2.Victim Impact Statements

PATRICIA CAMPBELL: Good morning, Judge O'Toole. Good morning. I'm Patricia Campbell, and this is my husband William Campbell, my son, William Campbell, and my brother John Riley.

I'd just like to take this opportunity to say I want to thank the jury for what they did. I'm very pleased. And your Honor. I feel that the parents brought you here for a reason, for a better life. And obviously you're intellectually pretty bright and you had -- you could have helped your brother get help. I feel that you went down the wrong road. I know life is hard but the choices that you made are despicable and what you did to my daughter is disgusting. And I don't know what happened. I mean, I really wish you had gotten the help for your brother. And -- I don't know what to say to you but I think the jury did the right thing.

Would you like to speak? This is my husband William.

JENNIFER ROGERS: I'd like to thank your Honor for the opportunity to speak today, and also to the jury, the FBI and law enforcement and the U.S. Attorney for all their hard work and support.

There are not words that can accurately describe the heart-wrenching pain I have suffered due to the actions of the defendant. In the past two years I have lost my younger brother and friend. I have been dragged through an emotional tug of war between trying to mourn that, live a normal life, and the spectacle of a federal death penalty trial and the media circus that goes along with it.

We are a private family, six kids and two loving parents living in a small town. We grew up, we moved out and started becoming contributing adults, many of us working in the human services filed to make a difference. When Sean died, I was working with adolescents on an inpatient mental health unit and bartending to make ends meet. I was behind the bar the night that I got the call from my dad at 12:08 a.m. that Sean was shot. Sean was dead.

I left work immediately, unsure how to get to the hospital, not realizing that I couldn't get a cab because the city was shut down as the men who savagely murdered my brother were still out there attempting to ruin the lives of other families. When I was finally able to get to the hospital, I was told my family was in a room down the hall. I opened the door and saw them sobbing and wailing over Sean's dead body. I would never have gone into that room had I known I could never wash that memory from my mind ever.

I went to school for forensic science and knew immediately based on the distortion and the entry wounds to my brother's face, that he had been shot in the head, and more than once. I don't believe I was in that room for more than two minutes because I didn't want to keep looking at and examining the wounds. That's not how I wanted to remember him. This is (indicating.)

After leaving that room, we were told that there were more people, not family, waiting down the hall for us. I walked into a room of full-grown men sobbing. Most were police officers. I had never seen anything like that before and I don't know if I could ever explain the weight of heavy sadness in there, although now it's something I experience quite frequently. Shortly after that was our first media assault. They had sent someone to the hospital to try and speak to us about how we felt about Sean's murder. She was young looking and blended in quite well, but it was a first look at how our grief would be treated through this point as a salacious story.

The next few days were a blur. I went where I was told, usually by escort, now learning not only was my brother a murdered cop, but he was murdered by the same terrorists who killed three other people, maimed and physically injured hundreds more and aimed to destroy the city I live in and love dearly.

During this time we were visited by friends and family, and the press was on the porch of the neighbor's house trying to get pictures of us crying as we welcomed the condolences of loved ones. In the past two years I've had to call the police because this has become a normal occurrence.

Over the past two years I've tried to find some sort of normalcy in my life to try and find my identity again, but my life isn't normal at all. I can't watch the news without fear of starting off my day hearing about Sean's death, or more frequently, seeing the defendant's face, sending me into complete breakdown or a panic attack. It's hard to forget for even a minute that the happy and loving family I once had is now ripped apart over pure hate that had nothing to do with us, pure hate that I had never before felt, considered or seen, never mind act out on anyone else.

My once private life has been infiltrated and invaded. The media have come to my apartment, know my phone number and my email, and they stalk us on the Facebook. Though not all press is like this and the ones who have been respectful know who they are. I'm approached in public, and sometimes I feel like I have to look over my shoulder, or heaven forbid someone tell me they recognize me because it usually ends with a question about how I feel about the defendant. I've had to learn to cry and smile behind a stone face and oversized sunglasses to prevent it from being misinterpreted and tweeted. I constantly worry about my physical appearance because I can never have a fat or bad hair day without the world seeing pictures of me at my worse. I live in fear and apprehension to meet people because everyone has an opinion or wants to know the gruesome details of Sean's death or even the defendant's life. I sit at restaurants in my city with friends and overhear conversations of strangers talking like they know him. There's nowhere to hide from that feeling as your stomach drops and your face gets hot and you decide whether or not to say something, punch something or just leave.

Being the unmarried siblings in the family was fun with Sean. We could exchange stories and laugh about it, and it was nice to have something in common just to ourselves. I rarely date anymore. Having to explain my life is too difficult for someone outside the circle. Finding someone who isn't around only to be part of a big publicized tragedy or has the ability to empathize and stick around for the stress and emotion of being a part of it feels almost impossible. And these days there's no one to share these dating disasters with at the kids' table at Thanksgiving.

I've always been an outgoing and happy person. While that hasn't completely changed, I find myself finding joy -- less joy in activities or the energy to participate in them. I don't really know what makes me happy anymore. There are days where the process of merely getting through the day has become a goal, never mind any extras, and just putting on underwear I say is a success.

We have been beyond fortunate to have the support system of other survivors, friends, the Boston community, and especially law enforcement and the FBI who have kept us going with events and ceremonies and stories about how amazing Sean was, but I found myself exhausted from wanting to attend everything, to find a purpose or to get a laugh in order to not have to face the reality of what actually happened because if his friends are there, then he is obviously on his way.

There's an emptiness that I cannot manage to fill despite these thoughtful distractions. I have run full and half marathons, gone to concerts and sporting events, participated in corn hull tournaments and kickball games, gone to award ceremonies and met dignitaries, but I would trade it all in for the quiet of knowing my family and my life were whole again.

The defendant has not only taken Sean away from me, but he has taken me away from me in so many ways. I do not believe that I will ever totally recover from that or feel whole again despite how resilient defense counsel claims that I am. The simple pleasures of life are noticeably missing sometimes or my emotions run the full spectrum of intensity at all times. When I'm angry, I am furious. When I am sad, it is a debilitating woe, and sometimes when I feel joy, I feel it so purely that I cry because it is so rare and so powerful now knowing the depths of my grief that I try to hold onto it, not knowing when I will feel that full again.

So now in my journey to reclaim my life, I realize I am starting over. I am accepting that I will never have a complete and happy family ever again and that I will never hear that gut-busting laugh or low snicker followed by, "You're a mess." I will never see that mischievous grin or beg him to ditch whatever girl he's seeing to come meet me for drinks. I will only hear stories of his greatness, his shenanigans and how many people loved him.

I will toast whiskey in his honor and cry with grown men. My family will grow closer and I will grow stronger as I pursue a life of continuing to help others and show unconditional love and not hate. Most importantly, I will revel in the moments of small joy like Sean would, moments that were taken from him with every hope and endless gratitude that I am able and the defendant, who gave them up for hate, cannot.

He will never feel truly sorry for what he's done, only sorry for himself, that he no longer has the things that young people live for, the things that Sean loved most, like a little bit of chicken fried, a cold beer on a Friday night, a pair of jeans that fit just right and the radio up, seeing the sun rise, seeing the love in his woman's eyes, to feel the touch of a precious child and to know a mother's love. Information regarding the defendant that I would like the Court to consider is that I do not know the defendant, nor do I care to know him. He is a coward and a liar. Defense counsel tried to portray him as a remorseful follower of his brother's hate-filled doings. He showed no remorse while his victims and their families stood in front of him disclosing their pain, injuries and experiences. He wouldn't even acknowledge them. He hid behind a dead man who could not defend himself and he took no responsibility for his actions. Every day he walked into this courtroom, head held high with a swagger in his step like he was entering a party with his entourage, his federal protectors.

When Nathan Harmon identified him as the only person leaning into the cruiser over my brother's dead body, rather than just make himself more visible [sic], he stood and pulled on his shirt like he was showing off his new designer clothes, he was daring him to identify the color, he turned his head to watch how a holster like Sean's would work since he had clearly failed before. There was a level of premeditation to this crime against my brother as he parked near by, snuck up behind the cruiser and wore gloves to commit his murder.

He bought milk after setting off a bomb to kill children. I think that this was less to show how little he cared and more to try to set up a videotape alibi. He drove around getting snacks to prepare to kill more people as he robbed a terrified hostage, and heaven forbid he leave his terrorist death soundtrack while he did it.

He has not once shown that he cares about a single person but himself. He ran his own brother over with a car. He was willing to do that, so it's no wonder he had no issue shooting mine in the head. If that did not show a complete disregard for life, then what does? He is a leach, abusing the privileges of American freedom, and he spit in the face of the American dream.

I ask the Court to take into consideration the defendant's actions and impose strict and consecutive sentences for these offense that do not carry the burden of the death penalty so that there is no way the defendant will ever be free to spread his hate again.

Thank you, your Honor.

