July 4, 2000

Yesterday Grandpa Ward died. Even though we've all known it was going to happen someday, even someday soon, it was still somewhat hard to accept, and still very sad for all of his offspring. Grandpa has always been there for my entire life -- a rock in his own quiet way. So I want to remember all I can about him today, for myself and for my children.

Grandpa was probably the gentlest man I've ever known, and he modeled true humility -- a quality rarely seen today. I picture him working in his yard in Winter Park or in his garden in North Carolina, tinkering in his workshop, going off to work at the groves or taking us out to see them, sampling the fruit for us, searching the woods for the right Christmas tree; he was a man at peace in the rhythms of daily life, never seeming to need to call attention to himself, but always with a kind word of encouragement for others. Perhaps because he loved the natural world around him so much, and was so at home in it, he seemed always to have an attitude of peace with himself.

Yet Grandpa was also a very strong man -- make no mistake (as if living 96-plus years were not evidence enough of that). In his quiet, gentle way Grandpa was a protector of his family. One of my favorite images of him is of him leading a hike up the mountain, hoe in hand, cutting away the underbrush and (as we all knew but didn't like to think about) watching out for any rattlesnakes that might be lurking along the way, as a line of trusting grandchildren trailed behind in the path he had forged. (I think he would like that image of clearing a trail for his children and grandchildren, as he saw that as much of his life's mission.) I distinctly remember the feeling that we were all safe as long as Grandpa was there, because he knew how to protect us in the "wilderness" of Ward Mountain. Just as he knew how to fix almost any electric gizmo we could send his way. From my adult perspective I am somewhat amazed by these qualities, but as a child I simply took them for granted. I think that was the way Grandpa wanted it -- he was the strength behind the family, but without fanfare or calling attention to himself. He loved and supported us with never a thought of the cost. He was as generous with his time and attention as he was with his material possessions.

Which brings me to another of Grandpa's qualities -- one that is so obvious but so important to his very being, because it permeates all discussions of his other attributes. He was a family man; he loved us all so much. I can hear him speaking with such pride about his parents raising him and his brothers and sisters to look after one another ("the older one look after the younger ones"). And how he loved his siblings! He would speak often in later years of how they never fought (that he can remember) and how much fun they had together in the old days. But I think its even more amazing, and a testimony to their bond, that they all stayed so close to Winter Park and each other over the years, gathering for Christmas Eves even after the traditional Thursday afternoon get-togethers were no longer possible. He was a devoted husband -- I picture him when I was a child always at Grandma's side, holding her elbow to support her, and in recent years insisting on pushing Betty's wheelchair and helping her even when he probably needed help himself! And though I don't know first hand what kind of father he was, one need only look at his two children to know that current "parenting" experts have nothing on Grandpa -- my dad and Aunt Kathleen are two of the finest people I have ever known, and I don't think that's just coincidence. The old movies with which Grandpa lovingly documented the lives of his two children show how devoted he was to them; I recall black and white images of father and children climbing the dunes at New Smyrna, him teaching them to ride bikes in the