A graduation day he never got to see
DaJuan Brown, 15, was killed in a mass shooting in 2023. His high school's graduation ceremony brought his family joy, grief — and an unexpected reunion.
Unable to sleep, Nyshyia Thomas stepped into the shower at 4 a.m.
She stood beneath the water longer than usual, feeling its warmth against her face and running down her skin, hoping it would carry her tears with it.
It was graduation day. A day she’d been waiting for since 2022, when her youngest son, DaJuan, started his freshman year at Jules E. Mastbaum High, where she had graduated years earlier, and where her eldest child had graduated as well.
DaJuan was supposed to graduate on this day.
She stood at the base of her stairs, wrapped in a purple silk robe, and stared at the life-size cardboard cutout picture of him in her living room, her cheeks quivering through a smile.
DaJuan Brown was only 15 when he was one of five people shot and killed by a mentally ill man dressed in body armor who gunned people down at random on the streets of Kingsessing in July 2023.
He had just completed his freshman year at Mastbaum.
Now, three years later, college brochures regularly arrived in the mail, addressed to him.
Penn State. Indiana University of Pennsylvania. The Marines. Towson. Aviation school.
Each one like an arrow through his mother’s heart.
But now she had something to look forward to. Mastbaum was honoring DaJuan at its graduation ceremony Wednesday with a posthumous diploma.
“You did it, Juan Juan,” she told the cutout. “I’m so proud of you.”
She kissed his cheek and walked upstairs to get ready.
Thomas, 37, plumped her skin with Vaseline, dabbed her lips with coconut oil gloss, and carefully applied fluttering eyelashes with waterproof glue.
Then she dressed, all in white — the color of angels, of the doves they released at DaJuan’s funeral.
Around 9 a.m., her eldest son, DaQuan Brown, called from jail, his morning voice slow and gravelly.
He has been incarcerated since August after police said he was among at least 15 people who fired guns aimlessly down the 1500 block of Etting Street during a block party last July, leaving three dead and 10 others wounded. Defense lawyers have said Brown, 22, and other partygoers thought they were being shot at and were defending themselves when they opened fire and unintentionally shot one another.
Prosecutors say that there was no one targeting the party, and that a loud “pop” triggered contagious gunfire. Anyone who fired a gun that night, officials said, is responsible for the carnage.
So Brown is in custody, held without bail, facing three counts of murder, 10 counts of attempted murder, and related crimes.
The father of her children was locked up, too. Police said that when they reviewed surveillance footage from that night on Etting Street, it showed TyeJuan Brown, 38, running down the block toward his son and the gunfire, holding a firearm, which he is barred from owning because of criminal convictions.
He was charged with illegal gun possession and had been held on $250,000 bail since August.
Thomas hadn’t heard from him in a few days. She suspected his cellblock was on lockdown again.
She often wonders: How is this my life?
One son killed in a mass shooting, another charged with committing one, and their father in jail.
On this morning, at least, DaQuan called.
“Stay strong today,” he told her.
“Love you,” she said. “Call me when it’s over, like 2 o’clock.”
Her nerves worsened as she, her daughter, and her mother-in-law arrived at the South Philadelphia venue. They were 15 minutes late. And where were her sisters?
“I told y’all hurry up!” she said into the phone.
Just wait, they told her. We’re almost there.
She paced the hall, deciding whether to take a seat without them, when she saw TyeJuan Brown walk through the door carrying three bouquets of yellow roses.
She ran into his arms and buried her head in his chest. Their daughter, NeSiyah, 15, turned away in tears, then dived into his arms. Their three faces nuzzled together at last.
“How?” Thomas cried.
His bail was lowered last week, he said, so his sister posted the $250 necessary for his release and started planning the surprise.
She couldn’t stop touching his face. His cheeks were fuller, his skin was healthier. But his eyes, those rich mahogany ones she had loved since she was 12, were filled with relief. She kissed him deeply.
“All right, all right,” said his sister, Shikema. “We’re going to miss the graduation!”
Thomas could not stop giggling as she took her seat beside the broad-shouldered man she had known more than half her life and missed every day for 10 months.
Their relationship had its trials, and he had been jailed years ago for drug and gun charges. But with their eldest son now fighting a murder case, Thomas and her daughter needed him more than ever.
She interlaced her fingers through his, and leaned into his shoulder. NeSiyah kept glancing over at her father, as if to make sure he was still there.
But as the ceremony progressed, each moment of celebration wore on them. Their smiles faded. When the students from each vocational program stood to applause, Thomas pinched her eyes shut.
What would DaJuan have chosen? she wondered. Culinary or carpentry? Maybe film and video?
Name after name was called. Past the B’s, where DaJuan would have been mentioned.
Thomas clapped. NeSiyah sucked her thumb.
How would he have decorated his cap?
As the final students picked up their diplomas and the cheers waned, a quiet fell over the auditorium. It was time for the school to honor DaJuan.
Just at the sound of his name, Thomas’ eyes welled and she looked toward the ceiling.
“It’s hard to find the right words to say goodbye to someone who had so much life to live,” assistant principal Amy Georgia Foster told the crowd. “He had a beautiful, silly streak in him, the kind of sweet, mischievous energy that made you feel the protective love of a grandparent.”
That’s my Juan Juan, Thomas thought.
“DaJuan undoubtedly left his mark on each one of us,” Foster said. “He brought warmth to our halls, and light to our lives.”
Thomas walked toward the stage, her face streaked with tears, her chest heaving. She embraced Foster and the teaching staff, and in her arms they placed a glass box frame, holding a red Class of 2026 stole, and his cap and gown. She pressed his diploma to her heart.
The ceremony continued with final words from the class president, before all the students moved their tassels from left to right.
“Congratulations, Class of 2026!” their principal cheered.
Thomas and her family moved through the crowd toward the door. Beaming teens snapped selfies. Overjoyed mothers embraced their children.
She held hers in a picture frame.