RICHARD DONOHUE: Your Honor, Transit Police Sergeant Richard Donohue. Last name is spelled D-O-N-O-H-U-E.

My life was changed forever due to the defendant's actions on April 18, 2013, and the early morning of April 19, 2013. On the night of the 18th, Mr. Tsarnaev and his brother murdered MIT Police Officer Sean Collier. He was my police academy classmate, and more importantly, a good friend.

There are many words I could use to describe Sean's character, but I mainly remember him as a selfless individual. Every time I got together with Sean, his light-hearted spirit would boost the mood of everyone around him every single time. He was truly a special person and the loss of him that night is something I'll never forget.

The defendant's actions in Watertown on April 19, 2013, caused me lasting injuries. His attempts to inflict more terror and kill police officers brought me there. I should have died early that morning from the injuries I sustained, but instead was miraculously kept alive through prolonged resuscitation and hours of surgery. I was literally within seconds of leaving this world and leaving my six-month-old son to grow up without a father, a life to live without a husband and a family without a son, without a brother.

Since that morning in Watertown, I've been left with immense, irreversible physical pain, pain that I feel every minute of every day. I endure burning and weakness in my left leg and left foot, a limp, and no fewer than six scars, some ranging up to six inches in length.

I spent two months in hospitals recovering from my injuries. That time included days without being able to eat or drink and nights where I was unable to sleep. The most gut-wrenching time was when I had to watch my friend Sean's funeral on TV from my hospital bed. It's truly hard to put into words how difficult those months were, and then I continued to undergo extensive physical therapy for approximately 18 months after my hospital stays.

My ability to work as a police officer has also been severely affected. My injuries impede me from engaging in recreational activities I formerly enjoyed and excelled at, such as running and swimming. And one of the most difficult parts of my recovery has been my inability to care for my young son. Due my physical condition I've not been able to care for him in the full capacity had I not been injured, and lengthy hospital stays have forced me to miss months away from him, a significant portion in a two-year-old child's life, and every day continues to be a challenge.

My injuries and my situation have not only affected me but my family, friends and fellow police officers. For 72 hours my family was at the hospital and had to deal with the unknown, whether I would live or whether I would die. And even after I came out of surgery, they had to worry whether I would wake up and never be able to move again. They were forced to take substantial time off work and rearrange their entire lives so they could act as caretakers for me.

They drove me to countless appointments and helped with even the most mundane tasks which I could no longer do for myself. I took those for granted as a healthy individual. My friends and fellow police officers also made changes to their lives. They sacrificed their own personal time to stay by my side.

But let me be clear on one thing: The defendant did not succeed in all his actions. Even though I have struggled, am in pain, even though I have had some of the worst days of my life, I'm still standing here. Lastly, this country and this Commonwealth accepted the defendant and his family with open arms as we have to millions of other immigrants since the founding of this country. Mr. Tsarnaev threw away the chance to makes a contribution to society and instead carried out cowardly heinous terrorist attacks. His attacks and actions are no less than treason against the United States of America and should be considered as such.

Thank you, your Honor.

MICHAEL CHASE: My name is Michael Chase. Last name is C-H-A-S-E. Good morning, your Honor.

My life was also changed forever on that afternoon on Boylston Street on April 15th of 2013. Patriots' Day had been a celebrated day in my family for many years. My wife and I had taken that annual trip down Boylston Street to watch at the finish line and cheer on everything that the Boston Marathon represents to so many of us that sit here before you today.

On that Monday we watched from the patio of Atlantic Fish Company with -- there were nine of us total, friends and family. I stood on the planter that separated the Forum restaurant from the Atlantic Fish. We celebrated like we have so many times on a beautiful sunny day with some laughter and a couple of cold beers. I was absolutely -- actually on the phone with my brother at the time, trying to give him directions to Atlantic Fish. He was coming to enjoy the Bruins playoff game that night, and him and his wife were on their way down to meet us on Boylston.

When I heard the first explosion to my left and I took a peek just like everybody else and saw that mushroom cloud fill the sky, and I knew the concussion that I felt wasn't something that was planned and it wasn't part of the festivities, but we weren't quite sure what was going on just yet. At that moment -- you know, in these days you can see a videotape of the defendant making his way in the opposite direction. He clearly knew what was going on.

Seconds later, as I continued to speak with my brother, the explosion took place on my left about 10, 15 feet away. I think you can imagine the highest pitched ring and complete silence all at the same time. Smoke, fire and screams filled the air. And I covered my wife, we took cover underneath the high-top table that we were standing next to, and I ushered her and one of our good friends into the little alcove between the Forum restaurant and Atlantic Fish.

As the smoke started to clear I could see that my sister-in-law had made her way into the restaurant and started banging on the glass window and told us to come inside. I ushered my wife and Lauren and we stayed close, concerned about a third or fourth explosion, and we made our way to the restaurant. But before I left the patio, I could see over my left-hand side at all the horror and the tragedy that took place that day, and the only thing I knew I needed to do was help. Boylston Street had turned into Bagdad. I felt like I was in a Third World country. My brother was still on the phone and I tucked it into my back pocket because I knew I needed to help.

People started to scatter, and I dropped my wife and Lauren at the front door and I saw a disheveled man coming down the street with his clothes torn from the explosion, and I helped him get to the front of the restaurant, and that's when I noticed a young girl laying in the middle of the street.

I made my way into Boylston and I found Matt Patterson who testified in front of this Court, who is a true hero, a veteran of our military. He was providing care to young Jane Richard. And he is a true hero. And he had a calming effect on me and everybody at the scene. I removed my belt to help control the bleeding of this poor young girl who was tragically and critically wounded. I could see her father and his eldest son at my rear.

We made the determination at that point that Matt and I needed to move her to emergency personnel who were approaching down Boylston Street. So Matt scooped her up and I held onto the tourniquet and we moved down the street as fast as we could to help Jane with her family in tow. And I spoke to Bill that day and I explained to him that I would swap out with him as soon as we got to the ambulance so that he could be with Jane before she was taken away. And I sat with Henry on the street corner, on the curb, and tried to quell his fears and let him know that his sister was on her way to some of the best hospitals in the world and that she was going to be okay. And at that time we weren't sure of her fate.

We were reunited with Bill, and he kept pointing toward the blast. And it was very difficult for anybody to hear or communicate, so I made my way back to the epicenter of the second scene, and that's where I sat with Martin and a few other people. And we all know his fate, unfortunately, from that day. I helped move barricades and passed backboards and helped the professionals that were there trying to help out as they arrived on the scene, and I lasted at the scene probably 25 to 30 minutes before I was reunited with my family and close friends around the corner in front of DeLuca's Market.

I was transported to Salem Hospital where I realized I had a ruptured eardrum and my hearing was going to impacted, like so many people. I had a concussion, but my physical symptoms are so much better than so many other people on that day. I stood next to that planter and that's the only reason why I'm standing upright right now. It saved my live. I've been on Coumadin for ten years. It's a blood thinner. If I was at the Forum that day, there's no chance I would be here right now. There's no way they would have been able to control the bleeding. I'm very fortunate.

The defendant's decision to place that bomb on the curb that day had a tremendous impact on my life the last several years and continues to impact me today. I work as a student support coordinator at an alternative high school. We service about 120 kids from Boston all the way up to the North Shore with social and emotional and physical disabilities and behavioral issues. My job includes providing safety for these children. If there's a problem, they come see me. My job is to get them back in their classroom, if we can, or provide them a space away from the group to work and just be thoughtful and careful and empathetic all of those things that we do on a day-to-day basis. And these young kids come into my office, and sometimes this requires a physical intervention.

I wasn't prepared for the first flashback or panic attack I had at work with a young girl who was screaming and yelling and required a hands-on situation. I wasn't ready for that. I wasn't ready for the first day I walked into school, and we carry Walkie-Talkies in the form of communication, and I could hear the chirping in the walkies, and the first time I heard a siren go by.

I'm looked at as a leader at my job. It's my job and my role as a professional. And sometimes because of the acts of this man, my role has been jeopardized and I've had to take a step back or leave a situation or take a walk and do the things that I've worked on since that time to make sure that I'm mentally capable to finish off my day and do what I need to do to be a professional.

The acts have impacted my relationship with my wife who was with me that day and stood next to me. She's here today. There would be guilt that I felt for not staying with her. During a terrorist attack, I left my wife to fend for herself. We struggled to enjoy some of those things that we've always enjoyed and found joy in. And we kind of coexisted for a quite a long time in a depressive state in trying to figure those things out. We've done the work we had to do and continue to work every day on our relationship.

I'll never forget the first time I walked in -- I have a six-year-old daughter -- the time she was four and I carried her from the truck. She had fallen asleep after a night out. And it was one of my fondest childhood memories, of falling asleep and your parents transporting you inside and throwing you in bed. And the first time I had picked up a young girl since that moment. It was a very, very difficult moment for me and I began sweating and crying and shaking.

