Widow's victim impact statement

Victim Impact Statement October 14, 2015 R. vs Natsis THAT INSTANT “Where’s daddy’s truck? Why isn’t daddy’s truck in the driveway?” These are the first words I heard our then nine year old daughter Regan call out to me that Friday morning, April first. Except it was no joke. It was hours after a collision that took the life of Bryan Casey, her father, my beloved husband. That was four and a half years ago. You ask me if it hurts. On March 31, 2011 I took all of our children to Gabriel’s, our eldest, final tryout for a representative regional soccer team. We returned home, school work complete, and the bedtime routine began. Bryan worked as a Senior Engineer and Project Director for Siemens on a green energy project at the Chalk River Nuclear Facility. He traveled up with his team on Monday mornings, and returned Thursday evenings if the roads were in good condition. That night I received word our son had been selected to the team, and I was excited to share the news with Bryan. I sent a text to Bryan asking his ETA. I never heard back. Sometime before midnight on March 31, 2011, I was woken by the unceasing knocking on the door. At first I thought it could be our neighbour needing assistance, or perhaps Bryan had left his keys behind at work. A quick glance out the window told me that wasn’t the case, as his vehicle was not in the driveway. Two officers from the OPS stood there. They asked me to confirm my name, and was I indeed married to Bryan Casey. They said there had been a crash. I invited them inside and before I even had an opportunity to sit down they told me Bryan had died, unleashing a torrent of emotions from me. The police had been charged to notify next of kin and had no details of what had happened. They called victim support services for me and kindly stayed with me while I phoned family. Hours passed. The looks on the faces of those two officers said it all. They had delivered news that would leave our 1 lives shattered and introduce a depth of sadness we could never have imagined. When I learned the driver of the other vehicle had been drinking, I did my best to fight off an overpowering urge to scream. Waiting for him the night he died has plagued me with a type of survivor’s guilt. After the winter sports season had ended, he popped a note to me: Sorry to see hockey over. All three kids with great seasons. Time to face facts LeeEllen - I’ve created the dream team. I gathered that dream team on the Friday morning to explain as best as I could what had happened. I will never forget the look of pain in their eyes, in their hearts. Our 11 year old Gabriel said we will always remember the day daddy died. I asked him, his younger sister and brother, to instead always remember the life daddy lived, and to cherish his intelligence, his goodness, his humour, and the fun he brought into our lives. Gabriel instantly recalled a story of when, as a toddler, he was sitting on Bryan’s lap. He said daddy told him a hilarious story that made him laugh so much, he peed on daddy’s lap. Already understanding what life without his dad would mean, he retrieved his piggy bank and offered it to me. THE BEGINNINGS We met on a blind date. The Maple Leaf Ball in London, England, the makings of a Hollywood script. He told me he’d be the tallest, best looking man there. He was right. When we met one another face to face for the first time he told me I wasn’t half bad. He grew up in a close Irish family, first in England, then Australia, then back to England. Family and education were priorities for them. Lessons came in many ways. One story he recounted for me is the time a thief broke into their flat. Hearing a noise, his granny went to the kitchen and greeted him. She said things must be grim if you’re hear to steal from us. She pulled out a chair and poured him a cup of tea. These compassionate, real and humble beginnings set Bryan out on a determined path. 2 Bryan had a brain the size of a melon, the kind Dr. Frankenstein should have stolen and put in a museum. He obtained degrees, numerous qualifications, traveled the world, volunteered, and played, coached and refereed his beloved game of rugby. His nightside table was always stacked with books he had on the go. In the week following his death I turned to those books to know more of what he was thinking about before his death. The book on top was about Winston Churchill’s First Speech as Prime Minister. I turned to the book mark. *Excerpt from The Dire Warning. Our big Irish man pledged an oath of allegiance to The Queen and became a Canadian Citizen. He’d ridicule us for being obsessed with three things: Trudeau, Royal Commissions, the 1974 hockey series. We’d hear it in his gift to identify Canadian moments and weave them into historical facts: “Napoleon didn’t