With that, came our opportunity to give our victim's impact statement.
I wasn't sure how I would react to seeing the murderer. I was very anxious about keeping composure. Then a dear friend told me to let go of my expectations and remember that I was there to represent my uncle.
It was exactly what I needed to hear.
It was a beautiful day in Albuquerque. The sky was a clear blue. the breeze was perfect. The sun was shining. I don't know why, but being Albuquerque has a very calming effect on me. It is very serene.
The courtroom was packed, and hot. We were ushered over to the left side of the room. It was nice to see some familiar faces. There was great representation of the UNM staff. It seemed that the entire English Department was present.
Shortly after being seated, we were told that the murderer's family had intentionally positioned themselves in the front and center rows of the courtroom. We were reassured that there was a security plan in place should anything happen. The distasteful and disrespectful act of the murderer's family was not taken lightly. This is just my opinion, but it seemed that the bailiffs and deputes glared in that direction, but only when they were not glaring at the murderer. In retrospect, I think that the family's behavior echoed the murderer's personality: arrogant, uneducated, and disrespectful.
I am very grateful to the deputes in the courtroom. They were key in making a very difficult situation a little less stressful. They intentionally stood in the murderer's eye line so he was unable to see or communicate with his family. It seemed that they had a low opinion of the defense attorney; every time the attorney asked the murderer to stand, the officer would tell him no and motion for him to sit down.
A low opinion of the defense attorney seemed a fair assessment based on what we witnessed. Despite repeated requests from the judge, he refused to speak into the microphone- even moved it away from him. When the judge asked the murderer why he was being charged with murder (standard question to establish, for the record, that the murderer was capable of understanding, etc.) he interjected and danced around admitting that his client was a murderer. He seemed the type of attorney that gives lawyers a bad name.
Once the series of charges were read and agreed to, they began to call the family to speak.
My aunt went first. She spoke of Hector's struggles and how he overcame every obstacle that was presented. She told how difficult it was to keep lying to my grandmother- telling her that Hector was on sabbatical in Europe and would be back soon.
My sister went next. Speaking through tears, she talked about their last visit and their relationship. Again, very appreciative of the DA victim's advocate representatives- they came up and stood with her so she could finish her statement, even brought her water.
I was next. (The whole time my aunt and sister were speaking I was wishing I had a xanax that I usually joke about. This would have been the perfect opportunity to have one.) As I walked up to the podium the victim's advocate asked if I was ok and if it would be ok if she stood with me. That was appreciated. She stood in my eye line so there were no distractions. When I walked up to the mic, I was shaking and my voice cracked when I stated my name.
Instinct told me to cry. My body wanted to fold. But in my mind, I kept thinking that I was speaking for Hector and his memory. I reached deep down to places I didn't know I had. I maintained, in my head that I was there to honor Hector; make him proud. That carried me. There was nobody else in that courtroom, just the judge and me. I looked him in the eyes. I stood up straight. I spoke loud and clear. I had a steady voice. This is what I said:
Shortly after my uncle Hector was murdered, I went to a grief counselor to help deal with the loss. His first exercise in recovery was to write a letter to my uncle. The counselor asked that I write everything that I ever wanted to say to uncle Hector but did not have the opportunity.
I knew that the exercise was unnecessary. I always told uncle Hector what I thought and how I felt. Uncle Hector was on speed dial and there was always an email in my in-box. I seized every opportunity say, “I love you, I miss you, I look forward to our next holiday.”
Though I dismissed the grief counselor and his silly exercise, I later realized that the things that I never had the chance to say to uncle hector before he was killed are a constant. He was my dictionary, my thesaurus, my teacher and my mentor. Uncle Hector was not just an uncle.