My physical health: Also, as I mentioned, my eardrum. I was only postop two months from an ACL reconstruction. I was in a knee brace that day and there was definitely a physical setback due to my running and jumping and the things that took place that day. My depression led to missed appointments and definitely negatively impacted my rehab. My mental health, like so many other people, has been impacted. I never experienced anxiety, even though I speak to children about it every single day, until now. Sleepless nights. And that impacts, as we know, every aspect of your life. At times two to three days: Sleepless. Three or four hours, sometimes 12 in a week. But I worked hard with professionals, like so many people here have. So many people reached out, caring, kind people with compassion. Professionals who helped me develop skills to work on those things that are associated with sleep deprivation and anxiety and depression. Like I said, I've worked so hard to support my wife in all of her struggles and improve our relationship and to build on what our family is. I'm never going to get rid of the images that I saw on that street on Boylston, but I've been back there many, many, many times since then.

I continue to work hard and prepare myself for those moments that I can't predict: How to respond when a door slams shut in the wind; how my daughter sneaks up to scare me from behind just to be a silly little kid; what if a student asks me about my experience on 4/15; or like two weeks ago when fireworks went off in the neighborhood that you had no idea would go off. This work has taken years, but it's allowed me to take back control of my life. And this hard work is going to have to continue for years to come.

On April 16th, that following day, in 2013, I tried to put some of my thoughts in words on paper in a sense to cope with what happened that day. Acts of terror designed to scare us into changing our daily plans. They want us to rethink our travel plans and second-guess decisions made once without hesitation and ruin our spirit. We will not waiver because we are strong. I stand in front of you with all those people behind me and waves of survivors in the overflow courtrooms to let you know that this community is strong. I've never felt anything like this. And emails and text messages and phone calls from complete strangers and meeting all these people here over the last months and years that stand beside you every single day and let you know that we're going to be okay in this community and this country has stood beside us, and that's what this is all about.

I didn't know what I was going to do for the first time of seeing this defendant, and to be honest with you, I don't want to speak to him. I'm here to say that we are okay, we're going to move forward and that we are strong.

Thank you very much, your Honor, and members of this Court.

JOSEPH CRAVEN: Good morning, Judge. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to speak today. The name is J.P. Craven, C-R-A-V-E-N.

I've grown up in Boston nearly my whole life. It's the only city I've ever truly known well, and the marathon has come to be one of my favorite days of the year. Just over two years ago, I was standing ten feet away from the first bomb site on Boylston Street. I sustained the bulk of my injuries to my head, with minor injuries to my extremities. I was knocked unconscious, taking ball-bearings to the temple, nose, and two to the calf.

For over a year I attended regular doctors' appointments, hearing tests, multiple surgical procedures and numerous follow-ups. I've been given more support than I could have ever understood possible from nearly every corner of my now 27 years on earth. However, the majority of my thoughts now revolve around the impact of this entire event moving forward.

While I do not know the defendant personally, I do hope that he feels remorse for his actions just a couple of years ago. There are plenty who still suffer both emotionally and physically. Our world today is full of so many misunderstandings and disagreements, from smaller scale things that lead to arguments at school or in a store to much larger events that force countries into war and pit entire groups of people against each other. Events like the bombings make it so much easier for these rifts to grow larger and for our differences to divide us even more.

It is so much harder to recognize that these unfortunate situations also provide us with a great opportunity to bring us as people closer together. Evil acts make it easier for more evil to fester; however, the good that can come from that same evil has the potential to affect people far beyond what hatred ever could. If we as a community allow these proceedings and this decision to just dissipate into the background without so much as a whimper, we forgo the opportunity to enact any type of real change. Whether in an individual's life or in the way we interact with those who think differently than we do, we sometimes forget that people who may follow different ideals or have different cultural norms oftentimes long for very similar outcomes.

As I mentioned earlier, I hope the defendant's personal clarity has come into better focus and that he feels deep regret for what transpired two years ago. I don't wish this primarily for my own or any other individual's personal gratification and understanding, but rather for the fact that it brings hope to the possibility of using this new understanding to make a positive impact on the world. As ironic as it may seem, Jahar now possesses the unique ability to be a force of change in the lives of those who most of us wouldn't be able to reach.

Everyone connected to this event, every person in this courtroom, the city of Boston, our great country and people throughout the world have the ability to contribute. It may not be clear how to achieve this right away, it may even seem daunting just to think about how; however, the impact, regardless how small in a world full of violence, will be just as tangible as the people who initiate it.

I've tried my best to relate in any minor way to Jahar throughout the last number of months in preparation for the trial, though I must admit that it is hard at times. Though I've noticed over the last two years that we as Americans in a global community are no closer to confronting the issues of death and destruction that plague so many corners of the world, sometimes even in our backyard; however, the verdict does not suppress every one of our abilities to bridge gaps of misperception and show that the vast majority of people have similar goals of peace and understanding.

As much pain and suffering that began on April 15, 2013, I wholeheartedly believe in the benevolence and goodwill of people having supreme power over hatred, violence and evil. I would ask for you, Jahar, and everyone else in this courtroom and beyond to believe that as well. These unfortunate events have ultimately inspired me to challenge what has become societal normal at its core.

I understand you have no discretion, Judge, with regards to a number of these counts. It is my hope that the decisions you do have today can help to point us in the right direction and inspire us -- inspire all of us to be the catalyst for change our world so desperately needs.

STEPHANIE BENZ: Good morning, your Honor. My name is Stephanie Benz, B-E-N-Z. And thank you very much for the opportunity to speak this morning.

I was on the patio of the Forum at the site of the second blast. I remember the chilly air as we walked and talked on our way to the restaurant. We empathically commented on our excitement for spring, the flowers that were planted along the way, and the little things we love about our city, like the ducklings in the Boston Common.

The Forum was a favorite spot of one of the friends I was with that day. A charity was hosting a viewing party of the marathon, and we guests, among many others, supporting their team of runners who had raised thousands of dollars for cancer research. I tracked my friends who were running the race, and as they approached our location, I got especially ready with cowbells in hand and a smile from ear to ear. I had never watched the Boston Marathon that close to the finish line. The crowd's enthusiasm was extra infectious as the runners were that much closer to an incredible achievement. Sadly and thankfully, I didn't see my friends running that day. When the bomb went off at our site, it changed their pace, their goals, and all of our lives.

As I peered down the street and watched the smoke engulf the sidewalk in the distance, I thought the first explosion was a faulty fireworks display or a transformer malfunctioning, and then something happened to me and in an instant the scenario was far worse. With one shoe hanging and the other missing, I tried to step, but instead, kicked that dangling shoe off my foot. I saw my purse covered in blood. It was smokey and I couldn't hear. When I recount the story, I say I hurried inside. Maybe due to shock I was in a hurried state, but later learning the extent of my injuries, I rival at the fact that I was fast moving at all.

I could see one of my friends inside the restaurant and I moved towards him. I tried to speak but I was unsure if he could hear me. I could barely hear him. The sirens raged, people were screaming and running in all directions. Was this an attack? Were people coming on foot to get us? Should we be hiding. Thoughts of actual combat entered my mind. We were unarmed.

Super civilians, as I like to call them, helped my friend lift me onto a granite table. I did all I could to stay calm, but I didn't feel safe. With my injuries wrapped in bar towels, I was moved to the street to be more visible to the first responders. My friend told me not to look at my leg anymore. "Just look at me," he said. "Don't look around." He reassured me we would be okay. That friend became the bravest person I know that day.

I waited to get in an ambulance until they all but cleared the scene. Too many others, as many have addressed, needed those gurneys. Most people in my life didn't know I was at the marathon that day. We didn't have cell service until we made it to Storrow Drive, and family and friends who had been in the dark about my whereabouts were relieved to get a call from my friend and to learn my state, but obviously traumatized by the reality of what was.

Once at the hospital, it was like a movie set come to life. It was incredible how many people were helping, but at the same time, I simply couldn't believe how many people needed help. After several interviews with police detectives and FBI agents, confirmation that this act was a potential crime, and countless nurses, aides and doctors had treated me, essentially anyone who could help, helped, they released me. My X-rays showed no broken bones, we managed to extract most of the shrapnel off the surface of my forehead, face, arms and legs, and I agreed to be discharged.

I didn't watch TV for the first day or two following the bombing. I was in so much pain and it was difficult to relax or rest. When FBI agents asked to interview me at home, I agreed. All I wanted to do was help. I struggled to remember that chunk of time between the bomb and finding my way into the restaurant that day. I was still having trouble hearing. I truly felt helpless in aiding their efforts to identify the wrongdoers. My first followup with my physician would prove frustrating. Essentially, I was told to focus on being fortunate, and regarding my pain, I should suck it up. After months of crutches, misdiagnoses, wheelchairs, headaches, stiffness, ringing in my ears and countless doctors' appointments, second, third and fourth opinions, x-rays, blood, testing, re-testing it was determined the left side of my body had, in fact, for lack of better terminology, been frozen. My thigh all the way to the toes of my leg was purple. My leg had started to atrophy.

