Dorothy Jean (Brand) Husky Parson

Dorothy Jean (Brand) Husky Parson

January 5, 1932 – August 7, 2026

Dorothy Jean Brand, born January 5, 1932, in Floyd County, Texas, passed away August 7, 2026, at the age of 94, leaving behind a legacy of love, faith, strength, laughter, resilience, and fiercely devoted prayer.

Services will be at 10 a.m., Friday, August 21, 2026, at Washington Avenue Christian Church with pastor Shane Wyly officiating. Burial will be in Memorial Park Cemetery. Arrangements are by Boxwell Brothers Funeral Directors, 2800 Paramount Blvd.

Dorothy was born to Willie and Roxie Brand and grew up near Floydada in the close-knit rural community of Cedar Hills, Texas. She was the youngest of four children, following Lewis Dean, Mabel, and Nolan, and was very much the adored baby of the family—a title she was proud of. Her parents and siblings doted on her, and perhaps there is something fitting about that beginning: Dorothy knew from childhood what it was to be deeply loved, and she spent much of her life creating that same sense of belonging for others.

Her father, Willie, was a well-respected local farmer and an active member of the school board in their rural community, while her mother, Roxie, was a devoted homemaker. Dorothy was a bright student, already a high school junior at only 15 when she married the love of her life, Arvin Husky, in 1947.

Their love story began somewhat by accident. A friend of Dorothy’s was planning a date with a friend of Arvin’s, and Dorothy and Arvin came along. Instead, it was the two of them who hit it off. They lived in different communities, but distance did little to discourage them, and their meeting became the beginning of a love story—and a family legacy—that would span generations.

Dorothy and Arvin began their life together incredibly young, and in many ways, they grew up alongside the family they were creating. They became the proud parents of Sonia Jean Phillips and James Stanley Husky.

Those early years demanded a strength that would define Dorothy throughout her life. Arvin, an Army Air Corps veteran, was recalled to active duty with the United States Air Force following the outbreak of the Korean War. While he was stationed in San Angelo, Dorothy raised their two small children away from the support of her family.

She had to grow up quickly, and she did what she would continue to do whenever life demanded more of her: She stood tall and carried on.

Following the war, Arvin accepted a position as a truck driver for Red Ball Motor Freight, and the family moved to Amarillo, where they continued building their life together.

Of all Dorothy accomplished in 94 years, there was nothing in which she took greater pride than her family.

After 45 years of marriage, Dorothy lost Arvin, her first, and true love. Once again, life asked her to begin a chapter she had not chosen, and once again, she stood tall.

Following Arvin’s death, Dorothy went to work at Walmart in the fabric department, where she combined two things that came naturally to her: her knowledge of fabrics, colors, patterns, and design, and her genuine love of people.

Dorothy was an exceptional, largely self-taught seamstress. She made beautiful dresses for Sonia to wear to school and later created things for her grandchildren. She also passed that gift down, teaching her daughter, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren how to sew.

Her home reflected that same creativity. It was meticulously kept, and Dorothy was never afraid to repaint a room herself when she decided it needed a change. She loved beautiful things and had an eye for color, textiles, art, and design.

Dorothy was deeply devoted to Sonia and James. Motherhood began when she was scarcely more than a girl herself, but over the course of her life she continued showing up, loving, helping, and investing herself in the family that grew from them.

What began as a family of four eventually stretched across generations and nearly thirty direct descendants.

Dorothy didn’t simply live long enough to see those generations arrive.

She remained deeply involved and invested in their lives.

She called. She checked in. She remembered birthdays. She attended hundreds of baseball games, track meets, gymnastics meets, and other sporting events. She picked grandkids up, took them places, worried over them, celebrated them, occasionally fussed at them, and loved them through every season. And as her grandchildren grew and became parents themselves, she remained a steady presence alongside them- helping them find their footing and quietly guiding them as they learned to raise families of their own.

When life became difficult and one of her granddaughters needed somewhere to land, Dorothy became home. For years, she helped love, guide, and raise another generation beneath her roof with the kind of steady love that leaves an imprint for a lifetime.

Dorothy was also a phenomenal cook, and some of her family’s most treasured memories happened in her kitchen or around her table. She believed in preparing a proper meal: a green vegetable, a yellow vegetable, a starch, and a protein—and always a dessert that was made from scratch.

Generations stood beside her while she cooked, learning from her hands, sharing meals, and making memories they would only later understand the true value of.

Food was never simply about feeding people. It was another way Dorothy gathered them. And the importance of this and the skills she taught was passed down too.

Years after losing Arvin, God still had another chapter waiting for her.

At a church gathering for widows and widowers, Dorothy met Jimmy Parson. What began as a kind friendship grew into a deeply loving relationship.

Jimmy was not Dorothy’s first love.

But he was still a true love.

They married and shared 17 years together before Jimmy’s passing. They gardened, traveled, became members of the church together, shared their faith, and blended their families. Dorothy was immensely proud of Jimmy and of the grandfather he became to hers.

Through Jimmy, her family grew again to include his son, Billie Parson, and his wife, Linda, who loved Dorothy and cared for her tremendously for many years.

Dorothy understood something beautifully: Family could always grow.