take Moscow, the Nazis got within 21 miles in 1943, but in a war of a different kind, Team Canada conquered Moscow.” For someone with such a profound grasp of the abstract, Bryan often sought concrete proof. The happiest days of his life were about fatherhood. A quick test at the doctor’s office and I was able to share the most wonderful news ever: we were expecting our first child. His heart overflowing with excitement, bursting with joy, he looked directly into my eyes and asked, “Where’s the rabbit?” Bryan was our oyster. A strong shell, closed to those that pry. Innately private, yet he shined when he witnessed his children’s accomplishments. He was erudite, committed, passionate, witty and a sports fanatic. Bryan’s thirst for knowledge was evident as he cherished long, contemplative discussions, never the need to hurry. He didn’t seek the limelight; he was wise enough to espy its responsibility and its pain. When the police left our home that first night, I called the Ottawa Hospital to ensure the staff saw Bryan had signed his donor card and would carry out his wishes to better the lives of 3 others. Sometime, in the days that followed and as my house was filling with people, The Trillium Gift of Life network called and asked me several personal questions about Bryan in reference to his organ donation. She apologized for the personal nature. Soon after I was informed his organs couldn’t be harvested for donation because they were so damaged by the crash. When Ms. Natsis killed Bryan she nearly prevented him from helping others. She failed. Imagine our joy the day we opened a letter from the Eye Bank of Canada.*Excerpt from Eye Bank of Canada letter and Certificate. A final act, selfless and inspiring. We were elated, despite our grief. Bryan’s death could have been prevented. Our scars are a testament to the love and the relationships we had with Bryan. They are wide and deep. Which only means so is the love. As for grief, it comes in waves. At first it felt like I was drowning. Everything around me reminded me of the magnificence of the ship that was Bryan, and no more. All I could do was float. Perhaps find a piece of the wreckage to hang onto. Sometimes I came across them by accident: a sticky note he penned in his masculine, engineering script; a tape he produced for me with songs from our courting days; his guitar songbook. Sometimes I look for it: a photograph of a wonderful moment, his referee cards or rugby shirt, his university letters home to his folks. Sometimes it landed in my lap: a letter to Bryan, addressed in 2012. It had Bryan’s humour written all over it.*Excerpt from a letter from The Arnprior Hospital, including an invoice services provided March 31, 2011. In the beginning the waves came so fast and furious as if they were contraction pains. Like labour, I could not predict the next one, and certainly not venture a guess as to when it would end. Only hope that it would eventually. In between I breathe. I never know what will trigger the grief; perhaps a joke, a single sock lying on the floor, an international sporting event, or building structure Bryan engineered. The trial interrupted even that, having to put everything on hold each time court was in session, forcing us to hibernate from life. That hiatus needs to end now. There’s a lot of life to be lived. 4 The support we experienced in the immediate aftermath of the crash has been overwhelming. Our doors remained open and people filled our home with energy, conversation, meals, with life. The neighbourhood army took over the chores; we were surrounded by love. We soon realized this event was bigger than us. The support kept coming: family, friends, local businesses, our sports communities, our church, our children’s schools. Total strangers reached out: dropping by, through connections, through the internet, the phone, even old fashioned mail. The first card I received from a stranger was written by a woman from Renfrew County. I read it aloud to our children as she had meant it for them. She explained she had lost her own father on the same highway when she was only 12, and she shared in their grief. As pained as he was, Bryan’s dad Gus arrived for his son’s funeral. Overcome with anguish, he reminded me Bryan was born in the Royal Canadian Hospital. He reflected on how the closing chapter of his life was written in Canada. A friend of mine, another hockey mom, dropped in to keep us company. During tea Gus noticed her collar. I don’t know that he had ever met a female priest before. Then and there, he shared with her the utter heartbreak he was feeling. That the pain was in his chest, in his heart. That it was a physical pain hurting so much more than when he lost his father, his mother, his wife to Alzheimer’s. Gus is a rock. I had never witnessed him sharing his pain like this before. My chest constricted listening to him. Bryan’s youngest brother Brendan ministered to me on how every life is complete, no matter its length. I grappled with this, unable to accept it when he stated it so. Bryan’s sister Annette reached out to me and shared words and an understanding only sisters and mothers can comprehend. She was stricken with grief, at time unable to complete our conversations. Bryan’s brother Anthony arrived from Dublin for the celebration of Bryan’s life. His little brother had been killed. He was overcome with pain. He could not deal with the situation. *Excerpts read from sympathy cards and letters of support. 