With concern for further injury and a true uncertainty for what was causing the pain, doctors had suggested I stay off the leg on at least two different occasions for weeks at a time. As a result, my leg was starting to deteriorate. Almost ten months to the day after the bombing, I would have surgery on my left ankle in the hopes of finding the shrapnel and repairing the internal damage. Inevitably, the foreign objects that had passed through my leg had left a crazy path of extensive scar tissue. There is no guarantee the surgery will fix what was done. If the pain I have today and every day is any indication, it hasn't yet.

Physical therapy, home remedies, exercise, hard work, patience and a positive outlook have been my course of action thus far. My neck and shoulder are pulled because of the ineptness of my left side. My hip and knee constantly compensate for my IT band, my hamstring and my ankle. My right side does a lot of work for my body. It's been difficult to build any muscle back on the left leg.

I've missed out on special moments of my nieces, nephews and Godchildren. Friendships have changed dramatically because people don't know how to be friends with a bombing victim, and who can blame them. My lifelong love for dance is forever apparent but to execute it is painful. I cannot fully flex my left leg, and I often wake up during the night in pain.

The treatment that has been a catalyst for releasing some of my body's physical turmoil isn't recognized as medical by the state, so I pay thousands of dollars out-of-pocket to continue this healing process. I jump at loud noises. I struggle to separate sounds in a telephone conversation or in a crowded room. I try to do the things I love to do but sometimes find fear creeping into scenarios and places that were once mine free to enjoy free of anxiety.

I stick with the idea and hope that I will get full mobility back in my left foot and ankle; that I will be able to dance or walk down stairs without a consciousness of where I'm placing my foot and sleep without pain that has since become the norm.

Thank you very much.

HENRY BORGARD: Hello. My name is Henry Borgard, last name is spelled B-O-R-G-A-R-D. And this lovely service dog next to me is my Girl Friday.

Your Honor, I'd just like to start by thanking you for the opportunity to address the Court. I really appreciate it. I've had a really difficult time deciding what to say. The past two years have been hell and nothing can adequately describe how I feel, so I've had problems with finding words because no words really could ever do justice to the atrocities that the Tsarnaev brothers committed. But I want my voice to be heard today because there are five [sic] people whose voices are permanently silenced as a result of their actions, so I am grateful for the opportunity.

The story of the marathon has been told over and over and over again, and I don't want to hammer out details that have been repeated. I don't want to continue with that tragedy, but I will tell you what makes my story unique. I was a 21-year-old student at Suffolk University. I was not at the marathon to spectate; I was walking home from work back to my dorm on Beacon Hill. And when the first explosion went off, I thought it was a canon. I thought somebody might have crossed the finish line who was famous. I really didn't know anything about the marathon.

And I remember thinking about my hometown in Downers Grove, Illinois, and the Fourth of July parade that we have every year and the 21-gun salute that was my favorite part of the parade. And that's what it sounded like to me, so I wasn't alarmed at first. And then I remember processing the screams of the people down by the finish line, and how they multiplied and amplified. And then I knew something was really wrong. And I watched as the marathon reversed and the runners stopped running and the spectators started running towards me away from the finish line. And the last thing I remember before the second explosion went off was turning and looking and seeing a little boy, and I later found out that boy was Martin Richard. So that was the last thing I saw before the second explosion.

And I remember the night of the marathon, going back to my dorm and trying to sleep, and laying in bed and just shaking because I was afraid that something like that would happen again. I was afraid that the day wasn't over. And I still wake up screaming sometimes from nightmares. They continue to plague me on a regular basis. And what I keep playing over and over in my head is the fact that I called my mother. The bombs went off at 2:49 p.m. I called my mom at 2:52, and the only thing that she heard were my screams and the sirens of the emergency vehicles as they rushed to Boylston Street and the word "bomb," and then the line went dead. And every time I call my mom now she asks if I'm okay before she says hello. And that's really, really hard for her. She said that the 15 minutes between my initial phone call and when I was finally able to get ahold of her again were the worst moments of her life. And she was in Illinois. She wasn't even there.

I called my mom because I was genuinely afraid that I was going to die and I needed her to know that I loved her. And I wasn't sure if she knew. And that was -- I couldn't get it out when I was on the phone with her initially, and that's something that I feel guilty about to this day. And, you know, guilt is something that I deal with on a regular basis. I feel guilty about calling my mom, I feel guilty about the fact that I wasn't severely injured and other people were, I feel guilty about the fact that I'm breathing, that I'm here. And that's not something that anyone should have to deal with.

I deal with panic attacks and flashbacks and disassociation episodes. I'm hypervigilant constantly. Being in court here with my back to people makes me really nervous. Backpacks, sirens, flashing lights, crowds, media vans, the news, children, screams, blood, crowds, all of these things I can't -- I can't be around them. Loud noises, fireworks. That Fourth of July parade I loved so much? I can't go anymore.

I had to drop out of school after I was diagnosed with posttraumatic stress disorder, combat specific, and later with postconcussive syndrome, which is a mild traumatic brain injury. I had to teach myself how to read again, and it took me almost a year, and I'm an English major. The road to recovery is difficult, it's unpaved, it's unkept, and most of the time I'm alone. But that's something that I'm really grateful for because the majority of the people that I encounter, they don't speak the language of victims, and I'm glad that they don't because that means that they don't know the hell that I've been through and they don't know the hell the people behind me have been through.

I know how fear feels. I know how it feels when it courses through your veins and your blood gets cold. I know how it feels when every piece of good that you have inside of you gets extinguished by fear.

I have a million questions. I want to know why. And I was really angry for a really long time and really resentful. But honestly, today, you know, I deal with a lot of stuff, but the biggest thing is that I'm grateful for my life today because I might not have had it. And I'm grateful for the people who carried me when I wanted to give up. And I'm grateful for the fact that I never stopped fighting and I'm grateful for the fact that in two days I'm going to be turning 24 and I'm going to be celebrating that birthday with my family and I'm going to get to give my mom a hug. And I'm grateful for the fact that I'm going back to school for the first time in two years in the fall and that I'm majoring in English again. I'm grateful for the fact that Boston has taught me how to be resilient even though I'm all the way out in Chicago. The Windy City says hello. I think what I'm most grateful for is the fact that I found a way to forgive the defendant despite everything that he did to me.

When I hug my mom, I hug her extra tight because I know it might be the last time that I see her. When I say that "I love you," I mean it because I know how quickly a life can be extinguished. I've learned how to accept help graciously and extend my hand effortlessly, and that's a blessing because I want to spread good in this world. And I'm going to continue to do that.

The biggest impact that the Boston Marathon bombing has had on my life is the overwhelming kindness and generosity that everyone has showed me: My friends, my family and just random strangers. A few nights after the marathon, I went back to Boylston Street and I was just standing on the edge of the barricades when it was still blocked off. And I was crying, and this kid I didn't know from BU -- he had a BU sweatshirt on -- came up to me and just gave me a hug and was, like, "Everything's going to be okay." And that is the kind of stuff that I want to remember from this, just random acts of kindness from strangers who don't even know me. That's awesome.

My dog Friday is apparently bothering you. I apologize. She was donated to me. Her training cost $50,000 and she was donated to me by people that I had never met.

I want to say that I truly believe that love is and always will be louder and that I truly am grateful for this experience, and had I been given the option to take another route home that day, I wouldn't. I really wouldn't.

Your Honor, thank you again for allowing us to speak. I really appreciate it. And thank you very much for your service.

ELIZABETH BOURGAULT: Your Honor, I am Elizabeth Bourgault, B-O-U-R-G-A-U-L-T. Being a runner, the Boston Marathon has long been an event that I enjoyed attending. April 15th was no different. My husband and I chose to stay and watch the marathon at the finish line instead of moving along the course because the weather was so nice, the crowds were having fun, and I was watching for one particular runner to cross the finish line. Then the bombs exploded.

Most everyone knows by now the physical, emotional and financial toll the victims have endured. Many have shared their stories publicly these past two years. We all have our stories to tell, the moments to relive and the trauma to deal with. What I have endured is no different. The dramatic impact on my life, the physical and emotional pain I still suffer, and the sense of loss for the life that I enjoyed prior to walking out my door on April 15th.

I know my impact statement is supposed to describe the harm I have endured these past two years, but I would rather reflect upon the non-harmful aspects of having had the misfortune of being injured. Besides, the defendant does not care about the negative impact his actions have had on my life because that was his reason for getting out of bed that morning in the first place. The defendant was determined to destroy as many lives as he could without any regard for impact.

Since being injured on April 15th, I have had the opportunity to know just how much my family and friends love me. When I wasn't able to care for myself, they cared for me. When I couldn't function emotionally and I was a puddle, they were all my rock. When my life was out of control, they were there to rein things in and remind me that I will come through the other side and be okay, which I did and which I am.

