In November 2020, André Robinson Jr was shot and killed in Oakland while dropping off breakfast at his girlfriend's home. He was 19 years old. What followed was not just the death of one family member, but the unraveling of the bonds that held his four surviving siblings together.
The Robinson family once treasured their Sunday gatherings, crowded affairs filled with extended relatives and close friends. After André's death, those Sundays stopped. The youngest sibling, JaDen, was just 12 when his brother was killed. He remembers talking to André on the phone the night before, when André promised to pick him up the next day. Instead, JaDen's mother came home screaming with the news that his brother was dead.
"When my brother died, it separated us," JaDen said years later. "My sisters, they all got separated. My brothers, they all separated. My mama used to be happy, but now she's not happy. My dad was a playful dad, and it's not there any more."
JaDen had bonded with André over video games and late-night conversations. André was the person he confided in about school struggles and family conflict. After his death, JaDen withdrew. He felt invisible, pushed to the margins while his parents navigated the chaos of police investigations, funeral arrangements, and their own crushing grief.
André served as the family's emotional anchor, the peacekeeper who could ease tension with humor and wisdom. His oldest sister, RoShanda, who was 34 when he died, describes him as one of her closest friends. They spent Saturdays hunting for new Jordan sneakers together. "It was never a dull moment with him," she said. "He always had a smile on his face."
The middle sister DeâAndraney, who was 28 at the time, had mothered André in small ways, ironing his clothes and laying out his outfits for school. He was not just her younger brother but her best friend, someone she felt spiritually connected to. When he was killed, her grief curdled into anger. A rift formed between her and her mother over questions about responsibility for the killing. For four months after the funeral, DeâAndraney didn't speak to her mother at all. Today, she remains mostly estranged from her parents, showing up only for André's birthday celebrations and an annual vigil marking his death.
"I don't know how to be emotionally available for my family if I wake up some days and don't know what the fuck to do," she said. "But I know it comes off as me being distant and don't care."
RoShanda, trying to hold the family together as the oldest sibling, found herself managing everyone else's emotions while drowning in her own. She began self-medicating with alcohol and was arrested twice for drunk driving. The weight of keeping her family intact while processing her own trauma became nearly unbearable.
The Robinson family's experience reflects a broader crisis. The United States records nearly 23,700 homicides annually, meaning hundreds of thousands of Americans have had their family structures shattered by violence. Yet siblings of victims often fall through the cracks.
Tinisch Hollins, executive director of Californians for Safety and Justice, lost three cousins she was raised with as brothers. Two were shot and killed. She notes that siblings face distinct challenges compared to parents of victims. "For a lot of siblings, we're forced to negotiate how we carry our grief while we also manage everyone else's feelings," she said. "We do this without having that same compassion extended to us."
Chevist Johnson, a violence prevention professional at UC Davis medical center, has spent eight years watching these family dynamics play out. He's seen teenagers step into parental roles, feeding younger siblings and getting them to school while their parents are consumed by grief or unable to function. Parents sometimes withdraw entirely, unable to cope with the weight of loss.
Some siblings channel their grief into honoring the memory of the person they lost, pursuing degrees or sports their sibling dreamed of. Others slide into the same cycles of violence that claimed their brother or sister's life. The difference often hinges on whether they have access to support systems, grief counseling, and people willing to validate their pain.
"If a sibling is left to their own devices, or if they're being fed negativity, then that's what they're going to latch on to," Johnson said. "Or they can have someone come alongside them, validate their emotions and give them a safe space to cry and vent so they can move forward and honor their sibling."
Many resources exist through government programs and nonprofits, but they remain poorly publicized. People cannot access services they don't know about. This gap in awareness and access can determine whether grief leads toward healing or deepens the trauma.
RoShanda continues trying to be present for JaDen while her parents heal. "I'm going to be here because I still have another sibling," she said. "I've got to still be there for him." But the family that once gathered every Sunday remains fragmented, separated by the violence that took André and the unprocessed grief that keeps them apart.
Author James Rodriguez: "The Robinson family's fracture is replicated in thousands of households every year, yet we treat sibling grief as an afterthought in our response to gun violence."
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