When Morning (Mourning) Comes: The Call

I realize that everyone that reads my blog may not be connected to me “in real life”. It’s been a while since I’ve written a blog post. The reason being, I don’t feel like I have anything to talk about that is blog-worthy. 

**TRIGGER WARNING: THIS BLOG IS ABOUT  DEATH AND THE CORONA VIRUS**

About 3 weeks ago, I loss my father due to complications stemming from COVID-19 (Corona Virus). I can admit that when the Corona Virus first started making the news, I thought hand washing and staying home would be enough. At that point, the virus was new to the states, and Washington state was being hit hard. Living in Washington, I reassured my family on the east coast that we were fine and doing our part. 

As the days progressed, the cases grew more and more, and every state had been touched by this virus. The NBA stopped its season...restaurants closed...beaches, parks, the movies all closed. To bring it all home, Brandon’s season got canceled too. The label: ESSENTIAL WORKER started to circulate and just like that, life as we knew it changed drastically.

Dad

My father and mother started dating in November of 1992. I had only turned two, 8 weeks prior.

 My earliest memories of dad were traveling with him when he would sing with his group, The Anointed Voices of Heaven. These singing programs would be longgggg or at least they felt long to a little girl lol. I knew when dad’s group was about to come on because Uncle David would get on the drum set, Rodney would put on his bass, and Anthony on the guitar. They had the brightest colored suits, they were sharp though lol. The band would play the intro and then came Dad, Ms. Barbara, and Uncle Arthur coming down the aisle. They would usually open up with 🎵🎶 “Children, are you ready??? Children, are you ready??? Children, are you readyyyyy for the program...for the program that’s in your town???”. 🎶🎵 It’s so funny how memories work because I can hear them singing right now, as clearly as I hear Alisa saying “mom, mom” as I’m writing this.

Dad was no-nonsense when we were growing up. I would get so mad when he would tell us to clean up or do something. “If y’all don’t come clean this room, everything is going in the trash! Your momma shouldn’t have to ask y’all to do stuff over and over again”. *Insert eye roll by adolescent Jaleesa*

In our younger years, dad worked a lot. He was gone when we woke up and usually didn’t get home until after we were in bed. I would usually hear him zooming up the path in his loud truck. I had two choices 1) act like I was sleep so he wouldn’t ask me to do anything (don’t judge me, I was young lol) or 2) keep the light on, in turn letting him know I was up, which could follow with, “Hey baby! Can you make me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich (or whatever he had a taste for if mom didn’t cook that night).”

Dad was indeed a James Evans when we were growing up, his way of showing love was providing. It wasn’t until we got older that dad started saying “I love you” and being more present. I told him he was getting soft in his old age lol. Even without the words, I knew he loved us, we all did. 

Things to know about dad:

• He loved his family 
• He loved the Dallas Cowboys, the Lakers (the Kobe and Shaq era specifically), and drag racing
• He was a mechanic
• He drove the school bus
• He was really good at cornhole...like realllly good
• He enjoyed gospel music, especially quartet style. 
• Daddy’s outfit of choice was his bus garage uniform (not buttoned up though lol)
• Daddy loved fishing
• He loved peanut M&M's
• He could make a mean chicken salad from scratch! My Lord! 
• He could sing and play the bass guitar 

But my favorite thing about dad was his work ethic.

I won’t overwhelm you with every story and memory I have of my dad. I just wanted to share the type of man he was, in hopes that you could possibly understand why my heart is so broken. 

Essential Worker

My dad was considered an essential worker. When the word got out that someone from his job tested positive for the virus, of course, every possible thought came to mind. Dad came in contact with the person but wasn’t showing symptoms. My dad was a stubborn man! It wasn’t until my grandma asked him to go to the hospital that he agreed. 

The Test

Brandon and I talked to dad on Good Friday (4/10), his voice was very hoarse. It was painful to hear him sound like that, so I told him when we checked back in, we would text him so he didn’t have to talk. Saturday morning I texted him to see how he was feeling and he replied hours later, letting me know he was still awaiting the results. Even up until that moment, he still told me he was feeling good. 

The next day, I sent dad the pics we took of Alisa for Resurrection Sunday but he didn’t reply. I could always count on a “that’s Bobo’s baby” or “look at fat mama”...but I got nothing.  When I talked to my Aunt Veronica she let me know they had sedated him so that’s why he didn’t respond. I believe that same day is when I found out he had tested positive.

