Trial Number 5

 

Zane Silas Smith, beloved son and brother passed away unexpectedly on Wednesday, March 31, 2021. He was 25 years old.

 Zane was born December 8, 1995 in Glendale, Arizona. He attended school in Gilbert, Arizona as well as Murray, Utah before moving to Springfield, New Jersey where he graduated from Jonathan Dayton High School. 

While living in Utah, he developed a love for rugby. During his years playing for Wasatch Rugby and Union Rugby clubs he grew into a strong, but gentle young man who used his strength to help others throughout his life. He loved that rugby required holding firm, with nothing but the brute strength of your teammates, pushing forward to protect the player with the ball. Zane was good at putting his head down, squaring up his shoulders, and keeping others safe. He also managed to break his nose twice, get a concussion, blow-out his knee, and required stitches in his head. 

After graduating high school, he worked for Bison Flooring and served a mission in the Washington Seattle Mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. His first day in this mission, unfamiliar with the bike and the terrain he took a spill from the bike and the first pictures that his mother received of Elder Smith were showing him with a new set of stitches in his head and both a sprained and a broken wrist. Still, he squared up his strong shoulders and pushed through to the successful end of his honorable mission. He taught many people about the Gospel of Jesus Christ and always wanted others to know that things get better and they were loved.

 Those who were in Zane's circle, knew they were safe and that they were loved. While he struggled to verbalize his feelings as openly as some, he showed that love in countless ways. He accepted everyone and encouraged others to be more open, less judgmental, and to just be happy because they were together. It was enough to just be together. 

After his mission, Zane attended BYU-Idaho and has worked at Target for the past 3 1/2 years. He loved the friendships he found at both college and work. They mourn his passing alongside his family. Everyone was family to Zane, and he is survived by two families that will miss him dearly. Clarissa and Matthew Olson, of South Carolina, and their children: Parker Smith, Emma Olson, Katherine Olson, Greyson Eckert-Olson, Jane Olson and Romy Eckert-Olson. David and Mindy Smith, of Arizona and their children Vanessa and Ben Betteridge, Hannah and Jacob Boyd, Jeremy Lunt, Camberley Smith, and Ephraim Smith. Zane had two nieces, Lillian and Penrose Betteridge. He is also survived by his great-grandmother, his grandparents, and many aunts, uncles, and cousins.

 A small, private family service will be held on Friday, April 9, 2021.

 Zane was a big fan of the McElroy Brothers podcasts, especially The Adventure Zone. He would have been especially glad to know that a TAZ quote will be used to memorialize our "Middlest Brother."

 "When someone leaves your life, those exits are not made equal. Some are beautiful and poetic and satisfying. Others are abrupt and unfair. But most are just... unremarkable. Unintentional. Clumsy. Where Lup went, she didn't intend to end up there, and she certainly didn't intend to spend as much time away as she did. But from your perspective? Lup was there and then the next day she wasn't. And you searched for her, tirelessly, painfully so- but she was nowhere to be found. And all you had to go on was a note that she left behind on the kitchen table. Its two-word message offered no clues to her whereabouts, but a simple promise that was left unfulfilled: back soon."

 -Griffin McElroy

___________________________________________________________________________________

 I may never write about a lot of things from this past month with our losing Zane, but this morning I finally opened my laptop for the first time in weeks and was pulled towards the old blog. 

Strange to read my last few posts. 

My talk of Trial Number 6 (still totally an issue) and my acknowledgment that it was not "Number 5." 

The Thing I knew I could not survive. 

The Thing God and I had a deal with. 

The deal I knew He hadn't signed off on, but I thought that if I reminded God enough that Number 5 was non-starter, a deal-breaker- He'd take it off the list if it had been considered for the life experiences of Clarissa Anne.

Every day of my life, since Parker was born, I have told Heavenly Father that we have this deal, and every day Father would say to me "Motherhood is a choice. If you choose Motherhood, choose it every day and never make your children feel as if being their mother was forced on you, that it is a burden, or something you regret. Choose it every day."  That didn't mean there were not going to be hellishly hard times, doubt, mistakes and choices I regret. That didn't mean there weren't going to be times that totally sucked and I wasn't going to feel like everything I had done was wrong. 

