In Loving Memory of

Janeane "Jani" Loree Sena

January 5, 1960 – July 25, 2026

There was once a nine-year-old girl in Butte, Montana, playing with her friends at aqua dance class. She climbed to the top of the highest diving board she could find; she looked down at the water like it was daring her to jump — and she did. That was Jani, from the very beginning. Born in Townsend, MT on January 5, 1960, to Edward and Joyce Schmaus, she grew up in a big, loud, loving tangle of a family — Jerrie Otto, Lonita Dalton (Harry), Susan Zitnik, Ken Schmaus (Deb, who worked tirelessly to care for Jani in her final years), Faith Cooper (Gary), Marigaye Bissell, Greg Schmaus, and Rick Schmaus (Kathy) — in a house that was never short on stories, or on people who adored her.

From the very beginning, she refused to accept limitations, whether it was an adventure or a terminal diagnosis. Somewhere along the way, someone — or maybe no one — told her a wild horse named Sundance couldn't be broken by a young girl her size. So, she climbed on, and she broke him herself, because that was Jani's answer to almost everything: watch me.

As she grew up, her restless mind turned to bigger questions — love, politics, the vast unmapped edges of the universe. She became a published author, putting to paper at 3 a.m. the things most people don’t even dream about. She was endlessly fascinated by the unknown, by the possibility of life somewhere out past the stars, and she chased that curiosity the same way she chased everything else: without reserve. In her younger years, when she wasn’t getting into trouble with Betsy Nelson, she could be found riding Shilo (a horse she bought and trained herself) across Montana's wide-open country; later, cars broadened her search and she spent her free time tracing the waters that crisscross the state she never really left, not in her heart. The Montana wilderness will certainly miss the tune of the pretty woman soundtrack echoing through the canyons she frequently drove through, windows down, voice strained, and thoughts wandering.

She waited tables and tended bar for years, on her feet, working a room the way some people work a stage. She had the courage to wedge all 5 feet of herself between grown men in a bar fight and the grit to pick up a brush to paint entire houses on her own and raise three boys who were wilder than Sundance. She loved to laugh, sing, and dance; she loved to party, socialize and debate. Jani was a fearsome warrior with an opinion, an untamed spirit who loved fiercely, dared greatly, and laughed contagiously. Yet, for all that fire, she also found quiet meditation in her crafts, coloring books, puzzles, a good read, or a deck of cards in the hands of the people she loved gathered around the table.

This is the part of the story where you'd expect a list of names, and Jani has one — a long one. Her three children, whom she proudly broadcast as the greatest joy of her life, Jordan, Levi (Reena), and Zac, and their father Mike Sena. Grandchildren Nathanial Green (Liseth), David Green (Katie), Aniyah Thornton (mother Tami), and Kory Sabedra. Great-grandchildren Charlotte, Maksen and August Green, and Ian Herrera. Twenty-seven nieces and nephews, fifty-two great-nieces and great-nephews, nine great-great-nieces and great-nephews — an entire small town's worth of people who called her family, and every friend she shared a drink or song with. But a list can't capture what she truly was to them: the aunt who showed up, the grandmother who constantly dreamed of your future, the woman whose laugh you could pick out of a crowded room. She was preceded in death by Shikaylah Schmaus, David Vrooman, and her parents, who no doubt had their hands full keeping up with her long before any of the rest of us did.

“He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”

— Revelation 21:4

A potluck style Celebration of Life will be held at 2 p.m. on October 3rd at Headwaters State Park, where Jani's ashes will be scattered in the rivers she spent so many years enjoying. You can check Jani’s Facebook page for any further updates.

In the meantime, we can all smile knowing that heaven just got a lot rowdier. Somewhere up there, a woman as unique as the hours she kept is standing at the edge of something impossibly high, looking down the way she did when she was nine years old in Butte, Montana — and she is, without question, going to jump. Jani will be remembered for her brilliant mind, her untamed spirit, and the love she gave so freely to everyone lucky enough to be pulled into her orbit. She leaves us all with one last dare: look up at the stars, ask the big questions, and never, ever stop exploring.