Antoinette LaVerne Harris

My mother was a painted warrior.

But her paint was never gold or red or blue.

Her paint was scraped knees,

bruised palms,

bent backs,

quiet sacrifices no one applauded.

Her armor was a tired smile at midnight,

a steady hand when I learned to walk,

a body that stepped in front of every fall

so I never had to feel it first.

Those scars on her knees were not accidents.

They were battle marks,

earned in the war of motherhood.

Forty years on the front line.

No retreat. No surrender.

Just love.

She did not fight with swords.

She fought with patience,

with prayer,

with persistence,

with showing up every single day.

And before she was my warrior,

she was a trailblazer.

Born in 1941,

in a world that told women:

stay small,

stay quiet,

settle early,

do not dream too loud.

But she did anyway.

She traveled.

She explored.

She lived.

From Daytona Beach to New York,

from New York to Los Angeles,

from lab coats to IRS files,

from independence to intentional love.

She built a life before she built a family.

She became a woman before she became a mother.

In a time when women were bred to breed,

she chose to breathe first,

to grow first,

to become first.

What women celebrate in 2026

finding themselves before settling down

my mother mastered it decades ago.

She was ahead of her time.

Quietly rewriting the rules.

At 42, she chose love.

At 42, she chose motherhood.

At 42, she chose us.

And she never looked back.

And everywhere she went,

she left people better than she found them.

She especially inspired other women

with example, with courage.

She was a constant example of strength,

independent and loving,

faithful and fearless

all at once.

If you knew her, she left an impression

And if you were raised by her,

you were shaped by greatness.

Her children, not accidents.

We are outcomes.

We are the result

of her prayers,

her discipline,

her patience,

her love.

Every value we carry,

every standard we hold,

every way we show up in the world

comes from her.

She didn’t just raise children.

She raised leaders.

She raised legacy.

And somehow,

with all her wisdom and brilliance,

she still had the sweetest little quirks.

She could never quite get names right.

Radio Shack was “Record Shack.”

And we always knew what she meant.

We just smiled.

Because that was her

perfectly imperfect,

warm, human,

and unforgettable.

Antoinette (Toni) LaVerne McDonald

was born on October 20, 1941,

to Charles and Zella McDonald

in Daytona Beach, Florida.

She was the oldest of three children

in the Francis family.

She attended Evander Childs High School

in Bronx, New York,

and graduated in 1959.

She trained as a laboratory technician

and worked in New York hospitals

before continuing her career

at VA Sepulveda Hospital in Los Angeles.

After meeting her husband,

she moved to Ogden, Utah,

where she worked at the IRS Center.

She later transferred to Fresno, California,

where she completed her career

as a Tax Examining Assistant

and retired with dignity.

On April 2, 1982,

she married the love of her life,

Renald Harris.

They shared 44 years of marriage,

built on partnership, faith, and devotion.

She was the proud mother

of Jeffrey Raynal and Justina Nicole,

and the loving grandmother

of Jonathan, Mikaela, and Brielle.

She is survived by her husband Renald,

her son Jeffrey,

her daughter Justina,

her grandchildren,

her sister-in-law Jeanette,

brother-in-law Robert,

cousin Michael Francis,

nieces and nephews Letitia, Adrian, Jennifer, and Sean,

and her dear friends

Grace Denton, Carol Murddock, and Brenda Inouye.

But to me,

she was my shield,

my compass,

my first example of strength,

my lifelong standard.

When I stumble, I hear her voice.

When I succeed, I feel her prayers.

When I doubt myself, I remember:

I come from her.

From a woman who carried scars

so, I could carry dreams.

From a woman who walked paths

so, I could run freely.

She was a warrior in love.

A trailblazer in life.

A legend in legacy.

Today, we do not just mourn her.

We honor her.

We rise because of her.

We walked forward because she cleared the way.

My mother

the warrior.

The trailblazer.

Antoinette “Toni” LaVerne McDonald.

Forever strong.

Forever ahead.

Forever loved.