It meant that I made a choice to be a Mom, and every day- even the worst days- I knew that and I was glad that I made that choice. It was the right choice and this blog has covered almost 15 years (minus the last couple) of my experiences during the time I was the mom every day to my 7 growing children.  It was fitting that it wrapped up as the babies came of age- even though they are still very much babies to me.

I chose this life. I chose to be the mom to each of my amazing children. Even the smartasses. (They are all smartasses.)

As my heart is broken and everything hurts, I still feel like I'm lucky. I was Zane's  mom for 100% of his childhood. All the baby pictures and growing pains- I had that. I was there and I was his mommy for all of it. Looking at his baby pictures doesn't hurt worse than it does for me when I look at the baby pictures of all of the kids. I miss them being little- but I know that I also had that- and I knew what I had when it was happening and I kept choosing it every day. I got to raise each of my children- completely. It was a gift. I knew it then, I know it now. 

He was mine, every single day.

The loss we are experiencing now doesn't take away from what we had. It also doesn't take away from what we will have- but that's not where any of us are right now in our family. 

 I know the plan. I believe the plan. I know it is real and I'm solid in that knowledge.

 I am also not there right now, and it hurts me when someone tries to leap over where I am now, so they can try to make us both feel better talking about how awesome things will be in the next life. It doesn't comfort me when others want to 'remind' me of The Plan when I am suffering. My personal knowledge of Heavenly Father's Plan for families is my anchor- my private, sacred anchor and it keeps me from losing myself in this sea of grief. I don't need distractions, I don't need comparisons to the losses others have experienced, I don't need a pep talk.

 I need to be where I am right now. I need my children to be able to be where they are right now. I need them to know I am Mom, and I still choose this every day, in spite of the fact that it doesn't come with any sort of guarantee from God- at least not one that kicks in while we are still on this Earth. I need those who love me to be okay with my being in pain. I need them to be okay with there not being any answers right now. Those will come to me, to each of my children and to Matt when it is time. The answers will come from God, from the Savior and even from Zane and they will be personal and sacred.

 I need those who love me to simply share this space with me, for them to come to where I am at and sit beside me- in this place I need to be right now. I need them to be themselves in that space, they don't need to feel what I feel or understand- just be near me and be you. You are in my life because of who you are and what I need is the same you I have always loved and needed.

 I need you to know I know I will be okay, but it's okay that I am not okay now. I need you to just love me and love my family as we go through the changes Trial Number 5 has delivered to our family. We need time and privacy but not isolation and to be alone. 

So that's what I'm going to write today- because that's where my thoughts are right now, at 1pm on a Friday, two weeks after the funeral of my beautiful, perfect son Zane who was the biggest smartass of the bunch.

Sensible Shoes with Arch Support Are the New Louboutins

Almost exactly six years ago, we made a phone call and put an offer on the "Simpson's House" in New Jersey.

It wasn't orange, and our neighbors certainly weren't the Flanders Family-that's more of what we were going to be leaving behind, but it was in Springfield and on Evergreen Avenue. 

I had room for what we figured was going to be our quickly shrinking full-time family. It was only 15 miles from New York City and the commute was "reasonable" as our realtor told us.

We moved here with an 11 year old and Matt's hair had a few grays that would pop up. I could walk all day in flip flops and not need an ice pack on my back.......and legs......and feet......and four Aleve.

I baked bread in my tiny kitchen and thought my church callings would all stay "two hours on Sundays" style and we would just easily head to the Manhattan Temple on Friday nights and most things would be like they always had been. We'd stay in our little bubble and New Jersey would be a place we lived, but we'd still be us, only more cosmopolitan with lots of black turtlenecks and a better cheese platter game.

(That had better be grape juice in that glass, Buddy.)

Today, the 11 year old will be 17 in a few months and  she gets into cars with boys and bless her heart, tells them "My mom will not let me hang out with you if you swear when we're together" to help make sure they behave, even though she knows Mom has always struggled with dropping that thick dialect of her native language, Pottymouth. 

