We would like to thank everyone who came to Dave's services on Friday and Saturday.  We were truly overwhelmed with the love and support that you have shown us during these difficult days.  It was so nice hearing so many of your memories of Dave, from his time in college to these past few years.  He was a lucky man to have such loving and caring people in his life and we are blessed to have had you honor him with us.

Many people have asked about Ken (Dave's brother) and Abby's  eulogies, so we are posting them here for you to read.  We hope they bring you as much comfort as they have brought us.

Love, Wendy, Sarah, Olivia and Abigail

#StrongerThanCancer - a tribute to Dave Marran

I found out recently that Dave added a hashtag to his SpinCT Peloton nickname... #StrongerThanCancer.

Like many, Dave was an unplanned warrior against cancer, although his fight started long before his diagnosis in 2020.

To be #StrongerThanCancer you need to be fearless, you need an unquenchable thirst for knowledge and above all you need love.   

Fearless

Dave learned to be fearless at a young age.  Oh, he didn’t look fearless in the beginning.  The men in the Marran family are tall, but we take time to mature. My brothers and I did not reach full height until college.  I met one of Dave’s high school classmates a few years back. You all know him.  He was the high school bully and in High School, he went after Dave’s friend who was nicknamed “geek”.  Dave was not one for fighting, but he had a quick wit (which also needed time to mature).  I was surprised to hear this now reformed bully quote Dave’s defense from 40 years ago “A Who wouldn’t want to be a Geek? A Geek is a mythical bird that has the ability to appear & disappear at the blink of an eye”.  (like I said he needed time for his wit to mature).  In any case, Dave was Fearless to stand up for his friend!  BTW, who remembers a quote, verbatim, from 40 years ago?  Dave had that kind of impact on the people he met.  He had that impact on you.  #StrongerThanCancer.

Knowledge

Dave’s thirst for knowledge was also not always apparent.  There were concerns about his ability to read at a young age.  Like many things in Dave’s life, when he was motivated, he could do anything.  Turns out he just needed to discover Isaac Asimov’s science fiction novels to excite him about the future he would have a hand in creating, and his reading excelled.

In the early 1980’s Dave became a self-taught computer programmer when he bought a desktop computer for some crazy amount of money like $3000.  Marg looked this up, that’s like $8000 today!  I learned this week that Dave was the acting IT expert for this church, even though he was not an IT guy.   He just loved to use his knowledge to help others. 

Dave found his scientific chops in high school AP chemistry when he entered Mr. Hague’s classroom (No joke, this teacher had the nickname Captain Chemistry and Dave was a proud member of the chemistry team). Having the right teacher at the right time is so impactful.  Shout out to Dave and Wendy’s daughters - Liv and Abby who are teachers bringing the legacy forward. 

Dave excelled in science through Bates and Yale.  I tried to read Dave’s doctoral dissertation (bear with me, it’s a mouthful) “Quantitative two-dimensional laser diagnostics in idealized and practical combustion systems”. I know I’m reasonably smart, but this was beyond me.  I remember thinking, 12 years of college & university? What in the world is Dave going to do with that? 

Turns out, a lot!  I’ll cut to the punchline, because no one needs to hear excerpts of his dissertation in church. If you’re having trouble sleeping, sure, it’s a must read – you can look it up. 

I did some research this week.  Dave is a co-inventor in at least 26 patents.  One of his many patents on Microfluidic devices is cited over 600 times, which indicates significant importance and value.  Dave co-authored an article in the journal Nature, [footnote link: titled An integrated semiconductor device enabling non-optical genome sequencing] it’s cited thousands of times.  Dave’s technology was displayed in the Smithsonian Museum beginning in 2013 in collaboration with the NIH. Dave barely mentioned any of this. 

Dave’s inventions will have a meaningful impact on the future of cancer treatment. Dave’s career culminated in the design of a gene sequencing machine that could be used to sequence his own tumor to identify his best treatment options.  I like to think Dave’s contributions to gene sequencing is one of the reasons he thrived for 2 years longer than the original prognosis. A call out to Dave’s co-workers, the doctors and nurses, physical therapists, and my pharmaceutical colleagues that support cancer research – I’m sure Dave thanked many of you himself.  It’s up to us to continue to advance science because you too are #StrongerThanCancer.

Love

You know what else is #StrongerThanCancer?  The love between Dave and Wendy.  They met early in their freshman year at Bates.  As I’ve covered, Dave’s no dummy. He wasn’t going to let Wendy get away and they married immediately after graduating Bates.  Their loving relationship is a model for the rest of us, extending nearly 40 years.

Clearly, Dave and Wendy’s example of caring for family is being carried forward by their daughters, who are there when needed most.  As one example, Sarah recently relocated back to CT, after living many years in MD, to support their family.

Everyone in our family loves spending time with the CT Marrans.  Weekend mornings in Clinton discussing weighty and light topics while gorging on Uncle Dave’s pancakes on the shores of the long island sound.  Penny and Poppy, their dogs, hoping for a scrap to be purposely dropped.  Breakfast is followed by a kayak to duck island in search of Schooley stripers or a bike ride or walking the dogs. Always included is some culinary delight by Abby.  An enjoyable visit, I’m sure many of you have experienced.

