17. How to write Your Best Victim Impact Statement for Court, and hopefully get some Closure
17. How to write Your Best Victim Impact Statement for Court, and hopefully get some Closure
(One of those things you never want to know, but need.)
For all you true crime enthusiasts, here’s what happened since I last wrote you…(The names have been changed, but the places are real.) This is a bonus and will not be included in the book. Because kinship caregivers often deal with adult children battling mental illness and addiction (it’s why we take care of the children), we may become exposed to the chaos that happens dealing with consequences of their risky behaviors. I thought this topic relevant for kinship caregivers to know, as I am recently touched by the need to write my own Victim Impact Statement..
I had decided to take a little time off writing-just a couple weeks before delving back into my “homework” from my online class, when the phone rang. I don’t pick up calls unless I recognize the phone number but this caller was identified on my phone screen, Lake County Courthouse. The pleasant voice instantly caught my attention. In the dim recesses of my brain, I recognized this person, but couldn’t place her, or picture a face. I knew this woman…
“This is Cyndi Bolton from the Lake County Victim Assistance Department. Tebor Stian was caught on a routine traffic stop in Pennsylvania, and is being detained at the Lake County jail since the Grand Jury issued a warrant for his arrest in relation to the death of your son, James Cadence. Roni, it’s me-I used to be Cyndi Bell, and I knew you and your son too from a long time ago. My daughter considered him a friend, and reminded me how we used to put them in the playpen together. We last bumped into you about 15 years ago at Memorial Junior High Parent orientation night when the kids were starting. When I saw this case come across my desk, I asked to handle it. I don’t normally do case work anymore. I’m more of a back-up person for the case workers these days, so if you want someone else, I’ll understand.” It was a question.
I’m rarely speechless, but this caught me by surprise. My son passed away January 7, 2021, from a fentanyl overdose. It had been almost three years since he had illegally purchased pills he thought were oxycodeine. While he was texting Tebor Stian whom he bought them from, he had taken a picture of two of the pills next to each other and asked, ”Why do they look different?”. They did not look the same despite similar stamping and size. They were different colors too.
This is the last picture on James’ phone recovered by the police. It shows what counterfeit Oxycodone (actually fentanyl tainted) looks like.
When police arrived, James received two doses of Narcan to try and reverse the fentanyl in his system, but it was too late. He died in a euphoric haze. He went to sleep and stopped breathing. They found his phone, still on the messaging screen to his dealer (who would later tell me and the court he was a friend), and immediately unlocked it so a password would no longer be needed, and switched it to airplane mode so there would be no new messages piling up. On the coffee table next to where the lifeless body lay, was a rolled up $20 bill, powder residue, the two photographed pills, and a bottle with more in it. Around James’ neck was the cross Ned, my husband, had given him when my son asked me for one to wear. It’s a small comfort. He was a believer.
“It’s a lot to take in probably?” I heard Cyndi’s voice and it brought me back to reality.
“I want you. That I know you, and that you knew him, makes you the best person to help. You knew he was good, and not some scum. Thank you.” We chatted about simpler times when we were young with infants, no wrinkles or grey hair, and tiny children were always running around in the backyard with the dog. It was good to think about the happy times. I told her about the grandchildren and how they lit up our lives. We had eased into being a family. We were caught up, and I was feeling better that I would have a supportive advocate to see us through.
“Listen, you have the opportunity to write a Victim Impact Statement, to be read if the court finds him guilty. You can read it or I can read it for you. It’s about how this crime impacted your life. It might help to write outline bullet-style, so that if there’s a trial, you can add or adjust as needed.”
“Why might I add or change the statement after hearing the court case?”
Cyndi hesitated, “You might want to show the court a side of your son not presented to them.” (Okay, James might have his character assassinated… I wanted people to remember how my son lived most of his life, not how he died.)
She went on to advise me to check my email. She’d be sending me court papers and a form. “Roni, most people don’t get this far. James’ texts and picture made a difference.” I thought of Ned who had never heard anything after his son died of fentanyl tainted heroin in another county, and he had gone to the police station and talked to old friends there several times.
“Thank you so very much, Cyndi.”
