On Friday, we held Mom's funeral in Stevenson. She's now lying next to Dad. We had all the families in except for one of the Grandkids; he's a Marine Osprey pilot currently deployed in Asia. Good old Cumberland Presbyterian Church fed us all after the short service at the gravesite. Her Dad had been one of the founders of the church and she (and we) went every Sunday; and many Wednesday's; for the rest of her life. The founding pastor had married Mom and Dad.
I introduced everyone and opened up the service. Three of her Granddaughters eulogized her; one from each of her kids families (Carrie, Jenna and Isabella). Her Grandson, The Reverend Aaron Bryant preached the sermon. It was a long service!. The family of course loved it...lots of laughter and the audience talking back to the speaker to add color commentary. We're a loud, unruly, bunch :-).
The funeral procession drove by the house and up the street past the church. You have to love small towns where every car pulls over and turns their lights on as you pass. After dinner at the church, we all went to the house and stayed until about midnight...no one wanted to leave. It is truly the end of an era. The finality of Mom's passing has hit me hard as I assess my current "lead by example" game...not that it hasn't always been on my mind as a Dad, business leaders, friend, etc...but...
Jessie Carolyn Bryant
June 29, 1929 to November 4, 2022
On November 3, 2022, Jessie Carolyn Bryant, aged 93, 4 months and 6 days, passed away peacefully at her home in Brentwood, TN. Mom moved there when she finally admitted she could no longer live alone. Leaving the corner of Kansas Avenue and 3rd Street was a hard pill for her to swallow and one she fought. In 1955 when Mom and Dad moved back to Stevenson after Dad got out of the Army, she told Linny (Linda Carson, her niece) she was never leaving Stevenson again. And for the next 67 years she kept that promise. Well, mostly. Aside from an involuntary-temporary move to TX for her cancer treatments in 2011, there was only one thing that would get her to voluntarily leave Stevenson; her Grandkids.
Mom was delivered by her father, Dr. Jessy Lee Prince, in the old family home just a little further up toward the railroad tracks on Kansas Avenue. She was and remains a Daddies girl. When Dr. Prince died of a stroke when she was 7, the Depression was in full misery. Eight years later, after a long illness, her Mom (Edna Lovelady Prince) also passed. The Depression still on and the added misery of WWII, at 15, she was alone. It left a mark on her that steered the rest of her life.
A good student, responsible, a cheerleader, she worked after schools in the local Pharmacy. In her Sr. year in '46, she was introduced to my Dad on a blind date the week he returned to the States after the War in the fall of 1946. He was set to go into the Alabama State Trooper Academy and was going to be sequestered for 6 months. Before the end of the blind date, he asked Mom if she would wait on him. Obviously, sparks had flown! She said that she would…and that was that (real life beats fiction and the movies any day). One year later they were married; the next 12 years were filled with having babies, law enforcement, another war, domestic and foreign military relocations and eventually settling back down in Stevenson into 303 Kansas Avenue…Home.
It was where she'd planted her flag and she was going to stay. Age, cancer, loss; daughters in law!; it didn't matter. It was the home she and Dad made. And having missed out so much on Family growing up, she was determined we would not. So when family came, her love for it was fierce, protective, loving and all consuming. She made a home for us with the same tenacity and perfection that Neil Armstrong flew spaceships, with the same zeal with which Ronald Regan hated communists and the same determination Gunsmoke's Matt Dylan used avoiding marrying Miss Kitty all those years (her favorite TV show).
She grew up with all sisters and her Mom. When she and Dad married, she was convinced she would have a house full of daughters and forever get to play dolls with them, dress them up, sew clothes for them, and best of all take them to Chattanooga to shop for shoes at Pickets and clothes at Loveman's and Millers; like her and her mother had done. When they told her she had had a son; she cried …. All 3 times.
She said she didn't know anything about being a Mom for boys…she was obviously a fast learner. She was just what the Lord had ordered. Her and Dad agreed on everything to do with raising us. If there ever was a disagreement; we sure never saw it. There was no daylight between those two. Their "no" meant "no" and their "yes" meant "yes". The vision for how we would be raised was communicated clearly and consistently. And given that Dad worked long hours six days a week; most of that task fell to Mom. But, suddenly finding herself raising boys; her transformation was not immediate.
