Grandma Warnick [Bryan]

Last week was a sad week for us. About a week and a half ago, my Grandma, Blanche Warnick, passed away. I was blessed with being able to get to know all of my grandparents very well -- better than many people, I suspect. My relationships with my grandparents have been some of the richest relationships of my life. Through them, I am connected to the Great Depression, to the War, and to years of perspective and experience. Through them, I was exposed to lives of toil, frugality, faith, and sacrifice. Through them, I know what it is like to milk a cow, to go fishing, to ride on a tractor, to water ski at Lake Powell, to wake up to the sound of farm animals, to work at a college, to drink real milk, to build an airplane. I will not demean them by pretending they are (or were) perfect. They are human. Their value to me does not reside in perfect fantasy, but in solid reality. It is because of them that I now lead a life of comfort and privilege. Their hard work and moral character served as a springboard, I think, for all of us in my family, launching us into lives of remarkable possibilities (from farmers, as it were, to philosophers).

I will always remember Grandma Warnick's welcoming personality. She was unfailingly interested in what I was doing and supportive at every step of the road. Her good humor was a perpetual part of her personality. It was always gentle, always with a bit of self-deprecation thrown in (she would always amuse the family with her continuous attempts to learn Spanish). She was an example of finding happiness in simplicity and treasures in humility.

Rest in peace grandma! A flight of angels sing thee to thy rest.