“I’ll let you know the dates of things too. Don’t forget to download the Vinelink app for updates on the status of Tebor Stain. Till next time!” she cheerfully closed with and hung up.
From Victims’ Information and Notification (VineLink) website:
VINE is the nation’s leading victim notification network. It allows survivors, victims of crime, and other concerned citizens to access timely and reliable information about offenders or criminal cases in U.S. jails and prisons.
Register to receive automated notifications via email, text, or phone call, or check custody status information online at any time.
Available in 48 states and covering 2,900 incarceration facilities, VINE is a lifesaving service that offers peace of mind to millions of people every day.
Click on the link below to go to their site.
I thought of my calls to the Eastlake Police, after James died, who kindly and patiently explained the legal process. A grand jury had to meet to determine if there was sufficient evidence to prosecute. Without proof, there would be no warrant issued for the arrest of Tabor Stian, or if possible, the Prosecutor would be able to tell the police what evidence might stitch up the case more solidly (which is what happened in my case. The police had James’s friend identify Tebor Stian in a lineup as a person they had seen James have dealings with).
I had called the Prosecutor’s office to see what progress had been made in the investigation several times. I was surprised she spoke to me personally and she explained that these things take time. A year later a new Prosecutor was elected. A handsome middle aged man with distinguished grey hair in a polished suit who was personable and shockingly genuine. Numerous times he encouraged me to go to a church sponsored support group whose name escapes me for family of adult children who had overdosed. He was probably correct that I needed therapeutic support but I wanted some closure from a death so abrupt. I wanted to live again, and to remember the sweet memories of my son, not the chaos. I thought justice would bring me some peace, and a support group would cause me to dwell on things I couldn’t change.
The Prosecutor, Mr. Rickard, called me. Tebor Stian was leaning toward “not guilty”. Mr. Rickard mentioned he had offered a plea deal which wasn’t well received-prison, 6 years. I questioned the felony charge of “coercion to use a controlled substance, Schedule 1” versus manslaughter. He explained that he did not believe there was intent on the part of the defendant to kill my son. Eventually, Mr. Stian made a counter plea that the Prosecutor discussed with me as well of 1-2 years. That was a brief discussion.
I wrote the Victim Impact Statement a million times in my head, knowing I was doing it all wrong, so never committing to print. I couldn’t get beyond defending my son’s character for several months, but luckily (?) the legal system is slow. Cyndi warned me that almost no court dates stay the same for the initially scheduled trial. A “continuance” was granted to allow the defense time to review the evidence.
Time also worked on Mr. Stain. He was prepared to plea guilty, and was “broken up” by what happened. He told Mr. Rickard that he and my son were friends…
Cyndi, true to her word notified me of three hearings after that phone call, and I made a point to be at all three. My new boss was amazingly supportive. The first was a formal discussion between the judge and Mr. Stian for which I sat outside in the hall with Cyndi, Ned, and James’ sister, Carrie. Tebor would enter his plea of guilty. The second hearing was to inform Mr. Stian of his rights. I’m glad to have heard the judge’s explanation of “good behavior” and how it could impact the length of time in prison, among other things.
“If you follow the rules and avoid trouble, you can be out in four years. If you are on your worst behavior, the longest we can keep you is six years for this charge.” (That’s not exact wording but it is the general idea.) The courtroom for this hearing was somberly beautiful with its marble and dark paneling. The next hearing would be the final sentencing hearing. I needed the Victim Impact Statement to be submitted at least ten days before the event so that the judge could read it and take it into consideration.
After looking at Victim Impact Statements on the internet, and the form sent by the court that I used and attached to my letter, I finally sat down and wrote in earnest. My focus was different this time. I tried to let go of stories of James’ past accomplishments, (maybe not too successfully) and focused on ME, the victim. I wrote raw and later, after a glass of wine, refined parts. I followed Cyndi’s advice:
Don’t worry about fitting your statement onto the form. Instead, write a formal business letter and attach it.
Include the case number in the header and use the Judge’s name in the greeting.
