“A Sister’s Love and Grief” is a three-part series that explores what Keyana Dixon’s life has been like since January 2023, when five former Memphis police officers beat her younger brother, Tyré Nichols, to death. This series aims to broaden how we view safety and justice in the face of publicized horror and state-sanctioned violence.
In part one, Dixon shared how she felt in the courtroom during the June state trial of her brother’s killers.
This is part two, where she recalls how quickly life changed in the days, months and years after her brother’s death.
Note: This piece has been edited and condensed for clarity and length.
I went from living my normal life one day to being on TV the next day after my brother died. CNN was at my front door while I was trying to take my kids to school. It felt unreal; I didn’t understand the magnitude of it all.
There was a second funeral to bring national attention to my brother. We had already laid him to rest. We had our service at M.J. Edwards Funeral Home. Then, a week later, there was a huge shift with different support from different people. It wasn’t just something that happened in Memphis; the whole world knew.
It was a new experience to be around people in public while dealing with one of the worst things in my life. At first, I cared how people saw me, but I’m so unapologetic now, while I’m still navigating through my grief.
When I first came to Memphis, I didn’t even know who half the people were showing up to my mother’s house. I just knew my brother was gone.
I immediately went to my mom’s room to tell her that I was here, but she just laid there with her eyes wide open. She was in a paralysis state. I just closed the door. Then, I went straight into action.
We marched, but I had never done one before. We went into action because we didn’t have body camera footage at that point. We didn’t know what happened.
I felt helpless.
After my brother’s death, I had some very unhealthy coping mechanisms. I had just landed my dream job as a probation assistant. I wanted to work more in the realm of helping people getting out of prison and getting them help. But after Tyré was killed, I couldn’t breathe in that office.
I worked with police officers. Every uniform was a trigger. I took six months off. But when I went back, it was cold. People didn’t talk to me. One guy looked at me and said, “Are you back or not? Because I can’t work with this.” He didn’t understand; I was surrounded by the same kind of people who killed my brother.
I had to sit there and act normal, type my notes and go on home visits, but I was drowning.
I didn’t want to deal with people anymore. I shut down. I tried to keep it together for my sons, but they told me later they felt abandoned. That hurt. I was like, “damn.” But they don’t hold it against me. My biggest goal is for them to see me win again.
My oldest son called me after the verdict, crying, saying, “Mama, why?” That was all he said. “Mama, why?”
He’s 6’3” like Tyré and smiles like him, sounds like him. When I hear his voice, it strikes me how similar they are. We have very strong genes in our family.
I moved back here to Memphis to be closer to my mom. Her house has a whole room for Tyré. His urn sits on a shelf by the window that faces west, so he can see the sunset. She keeps all his things – his skateboards, his samurai swords, letters from people all over the world. She talks to him every day.
I go in there, kiss the urn and tell him I love him.
Brittany Brown is the public safety reporter for MLK50: Justice Through Journalism. Email her at brittany.brown@mlk50.com
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