Love was born and lived and gave love.

On Monday, December 6, 2021, at age 95, a wonderful woman departed this world, leaving it so much better than she found it.

Marion Bryan was a mainstay at the First Baptist Church of Bedford, beloved sister, mother, grandmother and great grandmother, and longtime member of the Bedford Women's Club and Bedford Historical Society.  She passed peacefully in her sleep in the afternoon.

Born in Key West, Florida, Marion was the fourth of five children born to Kathrina B. and W.K.E. James. She graduated from the University of Alabama with a degree from the School of Home Economics.  She is survived by her younger brother, Robison B. James, and by her seven children: C.R. Bryan III, Rose Anne Pappert (Kaline), Diane E. Bryan (Deb), William Bryan (Billy), Robison James Bryan (Jamie, or Tess), Laura Bryan, and Kathrina Harmon (Kate), her beloved grandchildren, great-grandchildren, cousins, nieces and nephews, and her extended family of Bedford, Mass., and the First Baptist Church of Bedford.

She was predeceased by her husband, C. Ray Bryan, her brother William E. James and her sisters Katherine B. Miller and Elizabeth B. Moffitt.

Marion had been a Bedford resident for 64 years, raising a large family of rambunctious and talented individuals, always lovingly, with wit and compassion.

Perhaps Marion's greatest accomplishments in life were the relationships she fostered with anyone needing a friendly ear and loving heart.  In her later years, this was realized through her serving as a substitute teacher in Bedford's school system, from which she retired at age 93.  Her students heard many stories that brought the past to life for them. She was not afraid to learn from the kids as well, enjoying the unique personalities given to her care.

During her middle years, Marion served as a sort of "godmother" in the burgeoning high-tech industry that developed like a silicon bracelet surrounding Boston.  Companies like Apollo Computers, AVID, and Synernetics/3-Com owed the stable and happy creative environment of their early years to the office systems genie in the form of a diminutive "Mom".

As a young woman, she gave herself to motherhood, adding extra income when needed through teaching sewing, and tailoring, making beautiful dresses, including wedding dresses, as well as tailored menswear.  Her skill with a needle even won her some fashion awards. (Easter Sunday at the Bryan home was a sort of Paris fashion show, featuring Marion's hand-made designs.)

Marion's earliest job was as research assistant to historian Anne G. Pannell, and her respect for, and gift with words had a profound effect on all her charges.

Her grandson, Joey Cruz writes:

My mother's mother, Grandma Marion was possessed of a superhuman kindness and dignity. She spoke with a gentle voice and a strong heart, and her distinctive southern lilt will forever live in my memory.

It's hard to describe Marion Bryan without sounding hyperbolic. She felt like a paragon. I have never known anyone more accepting, more tolerant, more kind and loving. She was the sort of grandmother—the sort of *person*—everyone might wish to have in their life.

As a teacher, the kids loved and respected her (even the mischievous ones), and she remained a substitute teacher into her 90s.

When I was 16, she gave me my first copy of Strunk & White's The Elements of Style. I think she knew I was a writer before I did.

Grandma Marion wrote letters that felt like relics from another time. Her diction, antiquated, yet so eloquent, would have felt at home under Abraham Lincoln's pen. You could never just dash off your reply to a Grandma Marion letter—you had to craft it. It had to feel worthy.

In all honesty, my words don't feel worthy right now. But they're the ones I've got. And I have them, at least in part, because of her. R.I.P., Grandma Marion.

Marion's eldest grandchild, Ratna Pappert, adds:

When I think of my Grandmother, I think of her sitting in her chair in the family room, several dictionaries on the ottoman at her feet and another dictionary open on her lap. She would open the dictionary with a specific query in mind, then, having satisfied that need, continue to browse around for a while, reacquainting herself with other, adjacent, words, and reading their meanings aloud. I, also, read dictionaries in much the same way to this day.

I remember she liked Hershey's Special Dark chocolate and she loved Jordan Almonds [so true! —the other Bryan "kids"]. I remember being at her house, being very little, and sitting on the step-stool in the kitchen while she made breakfast. I remember the way she would greet me with a smile that lit up her whole face when I wandered into the kitchen, and how, even though I didn't, and don't, eat meat, the smell of bacon reminds me of that quiet time of day as she was making breakfast and coffee. In later years, she often claimed that her longevity was due to PVC: Prayer, Vitamins and Coffee. When she eventually switched to green tea, the acronym lost a little of its elegance: PVGT

When I think of her, I also think of the current landscape of my evening drive home from work, and filling the miles with free-flowing phone conversation. In recent years, when her childhood memories came more readily than did her present-day recall, I prompted her more and more often to tell me stories about her younger days.

I found myself hearing about how she, and the young man who would eventually become my Grandfather, walked home from their first date, whistling in harmony.

I felt the importance of her junior-high-school connection with her beloved best friend Diane (Dee) with whom she kept in touch throughout her life.

I heard entertaining sibling-stories about her younger brother Robby, with whom she was always close.

She recalled, when her children were in high-school, filling the house with teenagers on Saturday nights, so that her kids and their friends had a place to congregate.

Sometimes when we spoke, she'd share word-puzzles with me, or recite long passages of the poems she'd learned as a girl during elocution lessons with her mother. When she'd describe going out to do errands, she'd often tell me that she had run into yet another former pupil (there were so many generations of them) who took the time to come over and hug her and say, "Hi, Mrs. Bryan!"  I liked hearing her put words around the things that were important to her — her faith; her relationships with family, friends, and those in her community.

And yet with so many pulls on her time, to me, she meant: Presence. Over the years that we knew each other, she took the time again and again to ask me about myself; to meet me where I was (or to try her best to get there if I was willing to explain it a few times, slowly and carefully). She thought to ask me where I had learned certain things; she took time to notice emotions on my face and to ask me about them; to reach out if she hadn't heard from me in a while. That meant the world to me.

She was a big and bright light in my world.

I miss her. I will miss her.

Marion's sister-in-law Anne James offers:

I always think of Marion in connection with Christmas.  She gave us a string of jingle bells for the door knob, a stained glass advent wreath, quilted Christmas stockings, a jigsawed crèche she created herself, Christmas pot holders, etc.  She kept oatmeal cookie dough in the freezer and sent cookies so carefully wrapped in bubble wrap that none was broken.  She liked fruitcake.  She was proud of beginning each meal with a fruit cup which varied with the season.  She often hummed a tune as she worked.  She believed her long life was partly due to childhood illness and partly to taking vitamins.  She was the life of the party at our 60th anniversary gathering two years ago.

Robison B. James offers this summary:

The one thing that can perhaps be said begins and ends with the word "love." Marion spent her final years putting her house in order, and making sure each of her children is happy in their chosen life.

A memorial service and celebration of Marion's life is being planned for the spring.

Laura Bryan reminds us: Life is fleeting. Hug those you love while you can.