When Morning (Mourning) Comes: The Day
**TRIGGER WARNING: THIS BLOG IS ABOUT DEATH AND THE CORONA VIRUS**
This blog is part 3 of a series. The first installment entitled, “When Morning (Mourning) Comes: The Call" can be found by
clicking this link: https://coachjaleesa.
The Second Installment entitled, “When Morning (Mourning) Comes: The Preparation" can be found by clicking this
link: https://coachjaleesa.
The Preparation
I had spent every moment from the time I found out about dad’s transition until that very moment, being busy. I was busy trying
to book the flight, busy writing the obituary, busy packing, busy planning, but now I had to sit still, with my thoughts
The next day was the viewing and my only goal for that day was to embrace the reality that daddy was gone.
The Viewing
My siblings that came from out of town stayed at the same hotel as us. I had asked Brandon to stay behind at the hotel with Alisa
because I knew the crying would upset her. I decided to ride with my sister and brother-in-law, Tiff and Seen, to the viewing so I could leave the car with Brandon. The entire family literally pulled up at the funeral home at the same time. We got out and made small talk in the parking lot; I think this was our way to avoid what was to come. Finally, Aunt Veronica said it was time for us to go in.
Even after entering the building, we congregated in the hallway, prolonging what we all knew we would see. “Ok, who’s
going in first?”, one of my siblings asked. Everyone’s eyes shifted from person to person to see who would be the brave one to volunteer. Finally, someone said, “I’ll go” and the rest of us followed.
We walked in quietly, almost afraid to make a noise until we reached the front of the chapel. A quartet styled, “Amazing
Grace” played in the background with a slide show of the pictures that were in the obituary in rotation. I looked up and the first picture I saw was dad giving me a way to Brandon on my wedding day. Bawling, weeping, and wailing hit each of us almost in a domino effect as we saw our father, son, and brother in the silver casket.
“Jesus, Help Me! Jesus! Jesus!” Those are the only words I could get out. My legs started to get weak, but I was in control.
Maybe it didn’t look like I was, because two funeral home workers rushed to my side to assist in sitting me down on the pew. As I glanced around the room, I felt like I was sitting in a bad scene from a movie. I tried to compose myself so I could comfort one of my siblings.
I don’t think my vocabulary is broad enough to produce a word that truly captured what I saw that day. I felt helpless. I
walked over to the other side of the chapel, by this time everyone sat quietly, staring into space. I felt a wave of emotion coming back over me. “MA, HE SAID HE WAS GOING TO BE OKAY”. These words, in particular, have haunted me during this entire process. When we talked to dad that previous Friday, if he would have said, “I’m not feeling well” or “I’m in pain” maybe, just maybe this wouldn’t be so hard. Knowing my dad, even if he was in pain, he wouldn’t have told us. Even until this very moment, as I write this, I keep thinking about how dad spent his last moments on earth alone.
My Aunt Veronica took me out the side door because I needed to get air. I told her I felt like I couldn’t be strong anymore.
“Auntie, it just doesn’t feel real. I’m trying to be strong for my siblings but I’m tired. The only thing that’s making me feel better is that he looks like he’s at peace. You know dad had trouble sleeping for years...he looks like he’s finally resting”. I allowed the cool breeze to hit my face, taking in the moment, before we went back in.
Before I knew it, we all started sharing “dad stories” or joking Kanisha saying, “you have dad’s little ears lol”. We stayed
for hours, sitting, talking, laughing, and greeting other viewers. Before we left, the children decided we would all come back the following day to close the casket together.
All Together Again
I can't help but think about how strategic God is when I look back at the last few months of our lives. This past Christmas, all of
my siblings ended up at dad's house at the same time. That may not sound like a big deal but when you consider all of dad's children are grown, ranging from 18-34 and we span 3 states, that's MAJOR. The meet up was not planned, which made it even more special. Keke, Jalen, and I were about to leave to go visit our maternal grandma when we got word that our sister, Tiffany was in the area. My oldest niece called her, "Auntie, you're the only one not here! How close are you?". Tiffany was only an exit away, so I asked Keke to stay a little while longer. I knew that whatever Keke had wrapped in that box to gift for daddy, would not surpass the joy he would feel having all his children together, for the very first time. What we didn’t know was that it would also be the last time. 
Daddy and all his "Chullens" and Grands
Dad and the Grands. They range from 1-17 years old
Dad and his sons-in-law and daughter in law
Us just being us lol
he asked if there was a way he could get it enlarged so he could put it on the wall. I had planned to get it blown up and gift it to him for Father's Day. I'm still going to get it for him. 
I would have never imagined that the next time I would be with all my siblings, it would be to lay dad to rest. After the viewing,
we all decided to hang out at the hotel. We played Phase 10 and Spades, Kanisha did our nails, and the babies ran around in glee.
I know dad would have gotten a kick out of that. Dad was a masterful, trash-talking spades player. I know he would have been
slapping those cards on the table, while whoever his partner was swiftly collected their books lol.
Kanisha doing my nails
My daughter Alisa and nephew Aiden
My older sister, Kanisha, oldest niece, Karmesha and baby sis, Michelle (Aiden’s mommy).
I’ll forever hold on to those moments of laughter with my brothers and sisters.
Closing the Casket
I surprisingly slept peacefully the night before the funeral but my stomach ached as I rose from my slumber. I had nervous
energy as I paced from one side of the hotel to the other. “Baby, you need to put something on your stomach”, Brandon said. “I don’t have an appetite”. I knew he was right but even the thought of eating made me feel sick.
