enough that anger and thoughts of revenge can surface.<\/p>\n
She did not try to hide it. \u201cRight now it\u2019s still fresh,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
Confronting the rage<\/p>\n
Ryant told the room he was shot four times at his Southwest Philadelphia restaurant. He survived without a broken bone or a damaged artery and walked out of Penn Presbyterian Medical Center hours later.<\/p>\n
The physical wounds were only part of what he carried away.<\/p>\n
\u201cI just kept thinking about revenge,\u201d Ryant said.<\/p>\n
He had built a life as a restaurant owner, real estate developer, licensed realtor, and contractor, and had earned three degrees. After the shooting, he found himself thinking about throwing it all away to retaliate against the man who shot him.<\/p>\n
Ryant spoke candidly about something he had once resisted. Therapy.<\/p>\n
\u201cI looked so forward to talking to this therapist every Wednesday,\u201d he said. \u201cI used to be on time, like half an hour early, wanting to just release.\u201d<\/p>\n
Being able to express what he was feeling helped him manage the rage without acting on it.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m learning how to heal people,\u201d Ryant said, whether through the meals he prepares, speaking to others, or \u201cjust being a good dad to my kids and my boys.\u201d<\/p>\n
He knows there could come a day when he meets the man who shot him.<\/p>\n
His voice carried the uncertainty that lingers.<\/p>\n
\u201cI still don\u2019t know what that interaction is going to look like,\u201d Ryant said. \u201cAnd that scares the s*** out of me.\u201d<\/p>\n
People around him knew that surviving violence and recovering from it are two different things.<\/p>\n
When the calls stop<\/p>\n
Tone Barr told the families there is no single timetable or method for living with violent loss. AVP offers individual and group counseling, victim advocacy, and other support, but Beyond the Pain grew out of what staff members repeatedly witnessed.<\/p>\n
Immediately after a killing, families can be surrounded by others.<\/p>\n
Relatives arrive. Friends call. Reporters ask questions. Detectives investigate. Neighbors bring food. People attend the funeral.<\/p>\n
\u201cEveryone\u2019s paying attention to you,\u201d Barr noted. \u201cAnd as time goes by, that attention starts to leave. And then all of a sudden, it becomes quiet. And then you sit in your grief.\u201d<\/p>\n
Beyond the Pain was created to interrupt some of that isolation. AVP\u2019s work with homicide families includes relatives whose cases remain unsolved and families whose cases have moved through the criminal justice system. Its Families of Murder Victims program assists relatives regardless of the status of the homicide investigation.<\/p>\n
For Taylor, an arrest or prosecution could never answer the question she must confront each morning.<\/p>\n
How does a mother live the rest of her life without her child?<\/p>\n
She visits Dayemen\u2019s grave.<\/p>\n
Sometimes she laughs with him. Sometimes she talks to him. Sometimes she cries. Sometimes she screams.<\/p>\n
She has also learned not to expect her surviving children to fill the space their younger brother once occupied because they are grieving him, too.<\/p>\n
As Taylor spoke to the other families, she did not tell them that their pain would disappear.<\/p>\n
She told them the opposite.<\/p>\n
\u201cI hate when people say, \u2018Oh, it gets better,\u2019\u201d Taylor said. \u201cIt don\u2019t. It don\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n
The room was quiet as she went on.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou just got to go through it.\u201d<\/p>\n
Taylor urged the families to hold on to the lives their loved ones lived rather than allow the violence that killed them to define their entire story.<\/p>\n
\u201cThink of all the good memories,\u201d she said, tears still coming as she talked about her son. \u201cBecause I have a whole lot of good memories with my son.\u201d<\/p>\n