Her definition of family never stopped with blood.

When her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren brought someone into their lives, Dorothy made room for them too. Husbands and wives were not simply spouses; they were her grandchildren and family in every way that mattered. Fiancés, boyfriends, and girlfriends were welcomed, cared about, asked about, worried over—and inevitably, prayed over.

There was no lesser category of love in Dorothy’s family.

What began with Dorothy and Arvin as two young people building a life together - grew into children, then grandchildren, and then many great-grandchildren, and eventually multiple great-great-grandchildren. A family stretching across generations, joined by not only shared genes but marriage, partnership, friendship, and love.

And those numbers still do not account for all the people Dorothy gathered into her circle along the way. She was Grandma to many.

She was also unmistakably herself: funny, witty, beautiful, strong-willed, resilient, and wonderfully sassy. When circumstances called for it, she had a firm hand and wasn’t particularly afraid to use it.

She had stories to tell and an incredible memory with which to tell them. Listening to Dorothy recount the people and events of her life was a gift to those fortunate enough to hear them.

Dorothy’s life was deeply rooted in faith. Her faith was not simply something she professed.It was something she practiced.

Prayer was one of the most constant ways she loved her family. She prayed for her children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, spouses, partners, and babies. She prayed through celebrations and heartaches, sickness and uncertainty, ordinary days and seemingly impossible ones.

And she made certain they knew it.

“I’m praying for you.”

Those words became part of being loved by Dorothy.

Her family takes comfort now in believing that a lifetime of prayers does not simply disappear. Perhaps they remain like deep roots beneath the generations she spent a lifetime tending—unseen, but still holding them steady.

There are ordinary things in Dorothy’s home that, to someone else, might carry little meaning or monetary value.

Her family knows differently.

The pink-and-white lamp. Dancing on the coffee table. Her art collection. The bucket. Her scarves and jewelry. Her dining room table. Her photographs. And much more.

And, of course, most importantly, the blown-glass fish.

For years, family members have playfully claimed it, called dibs on it, and “fought” over who it should someday belong to.

The joke was never really about the fish.

Those things are precious because they belonged to Grandma. They were the backdrop to meals, holidays, sleepovers, laughter, heartache, stories, and ordinary afternoons.

They hold value because she holds so much value to the people who remember them.

They belonged to Grandma.

And Grandma meant home.

And now, Grandma is home.

Dorothy was preceded in death by her parents, Willie and Roxie Brand; her siblings, Lewis Dean, Mabel, and Nolan; her husbands, Arvin Husky and Jimmy Parson; her beloved son, James Stanley Husky; her son-in-law, Eddie Phillips; and many cherished friends and loved ones.

She is survived by her loving and devoted daughter, Sonia Jean Phillips; her daughter-in-law, Denise Pettit, James’s wife, who remained loved, adored, and firmly part of Dorothy’s family; and Jimmy’s son and daughter-in-law, Billie and Linda Parson, whose care for Dorothy over many years will always be remembered with gratitude. She is also survived by Rick McLemore and his wife Katie, who remained a treasured part of Dorothy's family throughout the years.

Dorothy’s grandchildren are Dana Fleetwood and husband Rich; Brent McLemore; Tim McLemore and wife Erin; and Kimberly Leigh and husband Travis; Brian Newsome and wife Kelly; and Matt Phillips and wife Amanda.

Her great-grandchildren are Sadie Newsome and boyfriend Liberty Autumn; Madilyn Black and husband Ethan; Calahan Newsome; Cooper Newsome and fiancée Bryeton Cagle; Blake McLemore and girlfriend Brooklyn Elbert; Brooklyn McLemore; Madesyn Sanders and husband Jake; Max McLemore; Libby McLemore; Grant Leigh; Carson Leigh and wife Allyson; and Claire Leigh.

Her great-great-grandchildren are Beckett and Sawyer Black, Rush and Sloan Sanders, Bennett Leigh and his eagerly awaited baby sister.

And although an obituary requires names to be arranged into categories—children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, spouses—Dorothy’s love was never organized quite so formally.

The people who married into this family were hers. The people her grandchildren and great-grandchildren loved were welcomed and loved. Friends became family.

Dorothy’s family was not simply something she had.

It was something she continually built.

Her greatest legacy cannot be measured simply by the number of descendants who survive her but in the extraordinary family that grew from the life she and Arvin began building together in 1947.

It can be found in kitchens where things she taught are still being made.

In hands that know how to sew because hers first showed them how.

In spouses who never had to wonder whether they truly belonged.

In children who knew Grandma would be in the stands.

In grandchildren who knew where they could go when they needed somewhere safe to land.

In great-grandchildren who had the remarkable gift of knowing her, not simply as a name in their family history, but as their Grandma—someone they knew, loved, called, laughed with, learned from, and were loved by.

It lives in the stories that will continue to be told.

It lives in the recipes that will continue to be made.

It lives in the scarves, photographs, lamp, and that glass fish everyone still wants.

It lives in the family she spent 94 years loving.

What started with a young Dorothy and Arvin became generations.

And through all of those generations, Dorothy remained a constant.

She gave her family a place to belong.

For so many of them, home was Grandma.