Try to include a picture of the primary victim somewhere. Consider a poster board to show who you are reading about in court. Cyndi and Mr. Rickard told a story about a mother who went to Build-A-Bear and had her son’s message on her voicemail transferred to the stuffed animal. As she explained why she brought the toy bear to court in her statement, she pressed the paw and played it for all to hear her son say,”I love you, Mom.” There wasn’t a dry eye anywhere in court. Let them see/hear who you are talking about and make them real people to the listener.
Manage expectations. Although the Prosecutor asked me what I wanted for a sentence, the judge determines the prison time, and you are just an influencer.
This one’s from my Breethe AI (Artificial Intelligence) life coach. Concerned I’d cry too much to be understood reading my statement, AI told me to practice reading it in advance to “familiarize myself with the material”. It helped me maintain composure although I did cry a bit as I read clearly.
Attach receipts. You may be awarded damages like funeral costs, counseling, or lost wages.
Also apply for damages within three years of the crime from the Ohio Victim Assistance Fund. It covers up to $7,500 of expenses as a result of crime. It’s worth a shot even if you are denied. (You should only accept payment from one source to avoid having to pay back a second award of damages.) Click on the following link to apply.
Here’s an example of the Victim Impact Statement I wrote for the court:
____________________________________________________________________________
Veronica Akers Victim Impact Statement
November 30, 2023
Re: State of Ohio vs. Tebor Stian
Common Pleas Court Case No. 22-CR-000936
105 Main Street, P.O. Box 490
Painesville, Ohio. 44077
Dear Judge John Vincenzio,
Thank you for the opportunity to be heard, especially since the stigma attached to my son’s death by overdose stifles most conversations that would normally have occurred in different circumstances.
The officer came to our door during Covid, on January seventh of 2021, shortly before the vaccine was available, to tell our family that James was dead. It was the most stunning blow to date. His absence extinguished a light in my life. He wasn’t perfect, but he did an amazing amount of good during his short time here. I miss his smile, the sound of his soul rising out of his saxophone, and the best hugs ever given to me. There’s never been anyone so similar in tastes like James and I. We were very close. I have no one to watch Star War movies and eat Nacho Doritos with anymore.
Having never been one to cry much, James’ death changed me. Two plus years later, I still cry, mostly when alone in the car driving to or from work-probably because it’s some of the brief moments of solitude I have while raising grandchildren as parents 24/7 from my heroin addicted stepdaughter. Our family has paid a horrible price in the war on opioids, and Covid didn’t help. My husband, James’ stepdad, lost a son a few years ago to fentanyl laced heroin, so we are both feeling rather hopeless that society will ever be free of this scourge. James’ death had Ned reliving that past all over, as he helped me plan a funeral he never had opportunity to, for his biological son. Bare bones during Covid, in May of 2021, we held an outdoor service at All Souls Cemetery for the wellbeing of relatives who came despite the pandemic from around the U.S. We did not have a viewing, but rather, a dinner at Red Hawk Grill after because of their outside patios with heaters. The cost to us was slightly over $9,000 for the cremation, cemetery niche, and celebration of life. I am told that is inexpensive these days, but it was a bit of a hardship at the time. I am the breadwinner while Ned was forced to retire early to care for the grandchildren, ages three and five, at the time of James’ death (though newborn, addicted to heroin, and 2 ½ years old, abused and neglected, when the children first arrived). The funeral and burial costs were unexpected.
To my son’s boss’s disappointment, we did not include people outside the family. (She had asked me to include his coworkers who were devastated, in a meeting where she gave me the contents of his office saying how no one had been aware he had any kind of problem. She comforted me telling me earnestly that it would take two people to replace him-“He was that good at his job!”) I regret not including them, but fear was thick at the time of spreading the disease I had been dealing with so harshly in my career as a nurse.
I did not have the luxury of falling apart, but my son’s untimely death took a psychological toll as well. I tried some counseling, but even with insurance, it was expensive, and frankly, didn’t change the fact that my son whom I’d loved so unconditionally was dead. I tried a support group at the cemetery with James’ sister. That wasn’t helpful and stressed Carrie out hearing my grief reveals of things she hadn’t known. My primary doctor doubled my antidepressant, and I kept working. I honestly didn’t care about anything or one except the grandchildren. They gave me purpose, and I feel that they saved me. My crying in front of them came to a halt when the five year old grandson’s, Andy’s, teacher asked if there was trouble at home due to his acting out more than usual? I put on my big girl panties and put away my son’s photos around the house to stop reminding me of him (though it really didn’t work).