If you just gasped, we all have our vices.  I don't ever swear in front of your kids, but I will drink multiple cans of Diet Dr. pepper in front of them because the caffeine soda thing is imaginary, my much-loved fellow Morm friends. 

Mormies? 

Can we make that a thing?

Sweet Baby Jane graduates high school in a few weeks. I was engaged to Matt when I went to her kindergarten graduation. I brought 4 year old Romy, who sat on my lap and Sunnie sat with us. Jane sang songs and had her hair in piggies and her shirt was on backwards, as per usual with Jane-A-Little-Bit.

 I was so worried about Greyson and this move. I worried that he'd never have another good friend, he had such a pal in Jarod.  Grey made two really good friends here, and our sweet Jarod passed away suddenly this past fall. 

That loss has been just too hard. 

 Hard to come to terms with, hard to talk about.

Kate was excited to see a real Broadway show and she was the first one to see Wicked, we got her tickets for her 16th birthday and she and Matt went to the city, just the two of them for the whole day. It's a tradition they started when he worked in Chicago and the Summer Birthday girl has celebrated in the city with just Daddy every year possible.  She's all grown up-ish and acting and finding her path, like you do.

Zane was the one I worried about the most. Half of my kids are introverts, but it runs deepest in Zane. He was also my kid who really prayed about the move and even though it was scary, he was totally on board because the Lord told him it was the right thing for our family. He made some wonderful friends here, both kids from the ward and the adults that Matt and I became lifelong friends with. He has an entire troop of people who love and look out for him as if he were one of their own. He went on a mission and just wrapped up his freshman year at BYU-I.

Emma had one year left of high school and it was to be our last legit full summer together until she finished college. She finished college last year, by the way. She did a Semester in London and grew up so quickly.

Parker wanted to move in with his friends and absolutely not leave Utah. He had a rocky year and joined us that fall and New Jersey embraced him and feels like 'home' to him now. 

We circled the wagons and held on tightly to one another as we started this next type of season of being a family. 

Re-set buttons were nothing new to us, but they are always something different than what you expected or planned. 

Life is still good, still full of adventures and joy and growth and it is still pretty  hard- just in different ways than it was the season before.  It isn't the same as it was when marker on the wall, breeding Happy Meal toys and the high price of diapers were the big concerns. That was hard, too, but completely different from this kind of hard. 

We do see amazing shows on Broadway when we want to, but not all of the time. We go to Central Park and eat food from a cart or a bodega because schlepping a loaded picnic basket on the subway is not how you start a good day. 

We say things like "schlepp" and "bodega" and we know that you wait on line instead of in line because we are not savages. 

It costs a fortune between parking and tolls to go to the temple and it takes over 2 hours to get into the city on a weekend night, so we are not on a first-name basis with the temple patrons by any means.  My kids know when to cross against the light, how to negotiate with a street vendor, and to avoid Times Square in the summer unless we have visitors- and they know just what streets to enter it from so our guests are blown away and then we can get out of there quicker. 

(Truth be told, I actually still like Times Square. You're not supposed to and I do sincerely hate almost every person who is there, but New York hate is a type of love.

You'd have to be there to understand.

So much has changed, and yet, here I am, back in my family room, typing away on a laptop in mismatched socks. I'm on another dang diet (look, I didn't swear!) feeling the desire to just write again. My lazy blogging grammar, scattered thoughts and jokes that are only funny to me seem to have stayed the same.

My writing now is less about the life I lead and more about the life I have already experienced and what it made me to think, how my thoughts have evolved as the outcome of consuming the whole bottle of "Drink Me" potion in Wonderland have unfolded -- like a proper old person.

And my stories are my stories. 

Those who were with me at the time have their own stories about the same events.

 I believe we have the experiences we need in life. Because everyone has different needs, we often go through something with other people and no matter how close you were at the time, you were different people with different destinies and your mind and soul took different things from those shared experiences. You left with the memories that contained the things you needed, someone else left with something else and both versions are 100% true.

