A day of celebration takes me back to remember my brother Dean . . .

For me, this wonderful day of celebration for Liberty Blessings so abundant in America began with a gathering of 150 Idaho Falls citizens on the front lawn of a dear friend's home. The festivities began with a welcome from our hostess, Sheila Olsen. Years ago, when her husband died, her friends and neighbors erected a flag pole in her yard as a memorial. Sheila is an amazing woman who continues to do much to bless this community. She is a great patriot.

Ali and Christina Christensen from America's Got Talent's top 10, 2010 were present. Their dad began by stressing that being a patriot was to be a good neighbor and loving and serving in our communities, state and nation.

Ali and Christina then sang "Temporary Home." While these words beautifully written refer to the temporary nature of our home here on earth, for me it brought to mind one of my deepest heartaches. I really have enjoyed such powerful and incredible healing from childhood traumas, but every once in awhile, something reaches into the deepest part of my soul and brings me to tears.

Following my parents death, my brothers and I lived for five years with our grandparents. At the death of our grandfather the four of us were moved into various foster homes throughout Alberta. Within that year, my placement failed and I was back in Coutts with my Uncle Harry and Aunt Viola. They adopted me when I was thirteen. In spite of all of the difficulties of those years as a teenager with my "new mom and dad," I was no longer "temporary." It was tough for them and for me BUT I can't stress enough the blessing of "belonging" even though it took me many many years to truly comprehend that belonging.

Personal heartache - My three younger brothers were not so soon settled. They too had good souls in their lives and some really not so good. I was honestly not very aware of their personal challenges until I was well into my adult life. Once separated, we had very little contact with each other thus it was difficult to know or support one another.

Years later, while living in St. Louis with our very young family of five daughters, I got a call from some agency in Denver, Colorado to inform me that my youngest brother Dean had passed away. He was only 38 years old. Dean had moved to Denver and married a third time. As with his other marriages, this marriage failed. It had been a long time since we had knowledge of where he was and how he was doing.

Dean Edward Smith January 10, 1957 - August 1995

Some background - Dean was only 1 1/2 years old when our parents died. He was the most tender soul I have ever known. His heart was good to the core but broken in ways it is hard to explain. Unlike me, he didn't grow up with "family truth" and as a young man struggling to understand what was wrong with him and his world, slowly bits of the truth seeped into his life. What he had always believed had been a lie and as he came to know some of the facts surrounding the death of his mother and father, he felt very betrayed. (Hard truth is always preferable for someone overcoming trauma than some sweet "save them from the truth" well intentioned efforts to protect. This is my own thinking and it comes from personal experience. I do not think rose colored glasses are helpful but I do believe in Pollyanna's Glad Game. There is a difference! We can only see the blessings along the way if we know the truth of our circumstances. Otherwise all is confusion and no matter how hard we try, it is very difficult if not impossible to function in the real world.)

One of the "temporary" of this world, Dean's last foster placement failed when he was just 16 years old. He was emancipated at that young age and there was no place for him to go. He began to try and cover his aching with the use of drugs and alcohol. At the time, I was a young mom of a two small children and an apartment manager of apartments for young women college students. This was the first experience away from home for many of these girls. Needless to say I had my hands full and yet after thorough discussion, my student husband and I invited Dean to come and live with us in Rexburg, Idaho. I wanted so badly to fill his life with love and belonging.

Dean had a keen intellect and was a math whiz. We had hopes for his future as he was enrolled in the community high school. However, things grew impossible very quickly. When he approached me with information about our mother and father's death, he was shocked to find out I already knew everything. He felt betrayed by me. His rage was hard to bear. He had grown up with a false narrative. This I did not know until that day.

No matter how much you love someone, sometimes you fall so far short of what you hope to be and do. Dean left with us not knowing for sometime where he was.

Over the following years, Dean's inherit desire for goodness and I can state truthfully, his love of God would bring him again and again to struggle against his demons. His first wife and her family were the salt of the earth. They loved him and were genuinely good to him. He had a beautiful daughter who he cherished with all of his heart.

Sadly, I never meet Dean's second wife, Anne Paquet or his son who was born the day after my last daughter was born. I have had some opportunity to talk to Anne and once again sense that Dean was blessed with another good woman who hoped to be a strength to him. As for Dean's son Derek, I hope one day to meet this young man of whom his father spoke so dearly. Dean loved his boy and was so proud of him.

For my brother, his inability to hold it together to be the dad he wanted to be for his children was perhaps his greatest sense of defeat. I want his daughter and son to know that Aunt Wendy speaks truth and this is truth. Their dad loved them more than life itself. What he did not know was that he was loveable and so much more than temporary.

