Art of Redemption

W hile sitting at the defense table in a federal courthouse, I listened intently, with tears flowing, as the father of the man I was on trial for killing spoke. From the witness stand he read the last letter he would ever receive from his son. That is when I realized that my actions had stolen the life of a son, a brother, an uncle, and that nothing I could ever do could repay those whom I have harmed. I have never been able to explain my actions or why I killed Andrew Marti. No words can explain the taking of a human life. Each day I live with what I have done.

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