At the time I was injured, I was working in the legal field, a career I enjoyed for almost 37 years. Until I realized after spending a long time recovering and rebuilding my life, that I could no longer be surrounded by people who were bent on destroying their lives or the lives of others, I changed careers recently, and am now very happily employed as a caregiver, assisting people who are working hard to regain and rebuild their lives.

The defendant chose to commit a crime for which the English language has no words to describe how horrible it is. The defendant is a coward in the strongest sense of the word. The defendant will now die for what he did. I firmly believe that whatever god the defendant believes in is not a god that will welcome the defendant upon his death for the crimes he committed. Instead, I believe the defendant's god will condemn him to an eternity of suffering equal to, if not more than what he intentionally caused others.

When the defendant is sitting alone in his very small jail cell day after day waiting to die, I hope he never forgets and will be forever haunted by the fact that not only did he fail to destroy the human spirit on that Marathon Monday, but that I am surrounded by the love of my family and friends, something the defendant will never, ever again experience.

Thank you, your Honor.

CAROL DOWNING: Good morning, your Honor, members of the jury. My name is Carol Downing, D-O-W-N-I-N-G. I am the mother of Nicole Gross and Erica Brannock, who were severely injured at the Boston Marathon. I would like to share how the marathon bombing has impacted my life.

Although I was not physically injured on Boylston Street, I was injured emotionally by the terrible event of that day. I was running the marathon that day and learned about the bombing when I was stopped a quarter mile from the finish line. Erica, Nicole, and my son-in-law Michael were waiting for me at the finish line and tried to -- I tried to text them but got no answer. A little while later, I got a text from Michael. He said, "Are you okay?" I said, "Yes, are you?" He said, "We were in the bombing and I can't find Nicole and Erica." That is when my life changed forever. Pure panic overcame me and I was absolutely frozen in fear.

If not for this stranger that was next to me, I don't know if I would have been able to maneuver through a strange city, cold and exhausted, almost completing the 26.2 mile run. Michael eventually texted me that he had learned Nicole was on her way to Brigham and Women's Hospital; that he still didn't know where Erica was.

With the help of other strangers, I was able to get to Brigham and Women's Hospital, a few hours later to learn that Nicole was in surgery. Michael had suffered burns to his head and severe -- some shrapnel injuries. But Erica was still missing. It wasn't until 9 p.m. that evening that FBI agents found me in the waiting room at Brigham and Women's and told me that Erica was at Beth Israel. They walked me over there and took me to the ICU where I was met by a doctor and nurse who told me that Erica lost a leg on Boylston Street and that her other leg was severely damaged but they would do all that they could to save it.

So my nightmare continued. 34 days in the hospital for Nicole and 50 days for Erica. I spent all but one day of those days in Boston. My only respite was going home to Maryland for 24 hours to get more clothes and take care of some financial matters.

To say that my life has been impacted by the bombing is an understatement. So much focus has been on the injuries of the survivors. I, on the other hand, feel like an invisible victim. Consider the exhaustion of running almost a full marathon only to find out that your children were severely injured as they waited to see their mother cross the finish line. Most people who run a marathon need a week or more to recover, but I was immediately thrown into an emotional marathon that tested my mental and physical abilities for more than two years.

Every day for nearly two months I spent with one or both of my children at their hospitals. Nicole was finally ready to return to her home, and return to Charlotte with Michael in May; Erica's hospital stay was much longer. She was the longest of the injured, and finally went home on June 3rd, 2013.

I accompanied Erica when she was medevaced home, and she immediately was admitted into an inpatient hospital for the next two weeks. I visited her or stayed overnight with her every day while she was there. She was then moved back home with my husband and me where she and I slept in the living room while renovations were done on our house to make it handicap-accessible. During this time, I helped her change the bandages on her still-open wounds and cared for her needs, as she was virtually immobile. She was on IV meds for six weeks that had to be administered every six hours that took 30 minutes each time by either she or I.

In Boston, two free-flap operations were attempted on Erica's remaining leg, both of which were unsuccessful. A third attempt to save Erica's remaining leg was made on August 5th, 2013, at Maryland Shock Trauma. She was discharged from there on August 13th, and I became Erica's 24-hour caretaker while she healed from this major surgery.

The physical and emotional exhaustion was something I have never felt before. There was very little time for me to even try to heal my own emotional trauma and get rest. On top of that, Nicole was home in North Carolina where she continued to have more surgeries. Due to Erica's need for my constant help, I was unable to be with Nicole to help with her physical and emotional needs. My life has been filled with countless hours of supporting Erica through 21 surgeries, doctors' appointments, miles of driving to and from the hospitals and doctors, hours of sitting in waiting rooms and hospitals, home nurse visits, physical therapy appointments, home wound care and support for Erica, Nicole, mental health counseling, untold hours of paperwork required for reimbursement of bombing-related costs, and many more demands on my life that I have pushed far from my memory.

I've had to be strong for my daughters while I was falling apart myself. Many nights I would sit at the dinner table with my husband and sob from physical and mental exhaustion and guilt; the guilt of placing my children at the finish line as I ran the marathon.

It has been extremely hard for me to concentrate on tasks that require me to be focused. I have spent days where I felt like I couldn't drag myself out of bed, but I pushed through it only to wander around the house without the motivation to get anything accomplished. My house, daily routine, marriage, relationship with my daughters and mental well-being have all been affected. To say that I was away from my home a lot with Erica is an understatement which put a strain on my marriage with my husband, who is not Erica and Nicole's father.

There was no way that my life had any balance in it. After 25 months, I am still now -- just now starting to feel the reality of how our lives have been turned upside-down forever. I don't have the energy that I once had. I constantly worry about Erica, Nicole and Michael. They are still very much affected emotionally. I see Erica's struggles on a daily basis, how limited she is to engage in activities that once were so easy for her and the reality that she's unable to continue her career as a preschool teacher. It pains me to know that Nicole will never be the outstanding athlete that she had been and that she will never be able to go back to her advocation as a triathlete and her vocation as a personal trainer. Neither of my daughters have been able to return to work, so I experience the added worry about what they will be able to do for employment in the future.

My daughters' bodies are covered from torso to feet with scars, broken bones, missing bones, severed tendons and skin grafts. Erica has lost one leg above the knee and her other leg is so severely injured that she will need to walk with a brace for the rest of her life. She has a scar from her armpit to her hip where muscle and skin was harvested to cover up the injury in her remaining leg. Nicole has a scar from just below her ribs to below her navel from an emergency abdominal surgery in Boston due to complications from a filter that was placed in her to prevent blood clots. The filter became dislodged and perforated her small intestines and became embedded in an artery.

Am I stressed? Physically, emotionally and mentally exhausted? Worried? All the time. My life is forever changed, but not as much as the lives of my daughters and son-in-law. I have done my best to move forward, to stay positive and to be thankful for all that we have and all that we have received. I have tried to hide my hurt and sadness from my daughters so they can heal emotionally and make the best out of the life that they have been given. Some days are just harder.

Thank you for your time and allowing me to share how this horrific event has impacted my life.

ERIKA BRANNOCK: Thank you for letting me speak, your Honor. My name is Erika Brannock, E-R-I-K-A B-R-A-N-N-O-C-K.

While Mr. Tsarnaev did not place the pressure cooker bomb directly behind me, his participation and involvement in the planning caused my injuries resulting in the loss of part of my left leg. In April of 2013, I had two amputations: One on Boylston Street while waiting with my sister and my brother-in-law to see my mother complete her first Boston Marathon, the other was two weeks later after the bombing at Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center when I gave my surgeons permission to take my below-the-knee amputation above the knee. This would ensure that I could later support a prosthesis.

While I have made progress after multiple revisions to my left limb and becoming more comfortable walking with a leg that is not my own, I have had struggles -- I've had to struggle with much more. On April 15, I lost three centimeters of bone from my fibula in my right leg closer to my ankle than most doctors would want. To say that I am lucky to be standing on one of my own legs is an understatement. I should be an amputee -- a double amputee like Jeff, Celeste and Jessica. Had it not been for the quick thinking of Amanda North, a woman I had never met before, I would not be here today. She grabbed my hand and told me she would get me help. She never -- she even gave her belt to be used to stop my bleeding.

Mr. Tsarnaev not only played a part in my leg being blown off and my struggles to walk again, but also in the life I had built for myself. I am not able to physically teach the age level I cherished so much because of the serious damage to my right leg. I cannot run after my students, or as I refer to them, my babies, and play with them. I cannot fulfill the duties of a teacher of young two-year-olds. Ultimately, my physical life is now changed forever. To date, I have had 21 surgeries since April 15, 2013, that have repaired holes in both my eardrums, removed multiple nails and BB's, healed fractured bones, given me some function back in my right leg that had a hole blown into it, and the amputation of my -- the lower part of my left leg above the knee.