Our family’s have taken many trips together, which we plan to continue. Perhaps we could have skipped the 2 nights in the 500-year-old Irish castle with low stone ceilings.  At 6’4” Dave & I would not have survived medieval archways. I’ll probably complain about all of the scars on my head when I lose my hair like my brothers.  My scars will pale in comparison to Dave’s scars that he displayed as a badge of honor from his many surgeries. Dave never complained. About anything. Not once.  To anyone.

Dave’s love gave him an ocean of strength to fight his cancer.  It was incredible.  Every challenge, he would redouble his efforts to compensate.  He didn’t lose his fight with cancer. He just taught us all how to be #StrongerThanCancer.

Input from many, penned by Ken Marran March 2, 2024.  Much Love.

We are the lucky ones 

I have always looked up to my father -and not just because he was tall. He was an exemplar in countless ways. He was motivated by love, driven by a passion for discovery, and perhaps most importantly, he gave his all to everything he did. 

In a perfect illustration of the very unique but especially endearing Dad-brand of compassion, he, Liv, and I were out for a sunset walk in California several years ago. As the waves were breaking on shore, a poor little bird was being tossed around in the seafoam. Dad wouldn’t be impressed that I’ve forgotten what type it was, but it was something very common. Regardless, Dad insisted we had to do something. After deciding it needed more than just a nudge out of the water, Dad called a wildlife organization. “Sure, no problem,” they said “we’ll be there soon.” That wasn’t enough for Dad, no, we had to wait there and make sure the bird was in good hands. So we waited, the poor bird (and I) growing colder as the sun went down. Ever resourceful, Dad realized he had an extra jacket in the car. Naturally, he gave it to the bird. And we waited. Well over an hour later, the wildlife worker arrived, we handed over the bird, and earned ourselves a funny little anecdote. But now, seven years later,  it seems to me that this encapsulated Dad: he loved nature. And his nature was love.

Speaking of nature, one of his favorite pastimes was kayaking, often while fishing, but frequently just to explore. I remember one time Liv and I went with him early in morning, far earlier than Liv would usually get up. But Dad had somehow managed to convince her to come with us. While we had several usual routes, Dad decided it was time to explore somewhere new and we wound up paddling up some tributaries. There were a few perilous moments where our kayaks barely fit, but Dad just had to keep going, if only to see what was next. And because of his curiosity, what we stumbled upon was a singular, precious moment: along one of the banks were dozens upon dozens of little turtles. We sat there for a few minutes, soaking in the peace. Then, spontaneously,  the turtles started hopping into the water. We watched for a little while longer, but satisfied with what we’d discovered, we started to make our way home. It was moments like this that Dad lived for: quiet but remarkable, utterly unique and far, far off the beaten path. 

Although I’ve only been around for a portion of Dad’s life, I know that he fostered a deep curiosity about truly anything and everything. If you’ve ever gone to a museum with Dad, you know exactly what I mean. He would insist on reading every single thing, even if the rest of us were happy to just look and skim the writing.  But as long as there was more to learn, Dad was an eager student. This, in turn, made him something of a human encyclopedia. He used to say that he knew a little bit about a lot of things, but it sure seemed to me like he knew an awful lot about many things. This resulted in me peppering him with questions for as long as I can remember. We’re talking anything from “what’s the best way to peel an orange?” to “why don’t fish get electrocuted when there are thunderstorms over the ocean?”  He always had an answer for me. And I mean always.

Just a few weeks ago, I was baking and used the somewhat uncommon ingredient of cream of tartar. Since Dad was sitting in the kitchen with me, I figured I’d ask “what’s cream of tartar made of, anyway?” At this point, he was definitely struggling with his speech. But as ever, he had an answer for me. “It’s made from that thing you really like.” After a moment’s pause, I realized the answer was wine. So much had changed since I asked Dad about the fish and thunderstorms, but even more had stayed the same: he was always a wealth of knowledge,  eager to indulge my apparently inherited curiosity. 

You didn’t have to spend very long with Dad to know he gave his all to everything he did. And I would be remiss if I didn’t highlight his tenacity here, as it truly was one of his defining characteristics. Whether it was his 175 week long streak on Peloton, the many DIY lessons with Sarah, or the almost 40 years he spent with my mom, it was clear he put his whole heart into everything he did. This became more evident than ever this last year, as he earned himself a reputation at Gaylord for always going the extra mile. If the therapists had him do an exercise 10 times, he insisted on doing 11. “Just one more” became his mantra.  And that is who he was, never satisfied with the minimum, it was always “just one more.”

As friends and family share their memories of Dad, we’ve discovered that his smile made an impression on everyone who had the pleasure of witnessing it. And that is how I will always remember him: with an easy smile, a twinkle in his eye, and a witty remark on the tip of his tongue. Especially over the last year, the challenges he faced grew, but his smile never faded. For so long, especially throughout his battle with cancer, Dad would always comment on how lucky he was. But the truth is, because we had the honor of knowing and loving him, we are the lucky ones. 

Abigail Marran