My story will not be exactly the same as say my brother's story or my neighbor's story because they actually only had a shared setting, and other than that, everything else was actually quite different. 

In geekspeak, The Lord of the Rings is an amazing story about 7 adventurers who set out together to destroy the Ring of Power. Frodo's story is not the same as the one Legolas told.  It's not even the same as Sam's story, and they were together the entire time.  

I might possibly have added that example just as an excuse to post a picture of on offended elf, because it's fabulous.

Aaaaanyway....that's my defense-mechanism disclaimer before I start writing my memories, having come from a home where remembering the layout of a room or the color of a shirt wrong made you a 'liar.'  It was one of the things that was super broken in our home and hard to get over. 

 I run for the hills when I meet people who do that now,  but sometimes,  when I'm being my absolute worst self-- dang, I start doing it, too.

(It's always wrong and I'm always working on changing that, unlike my diet soda addiction.)

Maybe I will just write this one whack-o post and forget about this. Maybe I'll change my mind and decide I can't open the books of my past at all just yet.

 It's not actually interesting, but as a person who loves genealogy, I find even the most mundane stories to be fascinating, with enough years between my ancestor and me. 

So, I'm going to start again, but write about different things. 

I'll also write about the same old things too.

The universe has waited entirely too long for a new Unique Thrift post, that's for sure.

It wasn't the cancer that got Patty in the end.

Sabbath Rest

"Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest."

Matthew 11:28

It's 6:30 am and I'm awake and dressed.

I feel rested, restored.... finally.

On Wednesday, 24 hours after Trial Number Six began, I had an errand to run. I drove with my hands gripping the steering wheel and crying most of the way like a crazy person. My route took me past our ward building and I felt a strong prompting to go in. 

I knew the weekly Scripture group was meeting and told myself "Heck no, they have their group and no way am I going to go and intrude on what they have going on there and get my crazy all over it."

I did my errand and drove back home, again, going past the church. I could see Scripture Group was still going on and again, I felt the prompting "They love you, they are your friends, go and let them help you."

I shouted at the roof of my car "NO! They do not need this ugliness. They are trying to just have a nice discussion and have something good. Nothing I bring today is good, all I have is ugly and I'm not going to walk in and be the Ward Mess."

I drove for another minute and then I pulled over. 

I knew I needed to go to the church, but I just couldn't do it.

I felt another prompting "then at least call your visiting teacher and ask for help. Reach out to those who want to know how to serve and help."

My visiting teacher is one of my closest friends, but I never call her for help. I never call anyone.

She is a person who understands, who loves me and who has a similar perspective on life as me and she gets it, she gets me and I love her and her family as I do my own- and sometimes, our families have even had some co-trials that we had to work through- she is a Sister to me, but i do not call when I need help.

Because...?

Pride, fear, stupid- same reasons we all don't ask for help when it's right there.

So, by the side of the road, one block away from the church, I texted her and asked if she had some free time to talk today. 

I knew she was at work and I knew she didn't, but if I wasn't going to listen when the Lord told me to go to Scripture group, I could at least text my friend. 

She called on her lunch break and for 40 minutes, we talked and cried and loved each other. 

The next day, we went on a walk and again shared how hard it is to be a mom and the struggles we face having been through so many hard things already and that we had hoped that if we did all of this big huge suffering and learning the hard way, that maybe our kids would have an easier path.

Not one of them has.

Every single one of our children, we see, is being tested and tried to their limits and while they are all amazing kids and we love them- didn't we already do enough suffering and growing to earn easier lives for our kids? 

That's how mom talk is sometimes when you're scared and so, so tired.

She helped and I was so thankful for her. She did not have one single perfect answer for me and I did not have one single perfect answer for her, but we understood each other and loved each other.

I can look now and ask- why wasn't I okay with letting the Savior do that for me? 

Why was I needing Him to give me the solution and His understanding and love were not helpful from Him in my mind?

 I demanded an answer,  a solution, maybe even a sign.

I had done all I knew to do.

I'd had some difficult conversations, I'd talked to the therapist, I'd prayed, I'd thought things over in my head and run them by my heart, I knew what the next important step was and none of that made the ache in my chest and the fear go away. 