My risk for early bone disease is much higher now due to all the injuries I sustained. I will most likely have to wear a brace on my right leg for the rest of my life. While I am standing and walking today, I tire easily when walking or doing physical activities. It takes a large amount of effort to walk even just a few feet. I doubt I will ever be able to run or jog again, so when I have my own children I will not be able to share that kind of fun and play with them.

My mental state is significantly different from where it was before the bombing. I flinch at loud noises and I experience panic attacks from flashbacks. That day will never leave me no matter the amount of time or therapy I have. The long-term financial burden I will experience will be with me for the rest of my life. I was not able to complete my master's program that I had been working on before the bombing because I could not complete the requirements both physically and mentally. Even though I have been profoundly impacted in so many ways, I will get on with my life and not let Mr. Tsarnaev and his -- Mr. Tsarnaev and his brother decided to do. What they did will not break my spirit and my drive to accomplish my dreams and goals.

Thank you.

JEANNE-MARIE PARKER: Good morning, your Honor. My name is Jeanne-Marie Parker, J-E-A-N-N-E-M-A-R-I-E P-A-R-K-E-R. I was at the Forum with my two daughters, my nieces and some friends. We were inside when the bomb detonated, went off. I cannot explain to you the terror we all felt.

In the 49 years of my life, I never knew this gut-wrenching feeling that would change our lives forever. The last two years of our lives have been challenging to say the least. We suffer from permanent hearing loss, tinnitus, severe anxiety, PTSD, severe migraine headaches, difficulty in startle response, to name a few.

I may not look wounded to you, but I am. You don't see my wounds because they are invisible to the eye. I can relate to that because I watched -- I watched your aunt walk to the stand while she showed no obvious signs of physical trauma either; however, as I watched you watch your aunt try and speak, she couldn't utter a word because she was hysterically crying. I saw you wiping your tears away knowing that you were the cause of her pain. She may not have suffered a physical injury by your hands like we did, but you obviously caused her severe emotional trauma.

While you wait in prison for your impending death, your aunt will carry the emotional pain. Long after you are gone, your aunt will continue to carry that pain with her for the rest of her life. Not only is that going to affect her, but everyone else she interacts with will be impacted.

That was just one person. Now think about that magnified by every person who was not only at the marathon but knew someone at the marathon or watched the images on TV. Just know that you have caused that much pain and suffering. My pain is their pain. It's like a cancer that you created that spread so rampantly. My only hope is that you own all of this grief and anguish for the rest of your natural life.

What I represent in the world is wholeness and healing. I ask myself where does the healing begin. It begins with you taking responsibility for your actions, telling the truth and asking for forgiveness. So I have one question for you: According to your meetings with Sister Prejean, you are remorseful for your actions. I haven't seen or heard any indication of that. What would your impact statement be for all the pain and suffering that you've caused? I challenge you to write that.

Thank you.

SCOTT WEISBERG: Your Honor, my name is Scott Weisberg, S-C-O-T-T, Weisberg, W-E-I-S-B-E-R-G. Thank you for allowing me to speak today.

I am a 45-year-old family physician from Birmingham, Alabama. I'm also a marathon runner, and I now suffer with bilateral hearing loss, a mild traumatic brain injury, posttraumatic stress disorder as a result of accomplishing my first Boston Marathon on April 15, 2013, which was a dream of mine.

I crossed that finish line three seconds prior to the detonation of the first bomb. I am so grateful to be here today for my family, and especially for my three children, Joshua, Jordan and Jesse, but my life has changed forever, as well as the other survivors, as a result of that day.

I never would have thought that I would be wearing hearing aids at 43 years old. I also never realized that I would have to convince society and my medical professionals that my injuries were real because they are hidden and invisible. It took me over 16 months of searching for answers to figure out my injuries. I spent countless hours going to the doctors', taking medications, as well as having very painful procedures on my ears to only find out that my hearing loss was permanent.

It is very easy to diagnose someone with depression and PTSD due to the traumatic event that we all endured. I was forgetful, confused. I could not perform higher executive functioning tasks. And as a family physician, that was a real problem. Despite all of the technology available in today's world, I am still not able to use a stethoscope to hear body sounds. I was the main financial supporter of my family and I had my own very successful medical practice for ten years. Now my practice is struggling to survive. I continue to do the very best for my three children, and in the midst of this, I'm getting a divorce because my spouse cannot grasp the trauma this has inflicted on me and my family.

I live in Alabama, isolated from other survivors and a city that understands what happened to them. Luckily, I have a support group through our private social media site, but it is very hard going through this process, often at times alone. The process of trying to reinvent oneself and deal with the emotional trauma after an event such as the Boston bombing is overwhelming, but when one is forced to convince others that their injuries are lifelong and costly, compounds the problems.

I fight constantly with my insurance carriers because they do not recognize hearing aids as a necessary medical expense. In addition, they do not feel that speech therapy is necessary to help in the recovery of a traumatic brain injury. Traveling to my doctors in Boston, Huntsville, Alabama, and Montgomery, Alabama, makes it very difficult to function as a working adult. Additionally, seeing both mental and speech therapists to help with all of my conditions takes time and money.

I wish the world could take my place one day and see what it's like to appear normal on the outside and have so many day-to-day problems on the inside. My hearing loss is bilaterally, and I've been wearing hearing aids since August of 2013. I change out my batteries every few days, and the maintenance and upkeep is unbelievable. My brain injury has left me having trouble with processing speed and working memory, both of which are very important in the world of being a family physician.

I'm still struggling to convince insurance companies that I actually have a disability since these are hidden and invisible injuries. I have since become an advocate for others, which is why I'm here today in this courtroom sharing my story. I want people to understand that my injuries are very significant and will be with me for the rest of my life and will impact my future and my family's future forever.

There are around 260 survivors of the bombings that have issues just like myself, all dealing with tinnitus, hearing loss, brain injuries, depression, PTSD. Our voices must be heard and our injuries are not disappearing. Our lives have changed April 15, 2013, and we must not be forgotten by the City of Boston, the State of Massachusetts, the United States, and by the community of professionals that take care of us, whether it's in Massachusetts, Alabama, Maine, Wisconsin, California, North Carolina, Pennsylvania, Maryland and whatever other states we come from.

Thank you for allowing me the opportunity to speak today and to share my story as well as that of the other survivors.

MEGHAN ZIPIN: Good morning. My name is Meghan Zipin. And you spell the "Zipin" Z-I-P-I-N.

A few months ago many of us who are here today received a letter in the mail, and the first question was, "Describe in your own words the harm you suffered from the crime the defendant committed. Explain the physical, emotional and financial harm you endured. Include any long-term impact you foresee, and describe what that means to you and your lifestyle."

It's nearly impossible to answer that question, and that is my most important statement. This is a huge ask, to still down to three black and white lines of text, text that ends with the question, what does this mean to you and your lifestyle. I decided to match the direct nature of the question because there's power in a collective voice. I hope that you've read 260 messages of triumph, fight, struggle, loss, madness and strength. Just know your question is too simple and the fight is too complex. We all wish that we knew the answer.

Physically, my ears and auditory processing ability were directly impacted by the crime. My hearing loss is named global auditory processing disorder, and mine is classified as severe and permanent. Your ears and your brain work together listen to stimuli and processing that information into interpretable language. My injury interrupts that communication, making it difficult to distill and comprehend auditory information in any environment. I'll wear hearing aids forever to minimize the struggle. The injuries most consistent with traumatic brain injuries seen in soldiers following an IED impact, bombings and proximity to the explosion matters. My foot was on the finish line.

I suffer an array of physical symptoms consistent with PTSD: Insomnia, hyperventilation, hypervigilance, rapid heartbeat. My fight-or-flight hormones are still high that doctors once suspected I had a tumor on the secreting glands.

Emotionally, two of my friends were waiting for me at the finish line. Both girls were blown up, suffering life-threatening injuries. And the weight of guilt is insurmountable. The memory of their suffering is burned in my brain. And all that once felt safe and secure in the world has felt jarred. PTSD is a beast that I continue to tackle. I have panic attacks, and at one point in January 2015 they occurred every 48 hours for weeks. I work to control severe anxiety, frequent nightmares, and a disconnect associated with losing all that once defined me.

Financially, I'm a 2013 MBA graduate of Boston College. In September of 2012, prior to graduation, I accepted and began a job with a large Boston firm. The salary was over $100,000, and I couldn't believe it. After the bombing, I never returned. Due to my symptoms, I had to leave my job in business development. I am married, and thankfully my apartment and health insurance remain secure. But when you lose -- when you once earned a keep and then you stop, your personal worth suffers a far greater loss than can be counted in dollars. The loss is impossible to capture.

I will try to remember that the bombing always will have happened but it will not forever define me. It will not always define my marriage. It will not define my relationships or my injured friends. I do not know when I'll feel that shift, and the long-term impact of not knowing even that is overwhelming, so I'm going to list for you what I know.