As I said, she liked shopping in Chattanooga better than a Baptist likes potluck dinner. And because she had loved it so much with her mother, she just naturally assumed we'd love it to! So off we would go to Chattanooga for an entire day. Dad and three boys chasing Mom around Chattanooga on a mission to try on everything and apparently buy nothing. Dad would hold her purse for a while; and then it would start getting handed down. We all know who gets left holding the bag in the age hierarchy. Me, standing in the Ladies department holding my Mom's purse; humiliating. I was convinced she hated me. And these were marathon shopping trips…all day and into the evening…no lunch, no breaks…this was professional shopping at the highest level. We'd finally leave Chattanooga when the stores closed. The only redeeming feature of those trips was the stop at Crystal in Tiftonia after 9:00 pm to eat a bag of Crystals…each burger was 5 Cent piece of heaven. Years later she explained that she thought she was doing us a favor just having us with her…doing that with her Mom was what she had imagined heaven being like; so she was sharing a little piece of "heaven" each time she drug us there. But, being a boy, I knew it was really a piece of the "other place".
Mom was also adamant that she wasn't a very good cook. She used to tell the story of when they were newlyweds and living in an apartment in Decatur. They bought a brand new Kelvinator refrigerator-freezer…the latest in modern appliances. One of their friends visited and opened it up; the only thing inside was a bottle of milk and a stick of bologna. So by her own admission she had a lot to learn…like with everything else, she applied herself; and adapted very well. And in the finest traditions of Southern Womanhood, bad mouthed every meal she ever cooked. I personally thought she was amazing cook. We had three very nourishing-squares and were never hungry. She made it, we ate it. I will always see her every Sunday after we'd come home from church at Cumberland Presbyterian. We'd be lined up at the bar. Mom would be standing in the kitchen in front of the stove top. For the next hour she was either flipping pancakes or frying bologna sandwiches or frying chicken and handing it over the bar. After all her boys had eaten, she'd fix her own and finally set down to eat. We came first...always.
The older we all got, the more Mom's pace of adapting had to change. She had been a cheerleader in high school, but her interest had not been in football. She liked the uniforms and dressing up and riding in the back of the hay truck to aways games and in general, being seen. Just about everything about the actual game and boys playing it was alien to her. She thought we were obsessed with it; but it was family so she got all in; but it took some time to learn all the terminology. One Friday when Stan was going back over to the school prior to a game for "Skull Practice". He'd been gone about 15 minutes and Mom ran into the room and said excitedly, "Sanders, Sanders, Stan's gone to school for Skull Practice but he's left his helmet at home!!!"
Every Thursday night when we'd bring uniforms home, she'd wash them, and bleach those uniform pants bright white and polish our cleats…Every game day morning there would be an extra brown bag with cleats on the bottom, pads on top of those, jersey and pants folded neatly to carry to school and then the game. I think we were the only kids that played every game of football, Middle School and High School, with freshly cleaned and polished cleats thanks to Mom.
One particular fall week I was playing Junior High Ball, Bill was playing varsity and we were going to meet Stan in Auburn for a football game. By Sunday night she'd had about all of football she could handle and it bubbled out…she said "If I die in the fall, I hope y'all can at least get me buried at halftime".
Well Mom, you should be proud of your boys; we took the whole day Friday for you!
Nearly 3000 years ago, Lemuel, described Mom by putting the finishing touches on Proverbs:
Proverbs 31: 25 29
25She is clothed with strength and dignity;
she can laugh at the days to come.
26 She speaks with wisdom,
and faithful instruction is on her tongue.
27 She watches over the affairs of her household
and does not eat the bread of idleness.
28 Her children arise and call her blessed;
her husband also, and he praises her:
29 "Many women do noble things,
but you surpass them all."
God bless you, Mom. Give Dad a hug.
She was preceded in death by her husband of 57 years Laburn Sanders Bryant and her son Dr. William Prince Bryant
She is survived by:
Stan Bryant and wife Shay of Brentwood, TN
Aaron Bryant and Wife Amy, Grandchildren Silas, Isaiah and Ellis Joy of Nashville, TN
Carrie Glenn and Gary of Nashville, TN
Konie Clark of Dothan, AL
Justin Bryant and Wife Lindsay, Bentley and Ally of Birmingham, AL
Jessica Sciacca and Ryan, Mary Bryant and Hattie of Homewood, AL
Major Jarod Bryant and Wife Elena, William, Juliana and Lydia of Okinawa, Japan
Jenna Bryant of Los Angeles, CA
Phil Bryant and Wife Teresa of Bee Cave, TX
Isabella Bryant of Austin, TX
1LT Ethan Bryant and wife Nina Flores Bryant of Fort Campbell, KY
Dylan Bryant of Dallas, TX
Her Niece Linda Carson and husband Ron Carson