Nothing brought rest.

I was still in panic mode.

If you've never had a panic attack- oh, they're lovely. Sometimes they linger and every minute of every day is painful.

It felt like there was a big purple ball of tension and fear sitting on my chest that was twisting and turning in on itself, that burned and had claws sunk deep in my chest and nothing was making it go away. 

No matter what fears were eased, no mater what good was happening, I felt it, constantly since Tuesday. 

Stupid Trial Number Six.

By Saturday, I told myself that maybe this is the season when I learn to live with a constant panic attack going on, because there was no reason for it to have not loosened it's grip, at least not a little bit.

Sunday morning came and I dragged myself to church. 

As I got ready, I realized that I hadn't been in a while.

There had been 2 conferences, we'd had Comicon and another event that was on a Sunday, we'd had traveling and I'd been sick one week and the one time I did  get to church since September, I had a child have a meltdown and I spent 3 hours in the car of the church parking lot while they cried and screamed. (Oh yeah, that still happens with big kids sometimes.)

I walked in and I knew if anybody even looked at me, I was going to lose it and I shouldn't be there.

 I was not in any sort of state to be around people. 

I sat near the front, because if you start to bawl for no reason in Relief Society, if you're not in the back row, be in the front--then only the teacher will really see you, and you can scoot out of there as everyone goes up to tell her she did a good job before she can get to you and ask you what is wrong. 

The opening hymn started: Hymn 129

Where Can I turn for Peace?

I tried to tighten my face, to think of something else, but the tears started right from the start:

Where can I turn for peace?

Where is my solace

When other sources cease to make me whole?

When with a wounded heart, anger, or malice,

I draw myself apart,

Searching my soul?

I'd tried everything I knew, I'd prayed, I'd turned to the Lord, I'd served, I'd exercised, I'd researched,  I'd worked, I'd talked to a friend, I'd tried to do something creative...all other sources had ceased to make me whole. 

Where, when my aching grows,

Where, when I languish,

Where, in my need to know, where can I run?

Where is the quiet hand to calm my anguish?

Who, who can understand?

He, only One.

I was aching.

 I was physically aching from the pain of my sorrows.

 I wanted to run, I wanted to just run and run and keep running until I had run away from the hurt.  I didn't need the Heavens to understand, I needed them to tell me how to fix it. 

Just make it better or make it go away.

He answers privately,

Reaches my reaching

In my Gethsemane, Savior and Friend.

Gentle the peace he finds for my beseeching.

Constant he is and kind,

Love without end.

And by the time the hymn ended, I knew, I truly knew in every part of my body and soul that it WAS going to be okay. 

He is my friend and peace was finally here.

The knot of anguish lifted a little from my chest and I could breathe and relax a little bit.

My mind stopped racing and stopped trying to solve the problems I already knew I could not solve.

The lesson was one of those that felt as if it had been written just for me.

 How did my Relief Society President know? 

How could she know- that I was in torment and I could not find rest, I could not find peace?

 I believe that when we are in the places we need to be, the Lord gives each of us what we need, and what I needed could not possibly have been what everyone else needed, and I was getting EXACTLY what I needed.

I was given reminders of things I knew, comfort, reminders of the promises that Heavenly Father made to me and ideas- different ideas- on what I could actually do- not to solve  the big trial, but to bring peace and comfort, to have His Spirit dwell in that place that fear and panic had been residing all week. 

Heavenly Father knows what my family is going through, he understands.

All week I could not find him, I could not hear his voice as I was thrown into the midst of suffering and chaos.

 I looked everywhere and could not find Him.

I cried out, I begged and I prayed so much that it made no sense. 

No peace, just the knowledge that I was not going to drown.

Drowning would be easier. 

As Verjean gave her lesson on peace and trials, the message that He is there, He understands and He will bring rest was repeated. 

With each scripture, that was shared, this was confirmed to me.

 I was reminded of what I already knew- that He will carry the heavy yoke that we were carrying before, that it isn't hard for Him- to lay your burdens at His feet, that His yoke is light and He will help you. He promises that if you do this, you will have not only a calm from the storm, but happiness. 