5 On a warm summer’s eve in 2011 I was going through the routine of shutting the house down for the night. I carried the recycling to the curb for collection the next day. Re-entering our home I heard our seven year old Muiredach sobbing quietly. I went to him. He told me he called out for me and when I didn’t answer he worried I was dead too. I’ve had no words to end their pain; only long hugs and unconditional love. That wouldn’t be the only time. Months later I found my daughter in her bed, unable to sleep. She was trembling and said she was praying so hard for her daddy to come back from heaven to visit her, even just for one day. She needed to tell him how much she loved him, and fretted how the opportunity would not come again. How love finds ways to manifest itself in the innocence and wonder of children.*Excerpts from other children’s cards and messages to the Casey children. Bryan had traveled with Gabriel to an away tournament in January 2011. During a snowstorm, a car overtook their truck while driving on the 401. Gabriel gasped, “Daddy look! Look at that crazy yellow car!” Bryan, alert, braced himself for what was to come: the car, spinning 360 degrees repeatedly, sliding across the lanes and coming towards Bryan. He veered to his right. They were t-boned. When his truck came to a stop in the middle of a snow cloud, he turned to Gabriel, reached out, desperate for an answer, asking if he was okay. Gabriel replied yes. Then asked, “Does this mean we’ll be late for hockey daddy?” Bryan’s door was jammed shut. He called 911 and got out of the passenger door, and tended to the occupants in the other vehicle until emergency services arrived. He told me Gabriel was his little soldier. He worried how close they had come. He realized what could have been. He was grateful. Two days later his employer assigned him a new vehicle. This time, a Dodge Dakota. He would call me each day from work, asking about the kids, asking how Gabriel was doing. He kept stressing how strong Gabriel was, that I couldn’t underestimate Gabriel’s fortitude at the moment, and wanted me to watch for any delayed reaction from the trauma. He fretted for what could have been dire consequences, and said Gabriel was stronger than him. 6 From time to time I come across my children’s school work or musings pertaining to their dad’s death: a drawing, a prayer, a thoughtful message.*Selection of artwork, prayers, notes by the Casey children. REACTION Bryan exhibited a sheer presence in life. You couldn’t miss him in a room, not even in a crowd. He was head and shoulders above the rest - literally and figuratively. He had a presence of mind. We miss that presence. When the trial first adjourned in 2012, I had to try to explain the legal process to our children. Gabriel summed it up: she gets to walk free while we face another Christmas without daddy. Each time a family member or friend from abroad arrived in Ottawa for Bryan’s funeral, his celebration of life, our children’s milestones, even for the trial, they were asked by CBSA guards the purpose of their visit. The guards would turn to their computer monitors and search for news of the crash or trial. I met Bryan on a blind date over 25 years ago. He became by best friend. We shared a happiest and true partnership in our nearly 20 years of marriage. He gave me the experience of being deeply understood, truly supported and completely and utterly loved. He was my rock. I am grateful for all he taught me, and I am sorry I never thanked him enough for all that he gave to me. Most importantly, he gave me the best inheritance of all. Three amazing human beings whom I have the privilege of calling our children. We did not get nearly enough time together with Bryan. Even in these last few years of completely unexpected hell - some of the saddest and darkest moments of my life - I know how lucky I have been. I am grateful for every minute he shared his life with me and with our children. 