Sometimes the breaking of the human spirit is so deep that healing process extends into the eternities. Part of our being disciples of Christ is to comprehend this and sense His mercy for those whom he truly understands and suffered greatest for. As we place our faith in Jesus, we gain capacity to know that the day of healing will come for the one we love and for ourselves because the power is in our Savior and Redeemer, Jesus Christ. There is great purpose in all we suffer through this fallen world. In the end all things will work together for those who love the Lord.

When the call came from Denver in August 1995, I learned that police had found Dean's wife Judy who told them he had a sister in the St. Louis area. Thankfully they were able to locate me. My husband and I quickly made arrangements for our daughters to be cared for and headed for Colorado. They held the body for me to have one last opportunity to kiss my little brother's cheek. He looked so old and frail. It was almost more than I could bear. I found that Dean had lived homeless, my 38 year old brother made pocket change returning luggage carts to their stalls at the airport. They said he died of alcohol poisoning.

During our brief time at the mortuary, a woman came into the room to pay her respects. She too was homeless with all the anguish of life's cruelest hurts etched into her face. She met Dean at a soup kitchen. Over the brief time she knew Dean she told him of the devastation she felt when her young daughter was raped. At that point, Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out a small inexpensive cross pendant that he had found on the ground somewhere and kept for comfort. He gave it to her and told her Jesus loved her and could help. She took the dented pendant from her pocket and gently showed it to me. It was now a source of comfort for her. This story reveals the true heart of my brother. I love him.

We left the funeral home, Dean's remains were cremated and the next day we gathered on a mountain in south Colorado owned by Judy's family. A brother-in-law told us that when Dean was on the mountain, he was at peace, away from a world that troubled him greatly. He would sleep under the stars and "rest."

Dean's ashes were scattered to the wind but his soul was now in the arms of God. The day was sunny with a cooling breeze gently caressing my cheeks. Some of us walked a ways down the other side of mountain to the old rail depot, no longer used. In the distance we heard the whistle of an historic train that continues to run. We looked further down and across to the mountain on the north to see the train winding its way through the pristine landscape, steam curling from the smoke stack. This was a sight that Dean loved. It was a comforting moment for me.

This past three years, I have been feeling out of place again. All of the girls are raised and moving forward building their own families. How I love my daughters, my wonderful son-in-laws and dear, dear grandchildren. I miss having them close at hand. I also miss teaching seminary and institute. The students from almost 25 years of teaching still hold a special place in my heart. Health challenges have slowed me down and given me lots of time to reflect and wonder at "what's next" for me. I have felt a bit of a loss in purpose.

Perhaps the message of "Temporary Home" hit me differently than many others. We need not wait to feel permanence until we see again the face of God at our death. Knowing who we are and why we are are critical to happy life. I want to be more actively involved in working with children who are hurting.

God lives and loves each and every "one." The power of healing is real. We are blessed to be able to prayerfully seek out those in need and under a loving Heavenly Father's direction, serve as the hands of heaven on earth. Life is a blessing - bumps, bruises and all. God's promises are sure. For now, I trust.

For as many as are led by the Spirit of God, they are the sons of God. For ye have not received the spirit of bondage again to fear; but ye have received the Spirit of adoption, whereby we cry, Abba, Father. The Spirit itself beareth witness with our spirit, that we are the children of God: And if children, then heirs; heirs of God, and joint-heirs with Christ; if so be that we suffer with him, that we may be also glorified together. For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us. - Romans 8:14-18 KJV

"Temporary Home"

Sister Englehart - One of those who was "with me" . . .

This morning for my scripture study, I was reading about prayer. I came upon this beautiful passage from Psalm 55:

"As for me, I will call upon God; and the Lord shall save me. Evening, and morning, and at noon, will I pray, and cry aloud; and he shall hear my voice. He hath delivered my soul in peace from the battle that was against me: for there were many with me."

As members of the Mormon Church we believe that we are all children of God, hence we are brothers and sisters. This is why Latter-day Saints refer to fellow members "Brother" or "Sister" rather than Mr. or Mrs. When trials are upon us we are there for one another.

I do not know if Sister Englehart was widowed or divorced at the time of our parents death, but I do remember she lived with her teenage son in a small home on the western end of town. She was a member of our small congregation. Some how things were arranged for her to take care of us immediately following the death of our parents. As a true disciple of Christ, Sister Englehart was there the very instant we needed her. I remember her tenderness during those difficult days as well as her boldness as she took a strong stand and turned away the RCMP when she felt a need to protect Dennis.

I am not sure how long we were with Sister Englehart but I sense it was at least a couple of weeks. She moved away before I was old enough to know her well. I am grateful for her. I hope she knows that. While I cannot remember her face, I remember her love. She was the first of many who saw me through difficult days. I don't imagine I had said my prayers before going to bed until that first night with Sister Englehart.

