Your Honor,
It had been a
wet May. As I recall on my ride home from work that Sunday morning, May 22nd,
the sky was overcast, the streets appeared damp in places, as if it
had rained on the 201 during the night.
The snow pack on top of the Wasatch mountains was higher than usual.
Along the Wasatch front, river water flow was higher than it had been
for years, giving rise to fears of widespread flooding in the cities, similar
to the spring floods of 1983.
Other items also dominated the news. Politics, the looming
federal debt crisis, Mideast troubles, terrorism. For Judi, Jonathan and I, we like everyone
else had lives filled with the endeavors involving business of life
itself. Of work, maintaining a home,
school, families, church, shopping, and the occasional vacation.
And on it went. Our lives were not in any way
extraordinary. Our two daughters had
already married, and moved away to begin their own families. Jonathan had, since returning from his
mission for the Mormon Church had lived at home. For nearly a decade, he worked and attended
school part time. He planned to graduate in late summer from the University of
Utah with a bachelor degree and was actively seeking employment.
To our delight, Jonathan had met a young lady on the
internet. She had been married
before. While Jonathan had never been
married, and didn’t date very much, he had several conversations with her two
boys, and it seemed that Jonathan, and her family might be able to meet to see if
there was anything on which to build a future relationship. And that was the plan. On Friday, the 27th Kim was to fly
out from Colorado to meet Jonathan for the first time. They had made arrangements to see the sights
and perhaps go to the Sunday morning broadcast of the Spoken Word on Temple
Square.
The following Saturday, June 4th, the three of us
had planned a trip to Toronto, Ontario Canada, to attend Jonathans cousin’s
wedding. All the arrangements had been
made, planned, the flights and hotels paid for.
While there, we were going to visit Palmyra, and noteworthy religious
sites related to the early founding’s of the LDS faith.
On Monday, May 23rd, I had agreed to go with
Jonathan to a Bees’ baseball game. For
about a year, I had stayed away from the games.
They were noisy, the seats were uncomfortable, and they always lost when
I went. Usually, recently, Jonathan went
by himself as of late, sometimes Judi went
with Jonathan. So I relented and told my
son I would once again go with him to another game. Looking back on the terrible days that
followed, this decision was one of the best I ever made. If I had decided otherwise, the guilt, the heartache
and emptiness would have been almost unbearable.
After nearly a year,
they still are.
But on that early Sunday morning, those events were still
the future. In the past, especially in the early years, before the twins left
home, we made our home in Canada and took many trips as
a family, vacationing in the United States, and among the forests and plains of
western Canada. Jonathan spent his formative years in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan.
He played the trombone, the piano, was an avid hockey player, and loved just
about anything to do with sports. He was
also deeply involved in scouting. Just
after his fifteenth birthday, he earned the Chief Scout, which is the Canadian
equivalent to the American Eagle Scout.
He served a mission in Ouebec, Canada, and was finishing School at the
University of Utah, while working as an Emergency Medical Technician for Gold
Cross Ambulance, at the time of his death.
When I arrived home
on the morning of the 22nd, I
had just finished up my work week on graveyard shift, at the
University of Utah Hospital. As usual, I
planned to attend the 9 AM church service, return home and sleep for a few
hours, according to the rhythm of my internal clock, from working the rotating
shift at the Hospital for many years.
I gathered my knap sack, stepped away from the car, and
started walking to the front door. What
happened next felt like someone had taken a gun to my chest and pulled the
trigger. My wife ran out the front door,
screaming my name.
Jonathan had been in
an accident and he wasn’t responding.
Shocked, stunned to the core, I asked her what happened. She said Jonathan had been in car accident,
and had been taken to the emergency room at the
Inter Mountain Medical Center in
Murray. They had found her name on his
cell phone and had called, to let her know about Jonathan.
My wife went back
inside to get her street clothes on. I
turned back to the car, opened the door and slumped in the car seat, crying,
saying stuff like: “Please dear God,
don’t take my son’s life, oh please don’t take Jonathan’s life…”
When my wife returned, we knocked on the Bishops’
counselor’s door that lived across the street.
Then the three of us drove to the hospital. On the way to the hospital, we had to detour around the scene of the accident.
When we arrived at the Shock Trauma unit on the fifth floor
of the hospital, a neurosurgeon ushered us into a conference room. Our hearts
sank as he told us the terrible news. Jonathan had been in a car accident and had
suffered severe brain injuries. It was
very likely he would not survive. The
only chance he had was for the doctors to perform a craniotomy, to remove part
of the skull and try to bring down the pressure on the brain, which was due to
the massive injuries inflicted. If the
pressure was not relieved, Jonathan would not survive. Even so, Jonathan’s chances of survival were
slim at best.
Our world had just been violently turned upside down. On the early Sunday morning, our beloved son
of almost 32 years, dressed for work and walked out the front door, never to
return. Just a few hours later, he lay
in the hospital virtually brain dead, with little or no chance of survival.
As bad as those first hours were I had no idea how bad it
would get, or the depth of the nightmare that lay ahead.
At the hospital, my wife was given Jonathan’s cell
phone. On the phone there was a text
message from a young lady in Colorado Jonathan had been corresponding
with. A few days before, she had agreed to
visit our home and meet Jonathan for the first time. The meeting was to take place the following
weekend. The text message read:
“I hope you are having a good day.”