7 I want to thank all of our friends and family for the outpouring of love over the last four and a half years. They understand the burdens, the emotional drain, the job loss, the added insult of overcoming a significant financial burden, the ones suddenly thrust upon me when Bryan was killed. They understand my continued need for psychological counselling, my inability to sleep through the night, my struggles with short term memory. Their support is extraordinary. Each story shared helps keep Bryan’s memory alive. Sitting at my daughter’s hockey game one night, my parental teammate Donna asked me how I was coping, and if my dad was in Ottawa to help. I let her know I lost my father, suddenly and unexpectedly, just months before I met Bryan. She asked whether my mom could assist. I let her know I lost my mother, suddenly and unexpectedly, just before we lost Bryan. Donna pondered, and offered her sentiments as to how much pain my mom must be in to see my family suffering so much. She got it. While camping with friends the next summer, our little girl fell and a doctor advised us to drive to a hospital. He sent off the requisition for an X-ray. When we arrived at Pembroke Hospital, I tried to fly under the radar, worried the hospital staff would read out loud the names Carroll and Casey, and people would put two and two together. I held my breath, hoping my husband’s killer would have no reason to be in the hospital, or on the roads. A couple of summers ago our eldest was asked to speak how our summer vacationing spot was special to us in light of the ongoing circumstances. He declined, his wounds too raw to bear them in public. After some consideration I took his place. In front of 400 people I shared how the actions of Ms. Natsis had altered our lives forever, and how difficult it was to just feel normal when the trial continued in its start and stop pattern. I exposed my heartbreak but expressed my thanks for being with such a dynamic group of people that treated us… just as normal people. What came afterwards was surprising as so many individuals came to me and shared their grief, their support, their opinions. By exposing my own vulnerabilities I received honesty in return. I realized we have a lot more power in ourselves. Life is precious. Bryan would have done everything to preserve it. Being a widow is like being in a club no one wants to join. It is a forced membership. Many times I’ve wondered what Bryan would think about the life I continue to build for our children. He 8 was so deeply invested in my success, he softened my anxious edges and soothed my fears. That in turn helped me to propel our family forward. Alone, I face down those fears. I continue to lean into him, improvising much of the time, always asking what he would want to do in my situation. The comfort of his faith in me, and that of our parents, and the strength I draw from it will never wane. Last year the schools our children attend were hosting presentations by MADD, Mothers Against Drunk Driving. I first learned about it through a phone call from a guidance counsellor. I spoke to our daughter about it. She began to tremble; she teared up. She expressed how she did not want to sit in an assembly and watch a presentation about something she was a victim of and suffering from, knowing people would be watching for her reaction. This past July, three months after the convictions, our youngest children were catching an older episode of Glee. The show’s main character had died from an overdose in real life. In the series, the writers gave no explanation to his disappearance other than he died tragically. In this particular episode, his classmates memorialize him through musical selections. Our daughter pointed out little Muiredach, his eyes filling with tears. I sat down and talked about the pain of losing someone you love. He went to bed and sobbed for hours. I could not calm him down. He couldn’t speak, sobbing so hard he nearly gagged. I laid beside him, rubbing his back. Finally, after midnight, he bolted upright and cried out, “Why did she have to kill daddy?” I was barely audible as I responded. I could only offer my love. THE PLEA The recent, horrific crash in Vaughan, Ontario was such a tragedy. I offer my deepest sympathy to the Neville-Lake family. They are in our thoughts. We’ve had to carry the burden of living in a fishbowl since March 31, 2011. Every day, people would ask us about the trial and when our ordeal would end. Fielding questions at every rink, pitch and grocery store, and feeling sympathetic stares when the name CASEY is on a jersey; it 9 prolonged our grief, and that of our extended circles. Grief makes one so terribly tired. For four years we’ve listened to other people’s anger and carried it for them. Utterly heartbroken, I have had to listen, repeatedly, to the facts of Bryan’s death, from satellite images down to the atoms in his body. His death is like a black hole in our lives. It is always present, yet we try and do our best