Obituary of Mary-Lee Ward

Mary-Lee Ward, a longtime resident of NH, passed away on April 3rd in her sleep in Portland, Oregon. At Lee’s core, she was a giver. After completing her Master’s, she taught special education for 30 years. She fostered 16 children and teens and quit her job to take in a sickly 6-week old baby, with only hours notice from the state. That was the kind of person Lee was. She prioritized others and was an outspoken advocate for the vulnerable.  That baby would become her daughter, Ashley Ward. Lee never missed a game of Ashley’s, even after she became physically disabled and required an electric scooter. She was a truly devoted parent and is dearly missed. Heaven for Lee was going to Wells, Maine, and watching the ocean. She was also very fond of Hawaii and California, where she had family. Shortly before passing, Lee decided to embark on a 3500-mile road trip from Florida to Oregon with her daughter and son-in-law, Brett Anthony. She was a deeply empathetic, gracious, and humorous soul and she will live on in all the lives she touched.

I’d like to share a few memories of my mother

I got cut from the basketball team when I was in 6th grade and the coach told me it was because I was too short. Obviously it’s not an easy thing for a 12-year-old to understand that their abilities were irrelevant to making the team. My mom went and bought me legos to soften the initial blow and then she strategized. Although she had become disabled and was forced to retire a few years earlier, she committed to assisting my friend’s dad to coach a basketball team for all of us. Although the underdogs, we had a lot of heart, and we surprised everyone when we won the championships that season. And I think it’s important to add that we were, by far, the shortest and least physical team. 

Once a year we’d drive to Maine and spend a week or a long weekend at the beach. One year I got it in my head that the best thing in the whole world was feeding seagulls bread. Now, I know nowadays that bread isn’t good for ducks or seagulls and probably not even great for us humans, but I was just a kid. I had about 40 bucks in savings and it took some pleading, but mom pulled up to a gas station and let me completely buy out their bread aisle. You can imagine the puzzled looks she got, but she just laughed and said: “The kid likes to feed seagulls.” We also hit up a grocery store until my money was gone and I felt I had sufficient rationings. She then proceeded to watch me on the beach from the car for the next 2 hours as I took my joyous sweet time carefully distributing, In as equitable a way as I could, 40 loaves of bread. She endured all manner of embarrassment for me if it meant I was happy. 

When I was 14 I got injured on the soccer field when a particularly nasty player slide tackled me from behind and sprained my ankle. Without a second's hesitation, my mother made her way through the crowd in her electric scooter. She amped up her speed from “Turtle” to “Rabbit” because she wasn’t screwing around. She made it to where I was and helped me to get up off the ground and onto her lap. As my friend on the team describes it, my mother looked like she was on a mission as she 4-wheeled that scooter directly to our van and took me to the Emergency Room. 

Throughout my childhood, there was one particular story that my mother just had to share with everyone. People we knew, people we didn’t know, it didn’t matter, they were going to hear the story. We were at a lake house when I was 5 and my mother took this opportunity to teach me how to ride a 2 wheeler bike. I’m being loose with the word “teach” here because she forgot to demonstrate how exactly to stop the bike. Being the ridiculously amped child that I was, I, of course, sped off as fast as my legs could peddle, looking back at my mother like, “isn’t this just the best?” And it was, for about 5 more seconds, until the realization kicked in that I did not actually know how to stop this hunk of metal from the momentum I’d generated. Now comes my mother’s favorite part of the story. She would vividly recall the look of absolute terror as I glanced back at her while careening towards the swamp that would soon swallow me up, my Elmo voice screaming, “How do I stop it?”. My mother was never able to get through this bit without bursting into laughter, clearly enjoying reliving my trauma. Much like she laughed the day it all took place, actually. On that day, her laughter caused a considerable lag time before she came to rescue me. I was the kid that screamed hideously whenever my feet touched the mucky part of the lake, so when I was thrown into the middle of the swamp I was truly expecting to become an alligator’s appetizer. Of course, this was in NH, where I had nothing to worry about other than everything feeling slimy. 

I’d like to share one final story that I believe really shows my mother’s humanity.

When I was 19 I made the decision that she had always offered to me, to try and find my biological family. Without hesitation, my mom pored through the phone book and called everyone with my biological mother’s last name who lived in the vicinity. This was how my mother found my grandparents for me. This was also how I was reacquainted with Chris, my biological mother, 19 years after she gave me up. Not only was my mother open to facilitating all of this, but she spent the next few years cooking wonderful meals every other week and inviting Chris to our home so that I could form a relationship with her. I am deeply grateful for this, and I know Chris was too because it allowed me to get to know and come to love the woman who initially gave me life before she passed away 5 years ago. 

My mother left me with many things- a love for animals, a passion for justice and truth, a love of learning and adventure. She taught me to help those that need it, whenever I can; not just because it is the right thing to do, but because we ourselves never know when we might need help. She taught me to be self-sufficient, but to also not be so prideful that I’m afraid to ask for help. She taught me how to be a person that doesn’t just take from this world or thinks things are owed to them. She taught me how to give back. She taught me that you don’t need money to do good. And in fact, sometimes the people that do the most good have very little. Because of these qualities, I know she lives on in me, and in all of the other children she taught and cared for. I’m not religious, but I am spiritual. I’ve asked for signs from my mom to let me know that she is okay and she’s sent some profound ones. I hope this offers other people comfort during this truly tragic time in history.