“The loss of a mother can never be replaced, but the love of a mother can never be lost.”
Dolores T. (DeMartino) Brusky, 95, of Derry, New Hampshire, passed away peacefully at home on August 12, 2026, surrounded by the love of the family that was always the center of her life.
The youngest of three children, Dolores grew up in Hastings-on-Hudson, New York, in the aftermath of the Depression. She learned early to be independent and to be, in the best sense of the phrase, a “tough cookie.” Her older brothers, Hugo and Arnie, were a huge influence in her life.
Dolores met her husband, Frank, when she was a teenager. They married, welcomed three children—Donna, Deborah, and Frank Jr.—and raised their young family in Dobbs Ferry, New York. In the 1960s, Frank's work as a salesman brought the family to Derry, New Hampshire, which would be Dolores's home for the rest of her life.
Dolores was a modern woman well before anyone thought to call her one; in fact, Dolores might have called a woman like her a “hot ticket.” She built a successful career in banking at Derry Bank & Trust, eventually becoming a branch manager there and later at BayBank. She wore matching skirt suits and pumps that would have been the envy of the ladies on Designing Women, and she loved connections she built with the people she met through her work. Long after her banking career ended, Dolores still believed that banking was something best done by walking into the bank and talking to an actual person.
She liked her coffee black and her jelly donuts in the morning, and no one will ever replicate her baked lasagna or her sausage and peppers. She followed politics closely, loved a good political discussion, and rarely missed a chance to see a presidential primary candidate when they came through New Hampshire. She worked the polls, played the poker machines at the casino, read constantly, enjoyed a good card game, and met friends for breakfast at McDonald's. She liked to know what was going on and to be part of it.
Dolores was a young mother and a young grandmother, and her three granddaughters were lucky enough to have the coolest grandma in town. She took them to concerts, helped build a formidable Beanie Babies collection, made virgin daiquiris for them at the lake house, and was a constant presence in their lives as they grew up. The phone calls that started when they were young became FaceTimes over the years, continuing at least weekly right up until the end of her life.
And then there were the great-grandchildren. Her refrigerator was covered with their photographs, drawings, cards, and notes. She FaceTimed them, told them how beautiful they were, wanted to hear what everyone was doing, and taught a new generation the finer points of penny poker.
Dolores always showed up for others. Well into her 90s, she insisted on going with her daughter to cancer appointments. Even when Dolores herself became frail, if someone she loved was having a hard time, she would still say, “Let me know if you need anything. Just call if there’s anything I can do.” It never seemed to occur to her that there might come a point when she was too old or too frail to take care of the people she loved.
Dolores was predeceased in 2006 by Frank, her husband of 56 years, and by her brothers, Hugo and Arnold DeMartino. She will be profoundly missed by her children: Donna Chipman and her husband, Tim; Deborah Brusky, whose devoted care allowed her mother to remain in the home she loved through the end of her life; and Frank Brusky, Jr. and his wife, Chrystal.
She also leaves her granddaughters, Beth (Chipman) Hamory and her husband, Matt; Kristen (Chipman) Machon and her husband, Dave; and Lindsay (Chipman) Ferzoco and her husband, Mike; and seven great-grandchildren, ranging in age from two to twenty: Louie, Pasquale, Evie, Sam, Marin, Isla, and James. She will also be greatly missed by her nieces and nephews, some related by blood and others by love, and by the many friends and neighbors who became part of Dolores's wide circle.
Her family will remember the way Dolores made ordinary moments feel important, how she showed up for the people she loved, and how she never let us forget how lucky we were to have one another. In her later years, after hearing everyone's updates, she'd say on nearly every call or visit, “You’re blessed. You’re really blessed.”
She was right. We were so blessed to have her. She will be deeply missed, lovingly remembered, and forever present in the stories we tell around the table.
A celebration of Dolores’s life will be held this fall, when family and friends will gather to remember her, share stories, and celebrate a life very well lived. Details will follow.