All the Times--My memories of Brian Buttars

I’m not sure why it’s taken me so long to write this, my memories of Brian, and I may not ever understand it fully. I think part of it has to do with the fact that to be writing this means admitting that the memory-making is over—a thing of the past, and not something I get to continue doing with him. And I’m sure another part of it is I want to do such a good job to be worthy of his memory that it seems more daunting than any grad school paper or report for work could ever be. I just want it to be good enough and descriptive enough and capture enough of the kind of friend that Brian was to me. I'm sure I'll fall short, but nonetheless, here I write. At first I had thought to make it more cohesive—a beautiful narrative woven together with stories and moments—but somehow my mind seems to like it better in these pieces. So here they are, separate flashes and postcards of memory, little samples in life's box of all the times I remember Brian:

I remember...

• The first time I met Buttars. (When you meet someone as a missionary, you never use your first name! So he was Buttars). It was in the MTC, so I'm sure we said hi and shook hands in our suits. But the first time I really remember him was the first night as got ready for bed, and he was wearing these funny red, yellow and black flannel pants and a wrestling shirt. Not too long after that we were flexing in photos and brokering out who was going to wrestle whom in our district.
• The time Brian bought push up bars from the MTC store so he could stay in shape--so the rest of us bought them too and I’m sure push-up-wars or something of the like ensued.
• The time Brian decided that wresting and push up bars weren't enough and we needed to start doing “wall-sits” each night before bed. Oh yes, legs at a perfect 90 degree angle against the wall and under the pressure of the stop watch. I believe the stated goal was to improve up to 10 full minutes (go try it and see if you last for 3!) Did we ever hit that?
• The time one of us decided we needed to record our history of the MTC so we made the Aluminum Foil Plates, a Liahona out of Rolo wrappers, and the sword of Laban (or Tony Roma) from a plastic fruit drink sword. Then we each wrote our testimonies on a plate—one in English, one in broken Tagalog the best we could—and then borrowed a spoon from the cafeteria and buried them up until the time we should return. Hey, there was a precedent set by some pretty great prophet historians, we just wanted to follow the prophet, follow the prophet...
• The night Brian broke out some pictures from home and told us of a mythical, magical place called Lake Powell. What a fairy tale it seemed to be--the beauty and the scenery! So we made a pact right then and there, that if we ever did make it back from this foreign sojourn across the Philippines that we would go to Lake Powell together. And two years later, five of us did. =)
• I remember cliff jumping with him to the Back Street Boys, 98 Degrees and Britney Spears—I think he tried to claim it was Chelsea’s music…
• Running down the sand dunes faster than our legs would work causing us all to end up end over end flailing into the water at the bottom.
• Tube wars, figure 8’s, and cave pools with freezing water
• The time he and I were trying to cope with the monotony of the MTC life week in and week out and somehow the Velociraptors from Jurrasic Park came out and we were hunting jelly-filled donuts on our plates in the cafeteria. (Hey, you spend 9 hours a day in a 10 x 10 room trying to smash Tagalog into your head--you gotta release somehow). He howled in laughter at my dinosaur impression complete with sound effects (and there wasn’t much left of the donut after that either). I recall him making me do it again on a number of occasions when we needed a bit of light heartedness.
• The times he laughed--he was always laughing. I know family gets to see a little more of the good, the bad and the ugly, but I can't recall a time I ever saw him get mad. (Except once at a crime scene, but that’s different.) Sure we all got frustrated, down, and not so chipper, but he never got angry when I was around. That was the kind of friendship we had.
• The times he talked about his family that he loved so much. His pictures of them and with them.
• I remember getting to take a boat to an island off of Bolinao to do a service project when I was in serving in Alaminos and he was stationed in Bani. We hefted plants and I think we taught Tar Wars (like D.A.R.E) to some elementary school kids about the dangers of drugs and smoking. On the ride back we talked about how when we both had become successful businessmen, we would get a time-share condo or some property in the Philippines so we could bring our sweethearts and our families there for vacations. We were halfway there...
• The time on New Year’s Eve 1999 when I received word that my little sister Lindsay had died in a car crash. No one for 8000 miles even knew who she was, but Brian had heard stories and I got to see him a few days later in the Mission Home. Just to have someone who knew me for the previous six months and had been through all of the mission journey with me--his hug meant so much. I decided to stay on the mission and not go home for Linz's funeral—I wouldn’t have been able to come back to the Philippines. So I didn't get to hug my family for another year and a half. I didn't get to be around anyone who even knew something so heart wrenching had happened to me. But Brian let me talk, and he listened, and he hugged me. That meant so much. So much. He was a real friend during a foreign time and place.
• I remember him becoming a gospel teacher and a man. I’m fairly certain learning Tagalog wasn’t Brian’s favorite thing. =) Especially when it just seemed like Pig Latin sometimes. When we had been there for a little while he was called to train a new missionary and he was a little nervous about it, but I remember him coming through and doing a great job. We transferred apart for a few months and when I saw him after that his language was so much better, and he taught with confidence and power. It was neat to see him really do that and teach and lead others.
• About that time, I also remember him wearing a very ridiculous and flowy pair of shimmery pants that he had tailored. It was very inexpensive—like $10 bucks or something—to pick out your own fabric from hundreds of bolts of cloth, and have pants tailored to the perfect inch. In fact now that I think about it—I think every time I saw Brian on the mission he had a new pair of really cool pants tailored for him--but the shimmery flowy ones took the cake. Pogi talaga siya!
• I remember getting off the buses for Christmas Conference and the whole mission of missionaries was there. I felt like Alma and the sons of Mosiah when they saw each other after serving the Lord in different fields of the harvest apart. We’d been through so much together before and now here we were together again. “These sons of Mosiah were with Alma at the time the angel first appeared unto him; therefore Alma did rejoice exceedingly to see his brethren; and what added more to his joy, they were still his brethren in the Lord; yea, and they had waxed strong in the knowledge of the truth; for they were men of a sound understanding and they had searched the scriptures diligently, that they might know the word of God.” That’s what we had all been doing for months—the same studying, and working, and serving, and loving those people— “But this is not all; they had given themselves to much prayer, and fasting; therefore they had the spirit of prophecy, and the spirit of revelation, and when they taught, they taught with power and authority of God” (Alma 17:2-3). The embraces, the smiles, the laughter—our joy was full because we were still brethren in the Lord. That’s what friendship with Brian was like.
• The time at a Zone Conference dinner when Brian made me do the Velociraptor attack impression on my food again, and his laugh when I did.
• The time we came back from a service project and found that Brian’s apartment had been broken into by Alvin, the infamous Olongapo Mission Thief. The punk targeted missionaries and their apartments because he knew our schedules required us to be out teaching and seldom there at home. Buttars didn’t like having his apartment turned into a crime scene with the door chewed open by a crowbar. They cleaned out all his electronics, money and valuables--even his shoes. Oh that was a nasty day. We hid out in a nipa hut by another apartment to see if they would come back but they didn’t. I can’t be certain, but for some reason I think the thieves opted to not take Brian’s shimmery pants with them.
• The time on the plane home when we were both so excited to be feeling static electricity in our pant legs again (instead of humidity or sweat) that we were practically giggling.
• The time I almost got incarcerated in Korea when, after having to repack my bags twice in Manila, I ended up with an 8 inch souvenir in my carryon that looked a lot like a knife. Oops. We tried speaking English, Tagalog, Pig Latin—but to no avail. I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life in a Korean Airport Prison! Brian probably didn't tell you that story did he?
• The time we finally touched down on American soil again and Brian and I sat at LAX literally asking each other if it was Halloween--the crazy American's seriously looked like they were wearing freakin’ costumes compared to the simple rice farming people we were used to.
• The times he’d come visit me driving his big, red Jeep when I was down in Provo at BYU. The jeep was surely a sweet ride, very cool, but ridiculous because he’d jacked the thing up so high with the oversized tires that it brighted the car in front of you with its headlights like a police spotlight and about blasted your eyes out of your sockets so that anyone who drove in front of him was ready to brake check him and come out swinging.
• The night he came down to visit me in Provo and we dug up the Aluminum Foil plates and listened to the voicetape of us in the MTC and read our testimonies from years before. It was such a cool night. Wish I knew where those plates are now?!?!
• Comparing goatees and facial hair and him giving me pointers on how I should shave mine--ie how he would shave his if it would just grow in a little more around the sides of the chin, blast it!
• Someone spilling an entire 7-11 supersized drink in their lap on the drive to Lake Powell—and Brian's laugh from the other seat.
• I remember, like everyone else, his big, orange truck and the little apartment with Collette before they moved into their house. Good luck parking that thing.
• And I remember Christmas a year ago going to visit him at his new place and seeing his kids and the father and husband that he was. The feel of his home and the smile in his heart. That even when life is tough and jobs are hard and maybe the canvas isn't getting painted exactly like you thought it would be--life is still good. Friendships warm your heart and family is there to love you and be loved by you.
• We were Facebooking about meeting up over Thanksgiving when I would be in town from LA, but things got busy and I didn’t hear back and I just thought, “Hey no big deal, I'll just see him at Christmas when I'm in town and there is more time...”

