SOUTHBURY — Mary Beverly (Morris) Guck passed peacefully on December 28, two days before her 86th birthday.

She was born in 1936 to Madge (Fulmer) and Arthur Harry Morris, a kindergarten teacher, and an artist. Her parents were loving, caring people who, in the thick of the Great Depression, taught her that having little meant you still have something to share, and when you think you have nothing, if you have love you have everything. Throughout her childhood, even while the world was at war, their love shielded her from fear and want. They always shared belongings, took people in, contributing to the “war effort” and the needs of others. She emulated their way of always treating people with kindness, both friend and stranger. With her smile, kind words, and compliments, she always made people feel happy.

After receiving her associate’s degree from Green Mountain College, she fell in love and married Charles Frederick Guck, with whom she had two children, Melissa and Charles Christopher. They moved to Newtown in 1963 and lived there until 1987. While working as a secretary at Newtown Middle School in 1974, she suffered a ruptured cerebral aneurysm, which given the relatively rudimentary care available at the time, she somehow survived. Her time spent in the ICU, for six weeks fully conscious, being told not to move or sneeze, became her spiritual rebirth. At one time she described seeing total blackness with a broken glass pattern of bright white light shining through. Believing the other side of that fractured pane to be her death, she consciously refused to go near it, driven by her love for her family. Her resolute character was not just her survival, but her salvation. In many ways, it was ours. She recovered, went back to school, and received her bachelor’s degree in psychology from Western Connecticut State University. She worked over ten years as a psychiatric social worker at Fairfield Hills Hospital, where she was loved and respected by peers and clients.

Throughout their time in Newtown, Beverly and Charles developed many very deep, lifelong friendships, sharing years of holidays, weekends, vacations, and impromptu parties. Memories of these times are cherished by all who took part.

In 1987, Beverly and Charles moved to Oxford, on Maryland’s Eastern Shore, where she received her master’s degree from Chesapeake College and continued her social work in Chestertown. They enjoyed time with their grandchildren, Thomas Guck and Grace (Cotterill) Guck, and continued their trail of creating deep lasting friendships with Beverly’s way of painting the world with love and kindness. If the purpose of art is to express or elicit emotion, then Beverly, in her own very special way, was a masterpiece. They loved their time together in the Maryland tidewater with Beverly’s classic sense of style and a love for decorating leading to the creation of three beautiful homes. She was always making the world a prettier place.

The piano was her release, her solace, and her escape. Beverly playing her piano was as necessary as a butterfly’s need to flutter with beauty and purpose. It was how she collected her nectar until Alzheimer’s disease and dementia gradually reduced her piano to a piece of furniture. While the piano was removed from her memory, her infectious way of bringing love to others and therefore being loved, never waned.

She lived her life as a Bridge Over Troubled Water, offering a path of love and comfort not just to her family, not just to all her friends, or her acquaintances, but to everyone she encountered.

We have all been honored knowing her and the best way we could honor her memory is to be a little more like her. “Sail on silver girl.”

While a private service will be planned, we know that during her time in Connecticut, she touched the lives of many with her simple kindness. In lieu of flowers, please consider donating to the Alzheimer’s Association using the following link alz.org.

We invite you to share your memories of her by visiting the link forevermissed.com/beverly-guck or munsonloveterefuneralhome.com.