Rosalie Joyce Johnson Smith Zabriskie

Rosalie Johnson Smith Zabriskie passed away with Russ by her side on August 26, 2026. She died in a home surrounded by flowers, one she restored with the love of her later life, who loved her as his rose, thorns and all. She was, secretly, a vegetarian. Who also ate bacon, which was one of the few things she could cook. She preferred Filet-O-Fish to salad, and always a hot fudge sundae. And a day trip to Heber for milkshakes at Granny's, while the leaves held their color.

Rosalie was the first child of Joyce and Clarence Johnson, sister to four younger siblings. She learned the old way, to spell well and to answer questions correctly -- proceeding through grades beyond her peers, because she was unhappy if bored, and bored if not answering correctly. She graduated from Orem High in 1960, reportedly a valedictorian with a scholarship to BYU. But instead of college and career, she landed Leon Smith. Rumor has it she requested a larger diamond from Leon before engagement; too young to know better and too smart to take advice. So they married in June of 1962 and lived in Utah county. She loved Leon, for better and for worse.

Thus began the mothering season, pursued as intensely as the formal education it replaced. Ten children born across three decades. Skyler she buried in June, 1983: the eternal toddler in cowboy boots, who drowned in a ditch in their backyard, his little hand reaching above the swirling water. She never healed from that loss, but did bear Gavyn in 1985, her eleventh and most gentle baby.

Rare photos from the 1970s show her smiling, seldom alone; babe on hip, toddlers like boots on both legs, always in full makeup, hair perfect -- even as Leon's career stalled, and money got tight. The 1980s saw the couple raising children into adults, sending them on church missions and to their own marriages, and her youngest off to kindergarten. She joined the PTA, bought old furniture to restore and trade, and I learned to love antiques and to sift other people's rubbish, alongside other poor Mormons. Those were hard times, when the family moved often, often suddenly, house to house, with stayovers at ugly motels. Before one eviction, she baked what her ancestors would've called Welsh Rabbit, and insisted I eat, or it would break her heart.

By 1991 Rosalie was living with Leon and their younger children, in a Motel 6 off I-15; when Leon suddenly was swept into county lockup. That night she donned an old sportcoat worn last in a PTA meeting, and said she was heading out for a Coke. Alone in her despair, after so much grief and nothing to show for it, she missed Skyler again and wished to hold him. I soon followed her out the door, passed the numbered doors, and caught up to her. "What are you doing here?" is all she said. We walked under the stars to CircleK, refilled her scratched plastic mug with Pepsi, and resolved to keep going. Thus Rosalie gathered the four youngest, and fled to her beloved sister's home in Sugar City, Idaho. On the way out of Utah, she didn't console or coddle us, and when we complained, she replied, "We have to do what we have to do."

In Idaho Rosalie joined the workforce, bringing home that rarest thing, a steady paycheck. She cooked more often, traded thrift store projects for pricier antiques, and took us out to dinner on Fridays. She was as generous with her own money as she was with other people's money. Her feet became gnarled because she insisted on wearing pretty shoes. Wallpapering seemed to give her joy, as did holding hands with Leon as we drove somewhere, anywhere. They once bought a red corvette in Rexburg, but lost it soon after. Rosalie became admittedly bulimic, although she feared it would burn a hole in her throat. She was vain, and she was an optimist, and not everyone she relied on deserved her faith or her devotion. Rosalie antagonized the institutionalized, and I learned to cuss from her.  

While driving to work in Idaho Falls in 1995, a sad country song made her weep, for she loved and missed Leon, who had started working in Utah for weeks at a time. So we all packed up again, and returned to Utah county. The last children raised up, some off to church missions and to college; a few more married. She held swimming parties for grandkids, bought them all easter baskets and Build-A-Bears. Then Leon died in 2006, leaving her in shock, with debts and a house impossible to maintain. She soon lost that home after a flood left it moldy, unlivable. The insurance company reportedly settled the claim years later for $35.

A new season began, when she met Russ Zabriskie at a church dance, and he loved her for being beautiful (and tough). That's what she always wished for, and his grief at her passing gives us no doubts regarding his devotion. With Russ she travelled, learned to (pretend to enjoy) golf, updated followers on Facebook; surrounded by pop culture, Coke bottle collections, old Hollywood kitsch. Social media soon became her garden, for better and for worse. I once scolded her for posting AI generated images, and she said she didn't care if they were fake. Rosalie 2.0 emerged: A Swiftie, on Team Edward; fan of the Utes, and of the Chiefs (Boo!), she even attended a World Series game.

Rosalie remained generous, if aloof. And must've spent half her paycheck at the dollar store, gifting all her progeny on every birthday, for every holiday. Her children pained her, no doubt, as children do - but she was proud of their accomplishments, doctors of this or that, devoted mothers, church leaders. Rosalie left no doubt she loves them all. She didn't state her beliefs often, but did tell me that having children was better than having money.

Her last years were spent giving away free samples at grocery stores, that cheery old lady wearing plastic gloves, often working multiple shifts because she hated being bored, and never learned to sit in peace. Once she complained that a wealthy man pointed at her while working, and told his children, "Go to school so you don't end up like her." Rosalie passed out free samples for another five years, always in full makeup, hair perfect.

She didn't hold important positions at any church, or business. Rosalie wasn't wealthy, and despite her trials, refused to lose her humor or her pride.  She sometimes said she didn't believe in God, but did think it was unfair that He allowed so much suffering. She may be the last of her lineage to recite family lore, and although probably inaccurate, she did have nearly perfect recall. Rosalie was like a mirror, and wanted to show you what you wanted her to be. She could've been a CEO, or more fitting, a double agent. 10 children, 38 grandkids, cousins, nieces, nephews, siblings to mourn her passing; maybe too many friends. Her last words to me concerned my child's attendance at an old junior high. "I was the PTA president there," she whispered, "for three years."

 Funeral Services will be held, Friday, September 4, 2026 ~ 12:00 p.m. at the Highland Stake Center, 9626 North 6800 West, Highland, Utah. A viewing will be held Friday 10:30-11:45 also at the church.
Interment, Pleasant Grove Cemetery, 600 North 100 West, Pleasant Grove, Utah