Our Brenda Jean Harrison Jones

Brenda Jean Harrison-Jones was more than a mother, daughter, sister, teacher, and friend—she was a force of light who gave of herself fully, quietly, and consistently. For over 45 years, she served the children of Rochester, NY as an early childhood educator. She taught universal preschool not just with lesson plans, but with love—treating each student as if they were her own. Her joy was found in nurturing others. Her purpose was rooted in giving. And she did both with grace, creativity, and compassion.
But in her final months, Brenda’s strength and spirit were met with a system that failed her—a system that saw her pain but didn’t treat it, that heard her pleas but didn’t respond, that knew her diagnosis but didn’t act.
 

Brenda lived with several chronic conditions—none of which defined her. She overcame kidney failure, received a transplant, and lived years beyond expectations. Even while navigating serious health challenges, she continued to show up for her family, her faith, and her community. But when she fell and entered the hospital system, she was met not with care, but with dismissal. Not with urgency, but delay. Not with empathy, but indifference.
 

After suffering a fall that left her with new and severe pain, Brenda was admitted to a hospital where she was left without proper evaluation or movement for days. She reported pain that was “off the charts,” but was denied effective, kidney-safe medication. Her daughter asked for answers, but received pressure to relocate her mother to rehab—even as Brenda lay immobile and untreated.
The neglect escalated. Bedsores developed. Infections were ignored. A needle was left in her arm. Her medical chart reflected test after test, but no real plan for why she could no longer walk or why her pain continued to intensify. When she was finally discharged to a care facility, she was still unable to stand, eat, or care for herself—and within days, she was found unwashed, unfed, and pleading: “Nikki, are you coming to get me?”
 

By the time Brenda returned to the hospital, her body had begun to shut down. Diagnosed with multiple infections—including sepsis and staph—her loved ones learned that her spinal injury had gone untreated for too long. She made the brave decision to stop fighting. Her words: “I’m tired. I want to go be with the Lord and my twin.”
 

Brenda died not from diabetes, or hypertension, or kidney failure—but from neuropathic pain, untreated infections, and systemic failures that were preventable. Her death was not inevitable—it was a direct result of a healthcare system that too often disbelieves and devalues the suffering of Black women.
Her children—Educational and Corporate professionals themselves—fought tirelessly to advocate for her care. They documented every conversation, every delay, every injustice. What they uncovered was not just a personal tragedy, but a pattern: a pattern of racial bias, dismissal of pain, and gross medical negligence.
 

Brenda’s story is heartbreaking—but it is not rare. It is a reflection of what too many families endure when navigating medical systems that treat pain through the lens of race, age, and disability. She should have been protected. She should have been heard. She should have lived.
 

To know Brenda was to know unconditional love. She deserved that same love in return from the institutions entrusted to her care. Instead, her life was shortened—not by her conditions, but by inaction, discrimination, and denial of basic dignity.
 

Her story must be told. Not just in grief, but in truth. Not just in mourning, but in memory. And not just in memory—but in the demand for change.
Because Brenda Jean Harrison-Jones mattered. And she always will.