Since we weren’t having an open casket service, my siblings and I decided to meet at 12:45 to close the casket together
at the funeral home. The time went by so fast, yet so slow. We all pulled up to the funeral home and I distributed our matching blue face masks, hand made by a family friend. We entered the funeral home, this time, not as hesitantly as before. Brandon was able to accompany me. I wanted to make sure he could create his own closure. He and dad were very close.
I was getting Alisa settled as I saw Brandon approach Daddy’s casket. I made sure my mom could look after Alisa as I
swiftly walked behind him for support. We both stood there looking at dad in silence and after a few moments walked away hand in hand. The public viewing would end soon and the moment we were dreading was quickly approaching; closing the casket. The director asked who would be closing the casket and we all elected to place one hand on the lid. As the top was lowered and dad was no longer visible, the pain grew deeper. We all wept again. I tried to force words out of the muffled cries. I repeatedly tapped the casket and said, “Thank you, daddy! Thank you”. I know it didn’t make sense to onlookers but what I was saying, in my own words, was “thank you for raising me”.     check out the burial site because it had rained earlier. As we were driving on the path, we almost got stuck in the mud which made me feel worse. “OMG, what if the cars can’t get back here?”, I asked Brandon. I call my Aunt and Uncle and they both assure me that everything would be fine. We arrive at Grandma’s and prepared for departure to the bus garage. Big Ray’s Last Ride (Part 2) As we traveled to the bus garage, we could see people were already starting to line Main Street. This was amazing to me. Dad had touched so many lives! When we arrived at the bus garage, the street was lined with so many cars. I got out of the family car to assist with the lineup. After a few moments, it was time for us to depart. There were so many people. Daddy’s co-workers, his friends, church members, government officials, some of my classmates, teachers who knew dad from bus duty, my mom’s friends, and the list goes on. As we processed down Main Street, I noticed the lead car started making a turn. Mr. Artis orchestrated the processional so we could drive past dad’s old auto repair shop. We made a big circle and rejoined the processional. As we were traveling back to the front of the line, we got the opportunity to see the dozens of cars that were following us. People decorated their cars with balloons and Cowboys paraphernalia, spectators made signs of love and support. We were led into the elementary school parking lot where the participants were able to wave, honk their horns, and pay their respects as we left for the service. The love was simply overwhelming. 
Alisa waving at the processional as she hung out with my niece and nephew.
Mother-in-law and sister-in-law (not pictured)
Some of the vehicles in the processional
Run On
We were instructed to stay in the cars as the funeral home attendants directed traffic and the casket was placed over the burial
vault. We were then signaled that they were ready for us to be seated.
My Uncle Junior led us in a beautiful prayer that drove me to tears. My sister followed up with an original poem, my niece
followed suit with original words about her fond memories with dad. The next part would be difficult, it was time for the
musical tribute. My uncle (dad’s baby brother and drummer for their gospel group) was able to partner with a sound
engineer and create a special rendition of their song, “Run On”. They took the recorded track, pulled dad’s solo from the
middle of the song, muted the background music, and placed dad’s solo at the beginning of the song. In other words, instead
of the normal musical intro, the song started with dad singing his verse A cappella, then the rest of the song started. I had already
heard the version , 2 days prior and distributed it to my siblings who wanted to hear it before the funeral. I thought by hearing it
beforehand it wouldn’t have such a bad affect on me. Unfortunately, I was wrong in that assumption. As I heard dad’s voice
booming through the loudspeaker, I found it difficult to breathe. “I need my husband! Get me my husband”, I ask the funeral home
worker. I grab Brandon in the same tight manner that our daughter grabs him, in need of protection.
They pull up an extra chair and Brandon is able to sit with me. I laid in his arms and stared into the sun. I had mentally checked
out. The Pastor said some words that I’m sure were very beautiful but I don’t remember much of it. As the service comes to an
end, we all have to place a rose on daddy’s casket. We go up one by one. As it gets closer to me I try to draw the strength I
need to move my feet. It was like my mind got the memo that it was time to move but my body wasn’t following. Brandon helps
me and I go to place my rose on dad’s casket. When I get up there, I get stuck. It’s like I literally cannot move. Brandon placed
his hand on my back, trying to guide me back to the chair. My legs started shaking uncontrollably. I force myself to “snap out of it”
because I need to make sure everyone is ok. All of my siblings surrounded my mom as she placed her rose on dad’s casket.
After the mortician’s brief, “I’ll Fly Away” by the Anointed Voices started to play. We said our final goodbyes, took some
pictures, and departed from the gravesite.
When Morning (Mourning) Comes
So far in my mourning process, night time has been the hardest. It’s too quiet, too dark, and too still. During the day, I can call up
a friend or find a distraction, but at night you don’t want to wake people or feel like a burden. The quietness of the atmosphere
makes the loudness of your thoughts that much louder.
Every day looks different for me. Sometimes I play "Run On" on repeat, singing along with dad as I try to keep myself busy.
Other days I feel like I can't get out of bed. However, every day, I lean on God, my family, and friends for support as we figure it out
together.
I named this blog "When Morning (Mourning) Comes" as a play on words that just as sure as the sun rises and the day will
come so will the process of mourning the loss of a loved one. I wish this process was as clear cut and accurate as
daybreak...but what I do know is that even on the hardest days, the Sun (Son) will shine.
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