Even his great niece and nephew knew the love of ‘The Great Uncle Hector’. He would always say my son’s name with a slight Portuguese accent. He called my daughter, besitos-besitos- little kisses, and La plus belle bebe du monde- the most beautiful baby in the world, in flawless French. He never missed a birthday and never missed a Holiday. There was always a card in the mail or Omaha Steaks at our door step. Uncle Hector was a phone call away for finishing any book report for his great nephew. He could answer any question about any subject. Our last literary question was whether or not “Bah-hum-bug” was actually used in Victorian times or if Charles Dickens coined the phrase for the book. Uncle Hector had the answer.
Uncle Hector went through life being so sure that he never wanted children. Of this, he was positive. On our last visit, he confided that spending time with his nieces and nephews growing families gave him the desire to settle down and start a family. He said that he found the woman of his dreams, Stefania. Uncle Hector had navigated all the obstacles that life had to offer him; he was at peace in life. All was right in his world.
Now, my husband and I recall the good times with uncle hector. We ponder trivia and know that uncle hector would have the answer. My 12 year old son now knows a hurt and grief that no growing boy should know. He often lectures his friends about what hurting or bullying another can lead to. My 4 yr old shouts out his name when we look through pictures and knows that mommy sometimes cries about him. So many things will send me down memory lane: Lyle Lovett, red wine, good movies, funny things that the kids say- they are all a conversation that should happen.
Ralph Montoya is a COWARD. Perhaps Mr. Montoya was never told that someone loved him, missed him or cared about him. Perhaps Mr. Montoya never knew that he was worth more than a life-time in prison. Perhaps he didn’t value his own life enough to value another’s life.
Uncle Hector had a positive impact on everyone he came across. Perhaps if Mr. Montoya saw uncle hector for the brilliant man that he was, he too could have been positively influenced.
I forgive Mr. Montoya. If I could not forgive him then I too would be the same kind of human that didn’t value life. I’m sure that my uncle would agree. When I was younger, Hector told me to always be circumspect. I never really understood that until after his death.
My uncle was special, he was brilliant, he was intelligent, he had an unforgettable smile.
When I finished speaking I turned to walk back to my seat- I kept my eyes on the murderer for what seemed to be an eternity. He directed his eyes in the opposite direction until the very last moment; then our eyes met.
His eyes seemed vacant. There was no soul. No light. They appeared to be absolutely hallow.
Dad was next. I tried to focus on what he was saying, but the second his voice cracked, I lost it. Hearing my dad trying to maintain composure made me lose mine. I gathered myself just in time for my dad to stop talking.
An English professor was next. He spoke about his admiration for our family's ability to not be bitter or angry. He said, more or less, that the murderer should die in prison a painful death and assured the judge that he deserved no forgiveness. When he turned and walked back he looked right at the murderer and said, "You're a son-of-a-bitch." Though I am choosing to forgive the murderer, I can't help but appreciate that statement.
When the murderer was led out of the courtroom, the largest deputy walked along side the murderer in his eye line so he could not make contact with his family. Being the arrogant SOB that he is, he leaned over and winked and smiled at his family.
Leaving the courtroom, the clanking and jingling of his shackles seemed much louder and exaggerated from when he was brought in.
Victory bells, perhaps.
Our exit from the courtroom was very carefully orchestrated. Again, much gratitude to the bailiffs and deputes that made a difficult situation less stressful. The deputies blocked the murderers family from leaving their seats. They told us to go down first and asked the press to take the interviews outside. Once we were outside, and completely clear of the building they radioed the all-clear to bring down the murderer's family. Three deputies lined up and blocked the family from coming near us, and directed them off the premises.
Once the interviews were all done and the press had gone, many of my uncle's colleagues came up and offered their kind words and share a few stories. They loved all the pictures that we brought of Hector. They spent quite some time looking at them. You could tell that they really miss him. It was very sweet.
I am not sure that speaking my impact statement brought any closure. Our pain was validated, our statements appreciated, our voices heard. There is a peace that comes when you are able to say what you want to say to the right audience.
I am positive that I felt Hector's spirit there. I felt like he was right behind me. I felt he would have been very proud of us and the things we said in the courtroom. That, alone, brings peace.