Even though that wasn’t what I wanted to hear, it didn’t stop me from texting him the following days. My thought process was when he got home he would gain his strength knowing we were thinking and praying for him. I sent him pictures, scriptures, and a video of Alisa barking like a dog (that’s her favorite thing right now). I started a group chat with my siblings so I could share what mom and Aunt Veronica were telling me. I told them to send daddy messages so when he got home it would make him laugh and smile. It never crossed my mind for one second that dad wasn’t coming home...NEVER CROSSED MY MIND! 

Every day I would call and text my mom and Aunt Veronica for updates. Because of the time difference, they would have one by the time I woke up for the day. All the reports seemed promising, except for the last one.

The Last Report

Friday, April 17th- “The doctor called and said they can’t give Raymond any more oxygen than he’s already receiving. They said hope for the best but prepare for the worst”.

My response? “I don’t receive that. Call me back when you get a new report.”

That day seemed so long. I called my mom back to get the new report and she told me she couldn’t get anyone on the phone. I called the hospital and asked to speak to someone at the nurse’s station. 

Me: Hello! I am trying to speak to my father’s nurse. His name is Raymond Anderson, Jr. and he has COVID-19. I also have an access code. 

(I didn’t have his room number, he couldn’t have visitors anyway. I thought by saying he had the virus, that would let her know where he was because I’m sure they had those patients in a different location. This was my first time calling up there because my mom and Auntie had it covered.)

Operator: What’s COVID-19?

Me: *frustrated with the question, I reply* “Corona!”

When I get someone from the nurse’s station on the phone they say that they will have dad’s nurse call back. So after that exchange, I’m still as clueless as before I dialed the number. I’m growing antsy and I feel like I don’t know what to do with myself. 

I got a phone call asking if Dad had passed because someone called someone else and said he was gone. I’m from a very small town so information (and misinformation) travel quickly. Growing even more frustrated, I texted my Aunt Shameka (my mom’s friend) and ask her if she had heard that. I knew if she did she would set whoever straight. 

Frustration + Anger + Uncertainty =Tears 

I texted my Bishop and asked him to pray. I started praying but the words just didn’t make sense. What I do remember saying is, “Lord, I release anything I was holding against dad”. Why was this statement so important to my current grieving process? Dad wasn’t a perfect man, none of us are, but daddy made some decisions through the years that impacted the entire family. I spent a lot of time mad at dad even though I never told him I was mad. I believe the Lord directed me to release that because he knew he was going to take him home that night. I believe that the guilt of holding a “secret grudge” coupled with the grief of his passing would have been too much for me to bear. I’m so glad I released that, even though I didn’t tell him face to face, I let that go while he was still here. 

 I needed to find something to keep my mind occupied so I started the Hulu series “Little Fires Everywhere”. Into the first episode, my mom calls. 

The Call

*Phone rings*

Mom: Jaleesa, where’s Brandon?

Me: Ma! (I could just hear it in her voice)

Mom: Jaleesa, where’s Brandon?

Me: Ma!... Ma!... Ma! 

Also Me: Brandon, come here. —Mom, he’s here.

Mom: (paraphrasing because it’s a blur) Raymond’s vitals started to drop and they started working on him. When they tried to bring him back, he went into cardiac arrest. He’s gone.

I instantly start screaming. “Noooooo, Noooooooo, Noooooo!!!”

I collapse to the floor, Brandon tries to hold me and I fight him off. I felt like I couldn’t breathe and I was going to throw up. I start yelling, “I want my momma! I want my momma”. Even in my despair, I knew being with my mom was the only acceptable action to help with the pain. With the chaos of the moment, Alisa is screaming to the top of her lungs. My mom is still on the phone at that point, Brandon picks up the phone and tells her I will call her back. 

Brandon said my skin was burning up. He tried to make me drink something to cool me down, I couldn’t. I make myself calm down so I can calm Alisa down. Still sitting on the floor, I hold and rock her back and forth, tears still coming down my face, repeatedly saying, “I’m sorry, baby...mommy’s sorry”. I call my mom back and apologize for how I know that sounded on the receiving end and told her I would get home as soon as possible. 

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As I’m writing, I’m realizing that this is getting longer and longer and I haven’t even scratched the surface of everything on my heart so I’ll stop here for now. I’ll write more later, maybe tomorrow or next week. 

To you, my readers, thank you for always being down for the ride. Writing is my release of choice 💙