Monday, January 22, 2001

Over the past few days family and friends have been arriving in Salt Lake. We have all been staying together at my sister Heather’s home, a place which I now will remember as the Smith Family Bunker-only because it’s like a safe place to say what you want to those you treasure most.

As you may expect there have been times when there was not a dry eye, or tissue, to be found. But true to form, there have been many more times where laughter has taken over as we share stories and compare notes on Trevor’s life. I feel fortunate to be able to speak for my family and share some of these special memories with you.

Trevor had a knack for finding humor and joy in things that others never noticed. Many of us received letters addressed to whomever, with a street address, in Salt Lake City, UT, USA, North America, Planet Earth, Galaxy Milky Way, Universe. When Trevor graduated from high school, he changed his name on the announcer’s paper so when they called his name, they called it as “Trevor Trump Smith” … after his high school idol-Donald Trump. Many of us remember standing in line somewhere, anywhere there were people, and hearing Trevor say, “Dad, should we take the Rolls Royce or limousine our tonight? Maybe we could take the helicopter instead” … as my sisters slowly slunk away pretending they weren’t with us.

As we thumbed through some of Trevor’s affects this weekend we stumbled upon an old check register. It was so intriguing to see the entries. There was one particular entry that was a little unusual. Trevor had written a check for one cent, made out to a “messed up gas station.” I can just see my brother pre-paying for gas, going over by a penny and not having a cent with him. Just to spite the person demanding one cent, he wrote them a check for one cent. But not only that, he wrote the check down, and dutifully checked it off as he balanced his check book.

Many of our memories center around the caring and generous nature of Trevor. Some of my family went camping in Yellowstone in August of last year. One of my nephews wanted to fish so badly. Not only did Trevor invite him to go fishing with him and Kendra, he helped him make his own fishing pole, took him and several of the kids to a park presentation about bears and as my nephew tells it, Trevor let him ride with him in the VW bus when everyone else was mad at him.

Trevor enjoyed the small things in nature, like seeing a hummingbird at his feeder for the first time, or finding a sand dollar on the beach. It also brought him joy to share these small moments with the person he knew would equally appreciate them, which was definitely my mom.

I was fortunate enough to speak with Trevor a few hours before the accident. I asked him if he was home, anticipating a standard answer like I’m in California or Salt Lake City, but that’s not Trevor’s kind of answer. Instead, Trevor said, “Jaelene, what is home really? Home is where you hang your hat, home is where you are happiest.” As difficult as it is for those of us here today, Trevor has been called home and as my dear brother said just a few days ago, home is where you are the happiest.

Written and Delivered By: Jaelene Samsal