to move around it without falling in. I can’t control how people treat us or what they say, but I can control how I react to it. It gives me strength to hear so many decent people describe what they saw and what they heard that last night of March 2011, and to witness first hand their inner sense of justice they exhibited in society and here in the courtrooms. If our children grow up with one iota of the courage displayed by these people, I know Bryan and I will have done our jobs as parents. Bryan had such presence. After working to provide for his family, he was driving home to be with his us. He stayed in his lane. As an engineer he certainly understood physics. As an elite rugby player he knew what results when force meets force. He made a decision. He slammed on his brakes and veered away from you. Bryan Casey helped save your life. You’re welcome. Each day I wakeup and the first thing I notice is my empty bed. My mattress floats at times like a raft in the middle of a black ocean. The darkness tangible, latching in my throat without warning and gumming up my lungs. I’ve had to coach myself on how to breathe it. I give daily thanks for what we do have, including having Gus, who has now flown 96,516 kilometres to attend the trial. Sometimes I have to pinch myself behind by ear, just to remind myself I am solid. Sometimes I turn to another of Bryan’s bedside books: “A Journey” by Tony Blair. It is still there, still earmarked to the last page he read. *Excerpt from the chapter “Departure.” I have had plenty of opportunity to deal with and perform under pressure in my life. Never could anyone have prepared me for what was to come after Bryan’s death. A week after the convictions and while Gus was still in town, we had the pleasure of watching Gabriel at a high school rugby game. It was a big come from behind effort, and as the final try 10 was scored to secure the win, Gabriel went down on his haunches. I watched him, unable to read his face, wondering if he was nauseous or concussed. As the try was converted I realized he was upset. His teammates, thinking the tears were about their victory, hugged him. The coaches, knowing what had transpired the week before in court, understood. He shook the hands of his opponents, their coaches giving him one hug after another. He came off the field and collapsed into my arms, bawling. Never has he shown such emotion in public, in front of his peers. We remained there until the stands emptied; all I could do was cry with him. Gus joined in. I took a deep breath. Gabriel spoke with his granddad. “All I want is for my dad to be proud.” We are buoyed by all of the love and support we received after the convictions. The analysis, the love, came in from Texas, California, Michigan, New Hampshire, New York, Florida, Yale Law School, Germany, Belgium, Sweden, Kenya, South Africa, Australia, New Zealand, Ireland, Wales, and from every corner of Canada. And it keeps coming. Even in Tim Horton’s, last June, some employees recognized us from the media reports about the trial’s conclusion. They came to us, grasping our hands, tears streaming down their face. Without ever having met us before, these people expressed their sorrow for our loss. You killed a human being, how inhumane. His name is Bryan Casey. He was someone’s son. His father Gus is here. He was the father of three young children, in too much pain to be present. He was a man, my loving husband, a contributor to progress. He was a Canadian Citizen. True peace is not merely the absence of war, it is the presence of justice. You do not get to change us. I won’t carry others’ anger. It’s like drinking poison and expecting the other person to suffer. I have spent the last four and a half years trying to do everything within my sphere of influence to ensure our children have the lives they would have had, had their father not been stolen from them. It is an act of life for my husband. An act of love for Bryan Casey. I will not walk away from my responsibility. I would like to thank the Court, the Crown, and all who testified. I would like to express our heartfelt thanks to all of those who stopped to assist at the crash scene that night. They gave their care, their expertise, their love - no matter which driver they were attending to, no matter the treatment they received in return. I share my deepest gratitude for those who were with 11 Bryan during his last moments on this earth: I have solace knowing the last thing he saw- and had the presence to know - was in fact not the headlights of a drunk driver, but rather the eyes of love. For that I am eternally grateful. May God bless Bryan’s memory, heal the heart, and bind up the wounds. May justice be served. You ask me if it hurts: only when I breathe. LeeEllen Carroll with Gabriel, Regan and Muiredach Casey 12