Ready for church - This was taken soon after our parents death before we were with our grandparents. We are in Sister Englehart's yard south of the house. Dean is in front, behind him David,. I am in the center with Dennis is on my left.

That Day - September 20, 1959

My Uncle Don and Aunt Norma Stanford have been a strength to me throughout my life.

A treasured memory from my teen years is our early morning seminary car pool. For Latter-day Saint youth, school mornings began with an early morning scripture study class. My then adopted father, would drive a large station wagon filled with Coutts ninth-twelfth grade students to join with the Milk River youth for our class twelve miles north. He would then wait for the ninth graders to take them back to Coutts for Junior High while the rest of us would make our way to the High School in Milk River to continue our school day.

One cold morning, my cousin Jessie was running late. Her mother had fixed her an amazing piece of toast with her homemade apple butter slathered generously over it and handed it to her as she ran out the door. She piled in with the rest of us for our early morning drive. The fragrance filled the car and called out to me. You have to have tasted my Aunt Norma's apple butter to have any concept of how truly wonderful it was. I pleaded with Jessie to ask Aunt Norma for a piece for me the next morning. You can imagine my delight when early the next day I had my own delicious bit of love disguised as toast and apple butter. This worked out well until everyone wanted some. I don't think even Aunt Norma could have made enough to feed the world and so it all came to an end. What a dear memory for me.

Some seven to eight years earlier, Sunday September 20, 1959 dawned and progressed as usual for a Sabbath. It was the beginning of my last month as a six-year old and the day was beautiful. A sweater was all that was needed for comfort. As was our way, my grandmother took me to Sunday School where I was blessed to sing songs of Jesus and learn of his love for me. In those days, Priesthood meeting was early in the morning followed by Sunday School. We would go home after Sunday School for dinner and a quiet afternoon with family. Sacrament meeting began at 6:00 p.m. and went until 7:30 p.m. (Primary, youth activity nights and Relief Society Meetings were held on weekdays.)

After Sunday School that clear and crisp autumn day, I was given permission to go with my cousin Jessie to spend the afternoon. We happily skipped across the street to the Stanford home in anticipation of time together. After a lunch, my Uncle Don and Aunt Norma settled in for a bit of a nap while Jessie and I played. I really can't remember what we were doing, but our play was interrupted by a phone call. We could hear Uncle Don in the bedroom answer the phone and exclaim, "Oh dear God." There was quick quiet talk between him and Aunt Norma, before they called to tell me I needed to go home right away.

Jessie and I pleaded to have more time but Uncle Don was adamant. We begged him to let her to walk me the two and a half blocks home. "Not today," was his firm reply. We persisted in our efforts and Jessie was allowed to walk to Stutsman's corner with me on the promise that she would turn around and come immediately back home before we made it all the way to the corner. The Stutsman family lived on a corner a half block east and one block south of Stanfords and one block west, one block north of my home. Still unaware of the impending doom, we began our walk. Just before the corner, Jessie turned and headed back home while I continued forward alone.

There was a lot of commotion outside of my house. Sister Englehart's large car was there. As I approached, I saw my brothers with blankets thrown over their heads being carried out of the house. When I was spotted, I was quickly put into the car along with David, Dennis and Dean. What was happening? I don't remember who was there besides Sister Englehart but I do remember the heavy sense of sadness and nervous energy that seemed to engulf everyone. Where were my mom and dad? Why were we being taken away?

Sister Englehart lived with her teenage son in a house on the far west end of town. After arriving there, we spent a strange afternoon - one of confusion for me. Care had to be taken so that my baby brother Dean would not be burned on the hot floor heating grate. He was too little to understand the danger and so we were told to watch him closely as things were put around the grate to block it off. In my mind I seem to remember he did burn his hand before we were aware of the need to protect him from it but that is so vague to my thinking that I am not sure.

The RCMP were respected as officers of the law. Why did they keep coming to talk to my brother Dennis? That evening they came one too many times, and I remember Sister Englehart telling them in no uncertain terms that they had all they needed from "that child" and she would not let them talk to him again.

At some point later in the afternoon or evening I was told that my mom and dad were in heaven. I really couldn't comprehend the finality of it all. Sister Englehart helped us say our prayers and tucked us in bed. I remember the tears in her eyes as she sat there with us. What was happening? That confusing Sunday came to a sad end as I dropped into an exhausted sleep.

WHAT HAD HAPPENED: My life changed forever when my father took the life of my mother as she lay on her bed and then turned the gun on himself. My brothers had been put to bed for naps. Four-year old David and one-year old Dean were asleep through it all. Three-year old Dennis witnessed the great tragedy from his bedroom door which was across from my parents bedroom. I did not know what had happened until some time later as I recorded December 27, 2009 in Blog Post "Why Now?"