Rise Harris, single mother who sacrificed for family in face of own traumas, dies at 64

Editor’s note: This feature is part of a weekly focus from The Star meant to highlight and remember the lives of Black Kansas Citians who have died.

On Christmas Day 1993, Rise Harris woke up her daughter, Kiesha Harris, long before the sun rose, quietly leading the 17-year-old downstairs where her grandparents, cousin and aunt were waiting with looks of giddy anticipation on their faces.

Kiesha knew, instantly, something was up. Her mother always worked the morning of Dec. 25, so they often celebrated in the afternoon.

Rise (pronounced Reese-a) Harris worked for the Higginsville Habilitation Center in Higginsville, Missouri, about 14 miles away from her home in Lexington, Missourin, serving individuals with mental and physical disabilities. She additionally clocked in three or four nights a week at Places, a general store similar to Dollar General. She returned home when it was dark, exhausted, but ready to be mom for the night.

Then she’d leave early again the next day.

What she hadn’t told Kiesha was that in recent months she had worked overtime shifts, scraping together savings to buy her a car. Harris didn’t drive, so she wanted to get her only child the best automobile she could afford, and to give it to her in an unforgettable way.

There were clues, scribbled on colored index cards, spread out across the living room. They led to a set of keys.

She asked her mother, shocked, “You got me a car?”

Harris told her to go outside and see. A 1989 blue Toyota Corolla was parked in the driveway.

“And this is a woman that had to go to work that morning…she probably got up a little earlier for work and did it while I was asleep,” Kiesha said during a phone interview. “She got up at like four in the morning or 3:30 for work. Her ride came about 5, 5:30.”

Harris, who gave all that she had for her daughter, relatives and clientele even as she faced her own tragedies, died March 4, 2022 after a four-year decline with multiple myeloma, bone marrow cancer, family said. She was 64.

Though she could be quiet and reserved, as family recalls, she exuded warmth and joy, as well as an underlying strength. Harris raised Kiesha as a single mother from the time she was 19, fleeing a violent partner with decisive action, moving from her hometown of Kansas City to Lexington.

It was that drive that made her an efficient and dedicated caregiver for almost 20 years at the Habilitation Center, enthusiastically doing work most would rather avoid.

When Kiesha was in a Kansas City hospital with her mother a few years ago, two younger women who used to work underneath her came into the room to say hello. They told her Harris was “awesome,” a colleague who stepped in to help any time they were overwhelmed.

She would give sponge baths to their patients, or help someone who couldn’t get off the toilet, the girls described. They always pointed out she didn’t have to do it, Kiesha said, but her typical response would be, “We’re a team.”

“The girls said, ‘She made us feel like we were all just on her level,” Kiesha said. “I said, ‘That’s mom.’”

Harris’s 38-year-old niece, Kia Harris, didn’t get to spend much time with her growing up but made up for lost time in recent years, after relocating to Kansas City to be closer to major hospitals. They attended family barbecues and holiday dinners; watched Chiefs games next to each other on the couch.

Kia was especially struck by her gentle, giving spirit, which shone through in spite of all the persistent pain and grueling treatments she endured.

“Never asked for anything, always wanted to help,” Kia said. “Even when she needed help herself.”

Kiesha feels her mother got that from her own mother, Lonnie Spearman, who taught her to be selfless and brave, through her words and the way she lived a life of positivity in the face of struggles.

Independent women

Born on Feb. 25, 1958, Harris was the fifth of six children, raised by Spearman and her husband Leon Harris. The fourth child, her sister, died at the age of 2 of pneumonia, putting a strain on a marriage and a family that was already turbulent.

Leon, a Vietnam war veteran with PTSD, struggled with alcoholism and could become angry and paranoid with his wife, as well as negligent to his kids, Kiesha explained. There were times when Harris was coloring with him, Kiesha said, and she could see the crayon shaking in his trembling hand.

Spearman eventually left him and the situation for another man, Mancy Spearman, who offered her consistency and a place to grow. They each had five children when they got together. They tried to have more, but suffered two miscarriages, and happily accepted the family they were given.

“He said, ‘We got 10 between us,’” Kiesha said. “‘This is what we have.’”

As a child, Harris was calm, soft-spoken and somewhat solitary. She liked to play alone in their well-landscaped front yard and garden. She was drawn to stray cats that would sit on her lap.

Everything changed, though, in her late teen years, when she became pregnant with Kiesha and married the abusive man who was the father. It was unlike the situation her mother had been in with Leon, a loving husband underneath his trauma — This man beat her, leaving her with black eyes, Kiesha said.

But, like her mother, Harris knew when to say enough was enough, and to get out.

