Marion (Misty) Harrison: Orphan. Volunteer. Nana. Grammar expert. Born Sept. 14, 1923, in Toronto; died Feb. 27, 2024, in Dundas, Ont.; of heart failure; aged 100.
Marion Jean spent the first five years of her life in various awful orphanages in Toronto. Her life changed significantly when an older couple, Herbert and Jean Tyrrell, adopted her. Until her death, she remained grateful, almost incredulously so, that they “chose” her.
Marion’s new parents provided her with many new experiences at their home in the city’s north end, including horseback riding and playing tennis. As a young woman, she was often called “Miss Tyrrell” but that was shortened to “Miss T,” and then to “Misty,” which became her lifelong nickname.
At a time when few women went to university, Misty pursued a general arts degree at University of Toronto, continuing a lifelong interest in reading and learning. After having numerous keen suitors, the 4-foot-11 Misty was set up on a blind date with the tall, dashing Ted Harrison. They fell in love and married on her 23rd birthday at her family home.
The couple eventually settled in Hamilton and welcomed three children, Alan, Ann and Tyrrell.
Ted was the warmer parent, carrying on the spirit of the big, jovial family with whom he had grown up. Misty was stricter and never afraid to share her opinions (no matter the audience). She was still loving and involved with the kids but also needed time to herself.
Tyrrell’s death in a car crash at the age of 19 rocked the family. Friends say that the family wasn’t able to talk about it; it was simply too painful. They just kept going.
Fortunately, better years followed their loss, and Misty and Ted saw Ann and Alan get married and have children. They relished grandparenthood, hosting incredible Christmases (with a tree that required a dangerously unsteady ladder for decorating), birthdays and summer barbecues. While Misty’s cooking skills may have been a tad lacking, she was the master of roast beef, which she always served with canned potatoes (possibly a nod to growing up in the Depression) and coleslaw. Dinners included impromptu grammar lessons from Nana, tales of her Labradors’ successes (or lack thereof) in professional retrieving competitions and a hilarious singling out of whichever grandchild had too many desserts.
Misty watched Ann die of cancer in 1997, then Alan died suddenly two years later. It would have been easy for her to give up on life at that point. But even after losing her children, Misty kept going. She continued with her extensive volunteering with the CNIB, learning braille and providing meal assistance. She also volunteered with the Victorian Order or Nurses and the Hamilton Art Gallery.
She played bridge with friends and took her grandchildren and great-grandchildren on family trips to Aruba. Even when her husband Ted died in 2013, Misty didn’t have a “woe is me” attitude. She once told her family that she’d just spoken to a friend who had a broken hip, a sick wife and a flooded basement. “I just felt so awful for him,” she said. “Can you imagine anyone going through so many hard things?”
At her 100th birthday in September last year, Misty was overjoyed to have visits from her family and to meet her newest great-grandchild. After that, her physical health began to decline further and her energy levels fell. She no longer wanted to keep going. The day before she died, her only concern was, “I’m just really going to miss flowers.”
If Misty’s life was a Shakespearean play, many might see it as a tragedy. But they would be wrong. It was a drama, full of highs and lows, characterized by strength and fortitude, complete with a cast of memorable characters and leaving a legacy that will not be forgotten. How lucky her family is to be written into those pages.
Jessica Patrick is Marion’s granddaughter.
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