Barta Kathryn (Brown) Jones 1953 - 2016
Barta was born October 7, 1953, in Pocatello, ID, and passed away on February 4, 2016, in South Jordan, UT, after a valiant fight with dementia/Alzheimer’s. One quietly sad and often unspoken truth about dementia is that even when names, faces, and shared history fade, emotional memory often remains. Family and friendly presence can still bring safety or joy in the moment, but when a loved one leaves the room, a deep sense of abandonment or sadness might set in without it being specifically connected to anyone in particular. In her fading years, when I went to visit Barta, she was clearly experiencing the effects of a broken heart but did not have the words to explain why. She always smiled to see me in those days, but I’m not sure she was ever very certain who exactly I was. Sometimes I thought that for a moment she knew, but it’s heartbreaking because even if there was a rose of awareness, those petals were fleeting, as she seemed to be repeatedly losing her memories over and over again.
To relieve the depressive nature of that truth, here is a funny anecdote: Her name is Barta because my grandfather Bart always wanted a boy, and when, after his wife Margaret Mary Rachel Leary Brown had two girls and then a third, rumor has it that his patience ran out and he passed his name on to her in the feminine. Shortly thereafter, my grandparents would finally have a boy, my uncle Roby, who lost out on the namesake. Whether that’s true or not, Barta is a rare but powerful name that means bright or shining and is a standard of Germanic-Scandinavian mythology.
Barta attended Pocatello High School and graduated from Boise High School in 1971. She married young and was a young and complicated mother to my cousin Jake. Once he was grown, she went back to school and graduated from the University of Utah in Salt Lake City, where she lived for decades. She ended up working for the U of U for nearly thirty years before she got sick.
Barta was a wild woman when she was young. Bursting with life and seemingly fearless to speak her mind, she seemed to not ever really offend anyone unless it was on purpose and they deserved it and could walk into a strange room alone and walk out with a dozen fans and friends. She had the gift of gab, as us Irish say, and an infectious laugh that was booming and mirrored her father and my grandfather Bart Brown.
Aunt Barta was a looker and the first adult woman to tell me that I had exceptional eyebrows. When I was an insecure pup, she reassured me that one day I’d be a lady killer. I believed her enthusiasm about it, and she gave me great confidence about my potential as I grew into a man.
A traveller when she could be, and like the rest of the Brown clan, she somehow managed to get herself to Asia, which seems genetically embedded in us all. I am uncertain as to whether Asia was an influence at all, but she had one of the largest collections of giant flashy earrings you ever saw.
For good or bad, she was one of the folks who taught me to be unapologetically myself, that people dig authenticity, and in a period of my life when I was a black sheep, a weirdo, or a freak to some, she taught me to own it and embrace it and learn to take all that as a compliment. She and I shared a fearlessness and an unabashed individuality that I always kept in my heart. Like me, she didn’t always make the easiest choices in life, but she did it her way, and to me that’s fucking awesome.
She is very much missed.