June Watson Scott

Childhood

June Watson Scott was born on June 28, 1940, in Tunapuna, Trinidad and Tobago, and was one of 12 children born to the late Wilfred "Boisey" Watson and Louise Richards.

Her mother died when she was 6 months old, and she was raised by her grandmother in a strict household. Still, June was curious and playful. She often shared the story of being sent to buy butter, only to stop and play, skip rocks, and lose track of time. By the time she returned, the butter had melted. When her grandmother asked, "June, where were you?" June would answer, "I don't know,” which was her refrain when she got in trouble. And her grandmother would say, "You are Miss 'I Don't Know'?"

That lively little girl grew into a woman of deep conviction.

A New Land, A Mother's Sacrifice

June completed high school in Trinidad and worked in a sewing factory, where she first put her hands to fabric and thread. She followed her sister Ira to Canada, stayed about a year, became a citizen, and set her eyes on the bright lights of New York City.

June was the proud mother of four daughters. She left three behind in Trinidad to build a future for them, and Leslie would later be born in the United States, completing the circle.

In New York, she worked as a home health aide and later served 25 years as a Nursing Assistant at The Hyam Solomon Home for the Aged. In the early years, she walked the streets of New York with holes in her shoes and her coat worn thin, while sometimes facing the threat of eviction. Yet she sent money and barrels home to Trinidad. She went without so her children could have.

The distance was not indifference. It was sacrifice.

As a mother, she was generous, loving, direct, and clear. She did not sugarcoat. If she felt there was a right way to do something, she stood firm. Yet beneath that directness was deep love — shown through work, sacrifice, and the refusal to let those she loved go without.

The Watchman

In 1975, June heard a word from the Lord to go to the corner of Nostrand Avenue and Eastern Parkway in Brooklyn and look for a woman named Cynthia. She obeyed. There she found Mother Cynthia Irving preaching on that street corner and became part of St. Anne's Spiritual Baptist Church.

June sought after God, not merely church attendance. She believed God could meet her wherever she was. And He did.

Her favorite scripture passage was Ezekiel 33 because she saw herself in it. In that passage, God appoints a Watchman to see danger and blow the trumpet to warn the people. This was her calling. If God gave her a word, she had to deliver it.

That is why she spent hours on the phone preaching, admonishing, and encouraging. That is why she typed scripture late into the night. She blew the trumpet as faithfully as she knew how.

Her words could be strong, but they came from a heart that believed eternity mattered, souls mattered, and truth mattered. Her niece Helen, whom June baptized, described her as "a teacher, a leader, a mother."

Gifts of Her Hands

June had a way of turning love into something you could see, touch, taste, or carry home.

She gave generously — even to her daughter Leslie’s church, which she rarely attended, but often streamed.  In every project that Leslie led at the Cathedral International, she contributed in some way, money for t-shirts, prizes, props, sewing costumes, or simply giving encouragement. But she had one rule: "Never say it was me."

Her Brooklyn apartment was filled with flowers and plants. She had a green thumb and a way of making life grow around her. She sewed, crafted, and poured love into every detail.

And she fed people. Her grandchildren would often awake with joy at the smell of fried bake being prepared in Nana’s kitchen.  She prepared the kind of food that made a house feel like home.

Nana and Grannie

After more than five decades in New York, June moved to New Jersey in 2009 to live with Leslie in Sayreville, and in 2020 to Matawan. She became a pillar of the household, watching over the family God had given her.

To her grandchildren, she was Nana or Grannie. She held every grandchild close in prayer (but did not hide that she had favorites), even those across the world.

Her Final Days

For nearly 30 years, June lived with pain from arthritis. She endured two shoulder replacements, a knee replacement, and arthritis in her spine that no surgery could fix.

But then she had to endure a new kind of pain from cancer, yet her concern remained fixed on everyone else. Her caregivers — Bukky (who she called Becky), Deacon Pat Smith, and Judith — all had to check in when they got home. She wanted everyone accounted for and safe.

During her final week, she received communion on Mother's Day, a moment of deep joy. In the days that followed, she sat with her palms facing up toward heaven, praying for strength. The last thing she heard was her beloved Psalms, read to her by her daughter Denise, who thankfully made it to her bedside before she closed her eyes for eternal rest. 

Her Legacy

June lived as a mother, grandmother, great-grandmother, sister, aunt, caregiver, teacher, giver, prayer warrior, and watchman. She loved fiercely. She spoke plainly. She gave quietly. She endured deeply. She prayed constantly. She warned faithfully.

A watchman stood among us, and her trumpet still echoes.

June Watson Scott was preceded in death by her parents, Wilfred "Boisey" Watson and Louise Richards; her husband, Mr. Roland; and seven siblings: Phyllis, Barbara, Gerald, Patrick, Lucien, Kenty, and Iva.

She leaves to cherish her memory her daughters, Beverly-Ann, Denise, Eydie-Ann, and Leslie-Ann; her sons-in-law, Thomas and Anthony; five stepchildren; thirteen grandchildren, Gideon, Abu, Amera, Ayanna, David, Christian, Kyle, Dellon, Jasani, Meghan, Ssanyu, Neo, and Endasi; twelve great-grandchildren; her siblings, Ira, Catherine, Elsa, and David; many cousins, nieces, nephews, and spiritual sons and daughters she adopted, prayed for, corrected, encouraged, and loved along the way.

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