Brian, I know I'm not your son, your daughter, your wife, your dad, your mom, your brother or sister—their loss is so great and there is no way to fill the hole of you or ever replace you. But you loved me as a brother and friend during our tour of duty and love, and for that my heart is full of love and friendship. For all of these times we walked alongside each other and for all those steps of the journey—thank you for touching my life. I will always remember, all the times.

Love ya, man,

Zach Pond

Brian Daniel Buttars

06/02/1978 – 11/28/2009

Brian Daniel Buttars, beloved husband, father, son and brother, passed away due to injuries sustained in a dirt biking accident. Born June 2, 1978, Provo, Utah to Daniel P. and Jan Buttars. Married Colette Fitts, the love of his life, on April 5, 2001 in the Salt Lake LDS Temple.

Brian had a passion for life and lived it to the fullest. His had a wonderful smile and brought love and happiness to all he knew. He loved his family; Colette, Cole, Hallie and looked forward to the birth of another son. He loved skiing, boating, especially at Lake Powell, and dirt biking. Brian served an LDS mission in the Philippines, Olongapo Mission. He graduated from the University of Utah in Business.

Survived by wife, Colette, children, Cole Daniel and Hallie Ann; parents, Daniel and Jan Buttars; sister and brothers, Courtney (Jared) Geisler, Jordan (Kelli) Buttars, Chelsea (Miles) Lowder, grandmother, Fern Hutchens; father and mother-in-law, Randy and Susan Fitts, 10 nephews and 6 nieces. He will be dearly missed.