If one thing good came out of my son’s death, I am a better parent. I’ve had an abundance of reflection on what went wrong? James had told me, on more than one occasion, that he’d had the perfect childhood. I know, thanks to Alanon, that I can’t control my adult children’s choices. I have had guidance from the elder grandchild’s counselor on new parenting models for trauma victims (as the grandchildren are), and Ned helps me stay strong on punishments when I really want to give in. My memories of raising James wash over me as I watch Andy ride a bike without training wheels, or Addie read “I Love You Forever”, a favorite between my son and mom who was a major part of his upbringing. The night he died, she fell and broke her hip at the time of his death issued on the certificate. She lost that spark and willingness to live since.
My father taught me a simple lesson long ago. When you do wrong, you have a responsibility to right your mistake. How can Tebor Stian accomplish this?
My son will no longer build houses for flood victims with a mission group, or match the homeless up with benefits. He can’t volunteer anymore as a camp counselor of special needs kids, or play his saxophone for others’ benefit. He won’t read Andy stories or come to holiday dinners that he really loved. So did I. Poor Andy, who already lost his parents to opioids, now asks where his uncle is?
I would challenge Mr. Stian, that if he is ever truly sorry for the death of James, if there is any justice in this universe, he has an obligation to do the good my son would have continued to do in his life. If Mr. Stian isn’t transformed by this horrible event that he was a major contributor in, then I at least hope, for the sake of Mr. Stian’s mom, that he learn a job skill to have an alternative means of support. Please give him enough time in prison, to regret his chosen profession, so my grandchildren won’t be his next victims.
When I met with James’ boss, she told me gently that two weeks before he died he had written his own obituary in an inservice for all their staff. She put it on top of the box,
“I hope that when I’m gone, people think of me as a philanthropist, someone who did good for others with what I had, to help make the world a better place.”
Rest well my son. You accomplished your goal. I forgive Mr. Stian if he leads a life that makes him add value to the world. If he chooses to continue in his former heartbreaking ways, I hope he burns in hell.
Sincerely yours,
Veronica Akers
____________________________________________________________________________
I attached receipts for the funeral and counseling as the court form requested.
Mr. Stian was sentenced to 4-6 years in prison in relation to the death of my son. His mother, who spoke on his behalf, broke my heart. She lost a son just like I did, if only for a moment. I heard that Tebor now is facing additional charges in Mentor Court for trafficking. Apparently, his guilty plea opened a door for further prosecution on another charge.
Writing Impact Statements has become a necessary skill for me, as I helped others write two more since. The second VIS helped our former nanny on behalf of her friend facing jail time. She was writing from the opposite perspective to demonstrate to the judge why her friend should be shown mercy, essentially a type of character reference. A sad case of embezzlement of a family member’s retirement fund is my current project-true evil exists in this world.
I appreciate the good daily. I have seen justice served, and empathized with those who wait for justice. I have been fortunate to experience some small amount of closure. There’s a new civic pride I’m experiencing because of good people and their ability to follow a process to try to ensure everyone has a chance. I feel grateful for the police whose quick thinking to unlock the phone resulted in a closed case. When the phone was returned to me by the detective, I read texts from several people to James, particularly Tebor Stain. Thank you Eastlake Police. I know this was not a friendship now for sure.
It’s time to return to my classwork and editing, but I’ll drop you a line from time to time. I really hope you never need this, and to end on a more light hearted note, for those of you following this blog, Andy, alias Houdini, can now get past five different nighttime monitors….Ned is going to Home Depot…
In the months to follow, I need to find a way to generalize resources beyond my tiny spot of earth. If you live within my county, the agencies I talk about are easily accessed with links, but how can I serve a wider group like the United States? I’ll edit and add a few more resources I’ve found. PLEASE leave comments-it’s so exciting to get input-did I help? Was it interesting? Do you need something as a kinship caregiver that you’d like to know more about? Do you have a burning need to get your story out? I want to hear from you. Keep your chin up, and I’ll be in touch.