I know I can no longer work in business development, an environment flurried with complex, simultaneous conversation an environment where I once thrived. I know I will have to find a means of professional development, of financial security that accommodates for my hearing deficits, my need for flexibility and for personal connection. I know I will suffer from PTSD forever, but hopefully not to this degree. I know my marriage will always carry the burden of this event, our foundation was cracked, and we'll work forever to make it whole. I know I will never be who I once was, and although we all change and grow, rarely are we forced to change instantaneously. I know I will always miss that 2013 Boston Marathon runner girl because she was one of the good ones. I know I will live a life of deep gratitude. I promised myself immediately after the bombing that I would not let an opportunity to say thank you pass me by. This is a gift borne out of tragic circumstances, but long term I believe it will free my spirit and allow me to appreciate people in a way I never would have been capable of before the bombing. I know one day I'll be a better mother and my husband will be a better father because we will show our children all that is good in the world and all that there is to be thankful for.

I try to think of a way for someone who didn't experience this to understand what this is like. And, Judge, I want you to imagine that you had a dandelion, one that made it to the phase of a perfect, white-lace, fuzzy sphere made of a million individual seeds. Imagine you stood with the wind at your back and you blew. You'd watch the seeds fly high and far. Some would land, some would hide, some would endlessly float away. It happened in an instant: A beautiful sphere, a very explosive disbursement. You'd never be able to find all the pieces. It's an impossible task. With this question, you've asked me to find those pieces and remake a sphere. You've asked 260-plus survivors to find those pieces and to make their spheres. I beg my words offer mild justice to our collective plight, and I am grateful that you've taken the time to so thoughtfully listen.

Judge O'Toole, I came here for the first two days of the trial. I came with those girls, for my friends. I watched the defendant. He sat there blank, never looking at any of us. And after that day, I realized I'm the one who's alive, and the defendant, he's already dead. Today I'll go home to my husband, to my comfortable bed. I'll eat pizza, I'll go to yoga. And the defendant, your Honor, he'll go back to a cell from now until forever. He's the one who's dead and I'm the one who's alive. Thank you.

JOHANNA HANTEL: Good morning, your Honor. My name is Johanna Hantel, H-A-N-T-E-L. I would like to thank the Court for giving me this opportunity.

I'm a runner. I was running the Boston Marathon on April 15th, 2013. If not the only, I was one of the very few runners who had qualified with a time for the marathon who were injured. I was about ten feet from the first bomb that exploded. The physical injuries I sustained included broken and dislocated fingers, a ruptured eardrum, hearing loss, dental bite and jaw misalignment, shrapnel wounds and a traumatic brain injury. I continue to suffer from cognitive deficiencies, difficulty remembering, concentrating, making decisions, slowed thinking, speaking. My brain sometimes does not let my mouth speak the words that I'm trying to say. I'm easily confused. I feel tired all the time and lack energy. I am anxious, have mood changes, crazy sleep patterns, and simple things are now overwhelming. I have a constant headache, dizziness, loss of balance, blurred vision, ringing in the ears, increased sensitivity to lights, sounds and distractions. I'm easily startled and jump at everything.

2013 was my 13th Boston. I love the Boston Marathon. Following the race each year, I cannot wait until the next year to return to Boston. I belong to the old school of the Boston Marathon, when the only way to get in was to qualify with a fast time. Boston was the race all distance runners aspire to run. The day I qualified was one of my proudest moments, and I decided then that I would run each year that I continued to qualify. If I did not qualify, I would not run. Because of this horrific act committed, I can no longer qualify.

As a distance runner, I am tough both mentally and physically. I have a very high pain tolerance. I just naively thought -- assumed my injuries would heal and everything would return to normal. But this has been a nightmare. As far as my physical injuries are concerned, I am coming to terms with my new normal; however, as a participant of the marathon, what continues to haunt me is that this heinous attack seemed to be directed at the spectators. The most severely injured victims of this tragedy were those there to watch us, the runners. I feel if we had not been running, this dreadful crime would not have occurred. I blame myself. I think that somehow as a participant this was my fault, and I cannot shake this guilt.

This trial, conviction and sentencing have not been healing for me. They have brought everything back up that I've tried -- been trying for two years to put past me. This conviction and sentencing have not brought closure for me. I do not believe in closure. They will not bring back Martin, Lindsay, Krystle or Sean. They will not return those of us affected to our previous lives. I will say that I have come to peace with Mr. Tsarnaev, and amidst the tragedy of this horrific act, I have seen and felt overwhelming goodness and kindness. And if I have to crawl, I am going to continue to run Boston each year even if I cannot qualify because I will not let this sickening act take that away from me. And there will be four angels waiting along Boylston Street for me to finish.

I'm sorry for you, Mr. Tsarnaev. I hope you're able to do something good during your life. Good will always conquer evil. Isn't that the fundamental core of all religions?

I want to say thank you to the Court, the U.S. Attorney's Office and the jury. God bless all those affected by the events of April 15th, 2013, and God bless the City of Boston and the United States of America. I have been reassured that our legal system works. I'm so very proud to be an American. Thank you.

JENNIFER JOYCE-MAYBURY: Hi. I'm Jennifer Joyce-Maybury. Last name is M-A-Y-B-U-R-Y. I'm Jeffrey Bauman's aunt, and this is Erica Joyce, J-O-Y-C-E. This is Jeffrey Bauman's sister-in-law.

I will never forget April 15, 2013, when this horrible and unthinkable act happened. I was enjoying the day at the zoo with my six-year-old son when I received a text message containing a graphic photo of my nephew Jeffrey, an iconic photo of a shellshocked man being pushed in a wheelchair, panic in the air, a look of sheer horror on his face, and his beautiful legs, nothing but raw bone and tattered flesh.

Like most of the country, I cannot erase that image out of my mind. It haunts me to comprehend the barbaric act that my nephew endured. For several agonizing hours, I could not get any information whether Jeffrey was dead or alive. It was the worse hell anyone could imagine. I've had to watch Jeffrey go through countless operations and endless therapy sessions. I had to learn about the pain in therapy and the strength and courage it takes to put on prosthetic legs and find a way to stand. I watch Jeffrey take step after agonizing step with such determination knowing that this was a bitter fight to regain his independence. I was so overwhelmed with what happened to my nephew and the journey to recover he would need to take.

Like a rock thrown into a pond, there are rippling effects that carry. It was not only Jeffrey that was affected by this act, the impact of the bombing has created severe stress and emotional trauma on our whole family. In order for Jeffrey to receive treatment and therapy, he needed many around him to support him. I took off three months of work, unpaid, to help my nephew and my sister Patty, his mom, to travel from Chelmsford into Boston every day for months. That day changed the course of an entire family. For the first time in my life, I was taking anxiety and sleeping pills so I could find release from the nightmares that haunted me.

The fear and anxiety never leaves you. It bubbles right under the surface waiting, always waiting, looking over your shoulder, feeling uneasy in large gatherings. I am unable to fully talk or express what happened to my nephew Jeffrey; it provokes such pain. I worry every day about Jeffrey who still does not find comfort in his prosthetic legs and wonder will he ever? When will the pain end for him? Why did this have to happen to him? Will he ever be the same? Will our family?

This is a tragedy that you caused my nephew Jeffrey; his friends and his family. We will live with the ripple effects for the rest of our lives.

Thank you for taking the time to hear my thoughts. From a loving aunty of Jeffrey Michael Bauman, Aunty. Thank you.

JENNIFER KAUFFMAN: Your Honor, my name is Jennifer Kauffman, K-A-U-F-F-M-A-N. First, I'd like to thank the jury for your service and I'd like to thank all of the countless men and women who worked tirelessly to bring justice for myself and the rest of the survivors.

The actions of the defendant and his brother have completely altered my life. I've had to endure numerous physical and emotional complications all while trying to rebuild my life, which I know will never be the same. The wonderful memories that began on the morning of April 15, 2013, have been overshadowed by the terror that took place in the afternoon.

It was my first time attending the Boston Marathon. I remember being deeply inspired and overjoyed with each and every runner passing by. It was electrifying. I was at the finish line with a close friend of mine waiting for her son to come running down Boylston Street. We were tracking his progress and we knew he was in the final stretch. We were standing along the steel barricade near Marathon Sports, a few feet away from Krystle Campbell and her friend Karen McWatters. Then all of a sudden, without any warning, the first explosion detonated. The loud cheers of joy quickly turned to silence, followed by pandemonium. People were crying and screaming for help. It was absolutely horrifying.

The picture -- words cannot begin to fully describe the tremendous impact this horrific event has had on my life. My physical impact: I suffered an abdominal injury causing bruising and swelling of most of my major organs, which was excruciatingly painful and resulted in my inability to eat normal for months; in fact, I still eat a very restrictive diet today to ensure I minimize the inflammation in my body. I suffered neck and back injuries causing severe headaches, and my inability to walk for many months after the bombings. I also suffered a heart arrhythmia as a result of the force of the explosion. I have suffered damage to my ears; specifically, nerve damage to my left ear, along with increased sensitivity and hearing loss. Most of the first 15 months were spent going to doctors, specialists and wellness practitioners multiple times weekly. In fact, it felt like a full-time job. I've been diagnosed with PTSD and am being treated by several mental health doctors and practitioners.