For the next eight days, we along with friends and relatives
fasted and prayed, hoping for a miracle.
But it was not meant to be. All we could do was look on in horror while
our beloved son died before our eyes.
What was left of him.
During that time, we pleaded with God to
let our son live; for Jonathan to open
his eyes, to be himself again, to rise from that bed, whole and complete. But what if Jonathan had opened his eyes? What then? Would he have been a raving
lunatic, mad with pain? Blind, deaf or
dumb, or all three, spending the rest of his life in a drugged stupor to
relieve the pain? A salivating
vegetable, unable to respond, leaving us to care for him 24 hours a day, seven
days a week for the rest of his life?
How would that have worked? And
how would we have paid for it?
As the week wore on it took a toll on our health. Day by day, Jonathan was slipping away and
there was nothing the doctors could to do to save him. My body felt as if it had turned to
lead. Just walking from the parking lot
to the fifth floor took all the energy I could muster. Sleep came in fits, the
tears and pain flowing from the gaping hole torn in our hearts, the loss and
emptiness seemed but words that did little justice to the events of those awful
days. I wanted to flee, to be anywhere but in the middle of that nightmare, watching
the nurses shake Jonathan, trying to wake him, watching as he flopped lifeless
in their arms, as though he were nothing more than a rag whipping in the wind.
Of course, we also
had to listen and watch as the doctor’s showed us slide after slide of the
MRI’s and CT scans which showed, even to
the untrained eye, massive, irreparable brain damage, and to
watch as Jonathan’s brain swelled beneath the thin layer of skin that
covered part of the skull removed by the
surgeons the previous Sunday.
At 9:30 AM on the morning of Memorial Day, May 30th,
Doctor White called and informed us that about 7:30 that morning, Jonathan had
died. He had tried to reach my wife and
had finally contacted me. He said he was
very sorry.
During that week, my wife and I had, in accordance with what we believed was
Jonathan’s desire, made arrangements to
donate his major organs, to do for others what they could not do for themselves.
And if there is any good thing to come
from this tragedy, it was our son’s desire, his life’s work, and his sacrifice
in death. To live to serve others, to relieve their suffering, and when
necessary, give his last measure of life to benefit his fellow man, when life
for him was no longer possible.
He was our beloved son, brother, friend and hero. It was our deep, abiding honor to have been
blessed with such a sweet gentle son, who gave willingly of himself and who in
life and in death, blessed the lives of so many.
Jonathan was laid to rest on June 4th, the day we
were to be in Canada at his cousin’s wedding.
He was born in Provo. We buried
him near my parents at the Provo City Cemetery, in clear view of the “Y” on “Y”
mountain. He was interred in a royal blue casket. Jonathan was a big fan of BYU
football.
Someday, Heavenly Father will remember our son, and the life
he lived. He will bless Jonathan with a new mind, and a new heart. All that Jonathan sacrificed that others
might live will be restored to him. And
by the power of the Saviors atonement and the resurrection he will bring
Jonathan forth from the grave, filled with life and restore him to us. We will
then be together forever as a family in heaven.
As for the events leading to Jonathan’s death, I will simply
say this. There is no bail that can
release my son from the grave. There is no
parole, no early release from death.
Someday, when Mr. Gutierrez has paid for his terrible crimes, when he is
released from Prison, he will at some point be reunited with his friends, to
converse with them, to be with his family, to hold, to hug his children, to
love and be loved, and start his life anew. Of course, that is not possible for
us or our son. However, we too can talk to Jonathan. Once a week, Judi and I visit the cemetery,
pay our respects and mourn for our son, that is again, what’s left of him. That and the memories of our beloved which we
will cherish for the rest of our lives.
To show such utter contempt for law, as Mr. Gutierrez did on that terrible day, to drive
with a suspended license, to get drunk, knowing
that later he would be driving…to demonstrate utter depraved indifference to
the lives, and property of others, to act with such despicable cowardice, leaving / abandoning my son,
stuck in that wreckage with massive
brain injuries, to fend for himself, to bleed out and die…the completely
avoidable savage death of our son… a life of
heartache and pain for loved ones
left behind, to deal with the pieces of our shattered lives …
And for what? A
couple of pints of gin and a few cheap thrills?
I proffer the court this question.
Is this the value Mr. Gutierrez placed on my son’s life? Of course
not. He valued the liquor more.
As far as I am concerned, if he is sentenced to spend most
of the rest of his life behind bars, Mr. Gutierrez is getting a far better deal compared to the deal he handed my son.
He will have earned every minute of it.
John Bowers April 27,
2012
I wish to express my profound thanks to those who have come
to be with us today to support us. To
our bishop, his counselors, our friends, neighbors and loved ones who have been
by our side through this terrible ordeal.
To the district attorney, Ms. Johnson, and her assistants, and to the
wonderful doctors and nurses at the IHC Hospital in Murray for their care and
professionalism. I wish to especially
thank Gold Cross Ambulance for their help and the wonderful display and
assistance at his funeral service and at the gravesite and for their ongoing
show of support during these proceedings.
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