That moment came when Kiesha was a small girl, and she ran down to the corner store to say “daddy’s hurting mommy,” she said. Though she can’t remember doing it, her mom would tell her, years later, how someone at the business called the police and he was arrested.

“This is when she finally figured out that she needed to leave,” Kiesha said.

Kiesha never met her father and never wanted to, even when her mother pointed him out years later at her uncle’s funeral. Her mother never looked back.

‘A good person inside and out’

The two of them moved in with Harris’s grandmother in Lexington, who had a large home with what she said was plenty of space for them. Harris started working at KFC, relying on her grandmother to help care for her young girl. She moved them into an apartment around the time Kiesha turned 12.

It was understood, in their house, that mom wasn’t always going to be around, Kiesha said. She was trusted to get herself to school, walk home, lock the doors, turn on the lights and wait for her mother to get back.

When she came home, she would make her daughter dinner, check her homework and then, often, fall asleep on the couch.

“I’m cleaning up the kitchen,” Kiesha recalls. “I’m taking mom’s shoes off, putting the cover over her.”

She would sometimes become grouchy with her mother, but she now understands why she had to work so hard. Harris wanted her to have the nicest things in life, Kiesha said — from the car she gifted her on Christmas, to the expensive, largely white, slightly “snobby” school district she enrolled her in.

Before the school year would start, Harris would ask her sister to drive them clear into Kansas City so she could buy the best back-to-school outfits.

“She had to pay more money for my clothes to keep me up with the fashion and the style with the other kids,” Kiesha said. “When you’re in middle school and high school, that matters…and my mom knew it mattered.”

Harris spent her entire adult life sacrificing for her family, leading to the long-awaited moment about four years ago when she was going to finally retire. The following month, Kiesha said, she was told she had cancer and moved to Kansas City.

It was sad for many reasons, Kiesha said, and one of them was that there was so much she wanted to do finally for herself, like taking trips to faraway places like New Orleans. Instead, she spent her remaining years going through chemotherapy and, after one of her legs was amputated, physical therapy.

In the wake of her death, her daughter and other family are left remembering the joy she spread to others, and all the joy she had in her life.

Making others happy, after all, was what made her the most happy.

“She was a good person,” Kiesha said. “Just a good person, inside and out.”

Harris is survived by her daughter, Kiesha; grandmother, Helene Owens; siblings, Wilma Harris, Margaret Spearman, Etheline Hill, Earline Walker, Christopher Harris, Randy Spearman and Derrick Spearman; and several nieces, nephews and cousins.

Other remembrances

Reginald Yates

Reginald Yates, an Army veteran who led his life with a devotion to the country he served and the family he loved, died on March 30, family said in an obituary, shared by Duane E. Harvey Funeral Directors. He was 68.

Yates — affectionately known as Reggie — was born on Jan. 15, 1954 in Europa, Missouri, family said. His family moved to Kansas City when he was a toddler. He graduated from Central High School in 1973 and felt called to join the service.

He was a military police officer with the Army, family said. He left in the 1990s with an honorable discharge.

After he returned to a civilian life, he raised six children in Green Bay, Wisconsin. He enjoyed cooking for them, playing video games with them and, in general, spending as much time with them as he could.

He also loved the Lord, regularly attending church, and cherished the country he served, family said.

He’s survived by his six children, Alicia McCollough, Rionna McCollough, LaKisha McCollough, Regina McCollough, Ebony Yates and Tinisha Yates; siblings, Sheila Yates, Glenn Yates, Sabra Randolph, Karen Yates, Jacquelyn Wallace, Venus Hayes, Vincent Shelton and Daryl Shelton; his mother; and several grandchildren, nieces, nephews and cousins.

Paula Barr

Paula Barr, a nurse who lived her life with a deep compassion for others as well as a sense of fun that led her to always be the “life of the party,” died March 15, family said in an obituary from Golden Gate Funeral Home & Cremation Services. She was 56.

Born on April 6, 1965 in Kansas City, Barr went through school in the city, up to her senior year at Northeast High School. She then began working as a caretaker and home health nurse for multiple agencies including nursing homes, family said. She had a passion for taking care of the elderly; they, in turn, responded to her energy and her empathy.

She was described by family as a “beautiful soul” who found joy in everything she did, from playing cards, to two-step dancing, to hanging out with her family. She “will be truly missed,” family said.

She’s survived by her children, Danita Barr, Dalana Barr, Dennis Williams Jr. and Da’Quita Barr; mother, Roberta Barr; honorary father, Jasea Irven Jr.; brothers, Reginald Barr, Charles Spearman Jr. and Vincent Spearman; 17 grandchildren; nine great-grandchildren; and several uncles, aunts, nephews, nieces and cousins.

This story was originally published April 10, 2022 at 5:00 AM.