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THE COMMONWEALTH OF MASSACHUSETTS

v.

ALEXIS ORTIZ

RE: LAWRENCE J. MONAHAN

March 29, 2007

 Impact Statement of Jacqueline Monahan

I met Larry Monahan on July 17, 1994, on a beautiful, summer’s day, when he walked into my back yard to attend a wedding.  He walked into my yard, into my heart, and into my life that day, and we were together from that time on.  Larry came into the life of a battered, fragile, single parent, and I knew that I had finally come home.  He gave me strength, love, and magic for the eleven years and eight months we were together and he made me feel beautiful every one of those days.  During our time together I achieved things in my life that I had never thought would be possible.  He jumped lovingly into the lives of my two children, Amy and Gary, and a small family became a whole family and he made us his and we were honored that he loved us so much.  Larry took care of me every day from the day we met, whether it was fixing my car, helping out with the kids and our house, taking care of our dogs, or just making a cup of tea in the morning so I could run out the door to work.  I would always tease him that he was spoiling me, and his answer was always the same “what, are you complaining?”  I am blessed that I have been so completely loved and cared for by such a special man, and my children’s and my granddaughter’s lives have been fuller and richer because he embraced them so strongly and lovingly. 

But Larry didn’t reserve that caring and kindness for his family.  Larry was the man who would rarely pass a friend or a stranger in need.  He gave away countless hours of his time, and not just time, but his own money to help fix the cars of friends, family, friends of friends.  If I chided him about the time he spent with others, he would tell me that he had been given a gift, and because it was a gift his job was to share it with anyone in need, whether they could pay him or not.  Larry didn’t just fix cars, he fixed people.  Young men at his job were taken under his wing and help out and mentored.  He watched out for them and did his best to pull them back if they were looking for trouble.  Friends and neighbors could always expect a hand if they were in need, no matter how weary he was or how tight money was, he was always generous.  In our own home, countless kids have spent a night, a week, and sometimes months on our couch or in our spare room because he didn’t just allow me to be kind to them, he gave of himself generously with a little talk here and a few dollars there and a true caring of how they were doing.  His heart was so full and big he rarely said no to a request for help.  And the truth is, he never felt like he had worked hard enough, shared enough, done enough for any of us.

On January 30, 2004, Larry suffered a heart attack.  One week later on February 6, he had triple by-pass surgery to repair his heart.  On February 19 we got the call near 3 a.m. telling us that “it was time” for our granddaughter to be born, and we got on the road to the hospital.  Larry had had open heart surgery thirteen days before, and had been home for five days, but he wouldn’t let me drive so far alone and he didn’t want to miss out seeing Mairin when she got here, because he loved me and so he came and fell in love with our new little girl, and he became her Pepe and was amazed at the joy and laughter she brought into our lives and honored that he was treated like her “real” grandfather.

Larry and I never expected that we would have forty or fifty years together; we were in our forties when we met, it was almost impossible to imagine.  When Larry had the by-pass surgery his doctors told him that the repair was usually good for some ten to fourteen years, and that then either a patient would have a new surgery in the hopes of further repair and longer life, or that sometimes the heart simply couldn’t last that long, and the patient would die.  And, we tried to embrace life and not pay attention to time and to not live like he might die in too short a time because any day that he was here and alive after his surgery was a gift and a blessing.

It’s why he finally gave in to his desire to buy a motorcycle and to give something to himself.  And truth be known, it was as much for me and for us as a couple as it was for him, because it wouldn’t have been right if it was only for him.  It was our dream machine, and for that wonderful week between the day we bought the bike and the day he picked it up, we dreamed a lifetime of where we would go and who we would be with and what we would see and enjoy.  We thought we were awesome to have accomplished this great thing.  He was like a child waiting for Christmas and he was still waiting to see if Santa was going to forget or change his mind about leaving that special something for him.  He woke me up at 4:30 a.m. on that Saturday morning, March 18, 2006, and he was crying but he smiled and asked “Did he come yet?”, because I had been teasing him about being worse than a kid waiting for Santa on Christmas morning.  It was wonderful, and joyous and the next few hours were filled with his anticipation and then pure joy when he came out of the dealer’s garage on that machine.  I followed him down the road a bit, and then turned off to do an errand.  He called five minutes later to make sure I had enough money, because he had forgotten to ask if I needed anything, and he was crying again that I had given him this wonderful thing, and still trying to take care of me, because that’s who he was. 

Alexis Ortiz, I’ve shared just a small part of the man who was Larry Monahan, my husband, my honey, my dearest friend, and my love.  At about 4:35 p.m. on March 18, 2006, a cold and dreary Saturday afternoon you killed that beautiful man and you took more away from me and our children, family, and friends than you will ever know.  You insist that you were not under the influence of any alcohol or drug substance, and I say that if you were not, then your wanton and reckless behavior is all the more reprehensible and unforgivable and that this small punishment and time from your life that you’ve been given will never be enough, but I have to accept that it is all the satisfaction we will be given.  We do not even have the small comfort of filing a claim for monetary compensation against an insurance company, which might ease the financial impact we face as a result of your actions, because you and your family are so irresponsible that the automobile you drove when you killed Larry carried no insurance coverage, and there will be no satisfaction found regarding that issue.

I have three things to say to you: 

Firstly, you owe us a life.  Your life.  You took Larry Monahan, a wonderfully kind, generous and loving man from all of us, and you owe him and us a life.  Maybe we didn’t have another twenty or thirty years with him, but that your actions killed him even one day before he might have left is too much to bear.  You took a father from the children and grandchild who loved and adored him and the grandchildren yet to be who will never know him.  You took away the simple joys in my life of just sharing every day with Larry whether it was good or bad, as it was ours to share together. You took away much of the financial security that he provided to us, and so every day I worry whether I will be able to keep the home he was so proud to share with me.  So, when you finish your time in jail, as Larry would say “straighten up and fly right.”  Do the right thing, not just when it’s easy, but when it’s not so easy and it will help someone else.  Be generous with your time and with whatever talent or gift you might develop in your life and share it with people in need.  Be generous with your heart and your wallet.  Be good to your parents and your family, they love you and have stood by you throughout this horrible event, and you can never repay them for the nights they have worried and cried.  You owe Larry Monahan at least the idea that his death might change your life for the better and that if you will aspire to be just half the man he was you will be someone very special.

The second is that I am told that in your culture, the Latino culture, being a man and being macho is of great importance.  Know this: your reluctance to accept and admit your guilt for Larry’s death until today and to refuse admit that you were incapacitated that day is unacceptable.  A man takes responsibility for what he has done in this world and he makes it right if he can.  He owns his mistakes.  You admit to your guilt only to take a lesser sentence and you still refuse to admit any wrongdoing about being under the influence.  You will never truly be a man, no matter how old you are, until you acknowledge this responsibility.

Third and last know and hear this:  I will never pray for you or your family, and I will never forgive you.  My desire and my strongest wish for you and for your family is that you will know my pain and suffer my loss.  That you will love with all of your heart and that you will lose that love; that you will reach out for the person you love and not be able to touch that person; and you will know that pain that comes when you realize you will never see that special face or hear that beautiful voice again.  I wish that you will know the same financial loss and fear that I live with every day.  I hope you will know Larry’s daughter’s and stepchildren’s pain from losing someone who is so loved and cherished.  I wish that you could know that you didn’t just kill Larry Monahan, you killed a part of me and of everyone who knew and loved Larry and I hope that you and your family will know that pain for the rest of your life.