Tamera Mowry Housley.Photo: Kwaku Alston
In November 2018,Tamera Mowry-Housley’s life was forever changed when she was woken up to a call with unimaginable news.
The actress and former talk show host learned that her 18-year-old niece Alaina Housley — who she often referred to as her “favorite Housley” — had beenkilled in a mass shootingwith 11 others at the Borderline Bar & Grill in Thousand Oaks, California.
You Should Sit for This Cover Art.
On the night of November 7, 2018, not too long after going to sleep, my husband’s phone rang. It was Arik, Adam’s brother, “Alaina went out dancing with friends, and there was a shooting—it’s all I know right now.”
A shooting? Alaina?This is impossible, she has to be okay.The same nightmare that has destroyed too many families in this country had arrived in our bedroom—and unfortunately the nightmare was real.
Alaina Housley. My sweet, sweet Alaina, you stole my heart when you were just five years old. By now you all know (I’m talking to you, readers!) I was emailing back and forth with Adam before I met him in person. In the first picture he sent me he was standing next to a tiny, bright-eyed, mocha-skinned beauty whose smile was larger than life. Alaina . . . your uncle was wise to include you in the first photo he shared with me, because who could resist your cuteness? Who wouldn’t want to go out with a man who so clearly adored his niece? I’ll admit it, when I first saw that picture, I thought,Okay, I can definitely have kids with this man. If there’s any chance they’ll look like her, I’m all in!
Tamera Mowry/Instagram
Alaina, you and I clicked instantly. We bonded over fun, girly things like manicures, hair braiding, makeup, and clothes. I was in love with Adam, and I was smitten with your entire family, but it didn’t take me long to come to a surprising conclusion. That you, Alaina, were my favorite Housley. You know that, right, Alaina? And I’m sorry for Adam! But it’s the honest-to-God truth. We sang so well together, too. I treasure the photograph of us right after we sang the national anthem together before the first Napa Valley 1839 soccer game. I often show that picture to people because it captures the essence of our relationship. Our faces show lots of love with a big side of silly. We look so proud and happy in that picture! Remember how hard it is to hit that crazy high note at the end? That note is no joke! That day you taught me that there is something even more joyful than singing, and that’s singing with someone whom you love with all your heart.
In true Housley-Mowry fashion, you chose to matriculate at Pepperdine. You followed in the footsteps of both of your parents, of your Uncle Adam, me, and of course Tia. A bright, outgoing girl—you probably could have studied anywhere you wanted to, but you were proud to step into a family tradition. I don’t know how, but you managed to teach yourself to play the ukulele. I remember how you blew everyone’s mind at the school talent show. Adam filled me in on your brilliant performance inLes Miserables. I was out of town and so sad to miss your performance, to miss seeing you in your element. You lovedHamiltonas much as I did. Werk! And I was thrilled that you were theatre curious, falling in love with acting and auditioning for plays in college. You knew I had your back—whatever you needed, advice, support, a last minute mani-pedi.
Your uncle drove down to Thousand Oaks to try to find you. He had covered mass shootings before, and yet it was unthinkable that you could be involved in one. I called the emergency hotline so many times that I was gently and kindly toldthey would call mewhen there was information. Your iPhone said that you were in the bar where the shooting took place hours and hours after the event happened, and we knew what that probably meant. But the little thread of hope was not something that was easy for any of us to let go of. Finally, your dad got the word. “She’s gone,” he said to your uncle. Those two little words carried so much power. An unbelievable amount of grief—She’s gone.It is not possible to describe what any of us felt. I can’t tell you what it was like to tell Ariah and Aden that their cousin was gone. Honestly, Alaina, I’m not entirely sure the words to describe this level of pain actually exist.
Niece Alaina and Son Aden.Tamera Mowry/Instagram
She wailed. I don’t know how she survived that moment, because this was not the way you were supposed to come home from college. Seeing you in that car was a horrible reminder that this nightmare was real, and it wasn’t going to end. The cops escorted you—silently, but with lights on, to the cemetery. The outpouring of support and love from the people of Napa was incredible. They lined the streets for you and your family. You wouldn’t think something like that could help, but it did. You were loved.
Of all the people who saved me from constant despair, it was your mother. She should not have had to save me, but she did. As we were approaching the second anniversary of your death and the pain was still raw, she said, “Tamera, I’ve realized something. Alaina was never fully mine. She belonged to God. I might have given birth to her, but her mission here on earth is done. She’s with Him now.” What a brave and wise thing to say—what a generous way to move forward in life after experiencing such pain! That’s your mom, Alaina. She’s really something.
I learned that day how much love can hurt. Losing you hurt so much, and it still hurts a lot, but losing you also taught me to love. Even harder. I am going to love my people at full capacity—because we have no idea what’s going to happen, Alaina. You’re not even here, but you still taught me to love deeper, more fully, and without any reservation at all. I’m spreading as much love as I can around this world, and it’s all thanks to the privilege of knowing you.
source: people.com