I could feel the truth in those words, in that message. 

I could feel my burdens lifted and I realized that entire ball of anxiety and panic was gone. 

I felt peace. 

Sitting there in the front row, crying and wiping my nose on my sleeve- my burden had been lifted.

My problem as not solved- except..... it wasn't my problem. 

It's The Lord's problem and he WILL solve it in the way that leads to happiness if I will let him, if I will be where He asked me to be and do what he asked me to do.  He wants to keep his end of this bargain, I have to ask and do my part. My part means being in the places where He dwells and Satan an the world cannot. 

I'm not saying the meetinghouse is perfect, but it is a holy place and even in our musty Relief Society room with a bunch of plywood everywhere as they rebuild our ancient mildew filled baptismal font- I was reminded that our meetinghouse is a House of God, same as the temple. 

When I cannot find peace, I need to go to Him, to His places. 

If I can gather up my courage and my strength, if I have to drag myself there, I will go. 

No more excuses or talking myself out of going because something super fun is only happening on Sunday. No more events in the city on Sunday because the crowds are smaller. No more sleeping in because my joints ache or I know the kids are going to fight me about going this week.

I need to be where He is, and if I do that He will fix the problems and He will bring peace.

And my Sisters and Brothers who are there love me, even the ones who don't like me. Every single person there would have felt blessed and lucky to have been someone who could have helped as I drove past the church and shouted "No- this is too ugly!" They would have had things that would have helped, they would have been able and willing to love me and pray for my family as we faced this trial, just as my friend did. 

I belong there.

I belong in church, and I need to be there.

I hadn't realized how much of a wrong turn my heart and soul had taken, the drastic change and the damage that was done simply because we had a number of weeks in a row when it was super inconvenient to go to church and I had a lot of really good reasons not to. I wasn't staying way for any reason, I just wasn't going that week for a very valid reason- that week- and then the next week would present another very valid reason.

No more valid reasons. 

I didn't see it then, but I see it now.

I need to be in the building, every Sunday and if I am there, I will get what I need. 

If you haven't been to church in a long time, because you're busy, because it's boring, because the ward sucks (my ward is the opposite of suck, it's never been that) because you're making some choices in your life that don't go along with what you feel the other members agree with, because your kids are a mess and you can't deal with the perfect happy kids who pass the sacrament and give their younger siblings loving back scratches, because your spouse doesn't go, because the leaders are out of touch with society, because you hurt.....

Go.

Get in the building.

Sit down and you can decide that you will bite anyone who comes near you, but bring yourself to church and be in a place where He dwells and let Him sit beside you. Let Him take up your yoke and for three hours, just turn it all over to him and say "Okay Lord, I did my part- I'm freaking here. Will you do your part and please, bless me with what I need?"

Every lesson isn't going to be amazing, speakers are going to say stupid things and someone is gong to ask a question that makes you wonder if they were dropped on their head as a child, but you go so that you can be closer to Heavenly Father, to the Savior, because they are there.

 I believe angels walk the halls of our chapels and if what you need is an angel- you stand a far better chance at finding it at church than you do at home, no matter how much Kenneth Cope you have playing from your ipod and how many conversations  you say to the Lord via the ceiling as you go about your day. 

Get to church, go inside. 

That is where you can turn for peace, that is where you will find rest.

If I found it, in all my rebelliousness, in all my ugly crazy-- it is there.

Last night I slept.

I slept until 6:30 this morning and when I woke up, I was rested. 

I didn't have nightmares, I didn't rip the sheets from the bed, I didn't flail my arms and wake my husband up because I was shouting in my sleep. 

He brought peace. 

And do I know what to do about Trial Number Six?

Not a clue.

But I know this- God knows and God is taking care of it. 

My job is to keep my promises, and my end of the deal. My job is to make better choices and to be where he can dwell and to work to make my house feel more like a place that, like the church, like the temple, feels different from the world. 

There is work for me to do, changes for me to make and happiness for me and for all of my family.

Heavenly Father doesn't cheat anyone and He brings peace and rest.