I was an active, athletic person prior to all of this happening; now my physical fitness level is considered below normal for someone of my age and prior activity level. I have not been able to resume any of my normal activities on a regular basis, such as going to the gym, biking, hiking, swimming, golfing, and all the other fun things I once loved to do. There hasn't been one day where I have not experienced some form of pain in my body to varying degrees. Despite all the progress I've made in the past two years, I continue to get fatigued easily.

My emotional impact: Before suffering this unprovoked life-changing terrorist attack, I was a successful business woman. Very active in my community, fit, happy and passionate about life. After the bombings, I have struggled to feel safe and secure outside of my own surroundings and I have not been able to trust people like I once did. I no longer am able to do the social things I once loved: Dining out with family and friends, going to sporting events, traveling the world and more. I have been stressed about money and my ability to make ends meet.

In the beginning I experienced recurring nightmares of the bombings as I was reliving it all over again. I was literally afraid to sleep. Although the nightmares have lessened, I still experience nightmares from time to time. In fact, during the court proceedings the nightmares resumed in full force as if the bombings had just happened again. It's very upsetting and discouraging after all the work I've done to get myself well again. I often experience flashbacks from the bombings, unexpected triggers that cause stressful experiences that I've never even experienced before. Sensitivity to sound, light, proximity to other people. I often have feelings of being trapped, stuck, which leads to anxiety and panic attacks. I have been forced to alter my life and I have become more reclusive in order to protect myself and feel safe. On occasion I will experience random outbursts of rage and anger or profound sadness and crying that occur completely out of the blue. Perception from others that I look fine, therefore, I should be fine; the fact that I did not lose a limb means that some people judge me because on the outside I look normal yet on the inside I'm still dealing with the complications as a result of the injuries I sustained at the bombings and my life will never be the same. Relationships in my life have significantly altered. I have lost friends, some members of my family who simply cannot understand why I am the way I am today. I am no longer the person I once was, and I think that scares people.

This has greatly affected every aspect of my life. I am currently unable to work like I used to. I no longer socialize like I used to and I am unable to physically do the things I once loved to do.

My financial impact: For eight years I owned and operated a coaching and consulting business. At the time of these explosions, I had just come off the best year in my business. In addition, I had recently signed a contract with a publishing company to publish my first book. After the bombings, I had to let go of all of my clients and I had to live off of my savings for the next 15 months. I resumed working on a limited basis in July of 2014. To this day, I am unable to work a normal 40-hour workweek.

Conventional medicine was unable to address all of my conditions that were a direct result of the injuries I sustained. I had to pursue holistic treatment, all of which was paid out-of-pocket and continues to be the case today. At this point I have spent in excess of $50,000 in treatment, and even though I do not require the same level of treatment today as I once did, it is unknown the duration of treatment required to regain a normal live. Since I am unable to work full time, it is impacting my ability to rebuild my savings and retirement. I have literally lost hundreds of thousands of dollars in lost wages.

The fact that everything I used to love to do in many instances I can no longer do at this point in my recovery. My life has been completely changed. I had plans of buying my first home in 2013 but I had to use all my savings for my medical treatment.

Despite the tremendous impact this event has had on my life, I forgive you and your brother for the harm and the terror that you caused me, my family, my friends, my fellow survivors and victims, and my community. My hope and desire is that some day soon you'll be brave enough to take 100 percent responsibility for your actions and be willing to forgo your right to appeals so we can all move forward in peace.

Thank you.

ANNETTE EMERSON: Your Honor, I'm Annette Emerson, E-M-E-R-S-O-N. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to speak today.

When the bombs exploded in 2015 -- I mean April 15, 2013, terror soared through me like a rocket. I could feel it in my body, my mind and my soul. My instinct was to flee the scene. With my ears buzzing, I ran as fast as I could to get away. The defendant stole my hearing, my sense of security and my way of life. Physically, I suffer a mild traumatic brain injury and hearing loss, and I'm under medical care for all that. I often fail to register new information and must reread and be retold information. Before the bombings, I was not easily distracted and could switch back and forth between different tasks. Now when I speak, I often cannot say what I want to say because I have blanked out or I cannot retrieve the words I want to share. This leads to frustration and anxiety.

Emotionally, I suffer posttraumatic stress syndrome. Before the bombings, I was a bubbly, outgoing person, now I am hypervigilant, especially when I'm in a group of people. I used to enjoy fireworks; now they haunt me. My sleep patterns have been disturbed. I am restless at night and have a hard time getting to sleep. I wake very tired and often with a headache. I have to rest during the day because my energy levels are so that I'm forced to -- are so low. I have forced myself to participate in events like the 2014 and 2015 Boston Marathons, but I'm a basket case during these events. I keep on my eyes on other people and think: Will this person hurt me? Am I safe? Will I survive this experience? It saps the joy of the event. I refuse to give up. If I give up, the defendant wins. If I strive to take my life back as best I can, then I win. But why must I be in this position of choosing who wins? I have learned that I must let the anger go and forgive the transgressions so that I can take back my life. The experience did not break me; it has made me stronger.

Financially, I live on a limited income. Because of the treatment I need to recover, I must pay out-of-pocket for extra expenses. My copayments and other treatments that are not covered by insurance, unfortunately, these aren't reimbursed so I must pay for myself. I live in Maine, several hours from Boston. Because most of my treatment takes place in Boston, I have to bear the physical strain and travel several hours south for treatment as well as the cost of travel. This financial burden causes a great deal of stress and anxiety.

Thank you, your Honor, for letting me speak.

ED FUCARILE: Good morning, Judge. My name is Ed Fucarile, F-U-C-A-R-I-L-E. This is my wife Andrea. My son Marc lost his right leg and he's fighting to keep his left.

The first time I saw you in this courtroom, you were smirking at all the victims for your unspeakable, cowardly acts. You don't seem to be smirking today. You angered all of us, but only made all of us affected stronger. You've taken lives and severely damaged bodies, including my son Marc's, but you haven't broken his spirit, his strength. He suffered but brought him to victim's closure and is stronger. Sorry.

As far as I'm concerned as a father, although it is what the law allows, your sentence today should be as severe as possible. In the end, you have failed. As a city and a country, we only became stronger and more prepared.

I also want to thank the jury and the prosecutors for a job well done. Thank you.

LIZ NORDEN: Today, with your Honor's permission, I would like to respectfully read my prepared statement. My name is Liz Norden. I'm the proud mother of sons JP and Paul Norden, brothers who each lost their right leg after the second explosion and during the Boston Marathon terrorist attack. I am extremely grateful and forever appreciative for this opportunity to express both my feelings and share a little bit about my family's life and what we've been through since Monday, April 15, 2013.

Your Honor, I can confidently say we've been through hell and back and have dealt with challenges no family should be forced to endure. It is of great emphasis when I say that only a mother can describe the everlasting agony and any grief and uncontrollably helplessness when one of their children suffers a traumatic injury causing overwhelming pain, and perhaps even more, the unthinkable, loss of life, to see your child, my children, although grown young men, so injured, so hurt, so broken, and the mere sight of them brought me to my knees in gut-wrenching and crippling pain. I'm here today because I have two sons whose lives were literally destroyed within seconds.

My family and I are no strangers to difficult times and trying circumstances and life challenges that some feel either make you stronger or tear you apart. Today it is my job to tell you what my family has been through going back to directly before the first explosion -- now I can't see -- on Boylston Street; however, before I do that, please allow me to acknowledge the many other survivors, victims and family members who have equally shared in their own suffering, pain that I've come to know and love.

Today is the time we can openly find comfort, closure and comfort that justice is served. Regardless of our individual opinions and personal beliefs concerning the appropriate punishment and how we each feel about the death penalty, the jury has rendered their decision. Although there are no winners on either side, I know this: My family, me personally, our lives have forever changed. We have to continue to work to put this tragic and hateful act behind us so it doesn't actually become a negative emotion that will slowly ruin from within.

From the beginning, my boys decided they were not going to be identified by the marathon. They both told me that they would not let this horrific event define who they'd become, yet they have accepted the disability but will not be plagued by the new obstacles in their way.

Next, it's necessary for me to force [sic] on the horrendous acts of the defendant and that of his brother that were both unexcusable and unforgiven. Nothing will ever return our lives back to before the senseless acts. No sentence, no words, no punishment will ever take back what this defendant took when he executed his plan to cause death and destruction against so many innocent people, not from the families who lost loved ones, not from the many injured and not from my two sons.

Your Honor, I have already submitted my original draft for your review and trust it will be part of the record. Please afford me a minute to mention yourself and the other wonderful people who have made this abnormal event both comforting and manageable. I can honestly admit I would need all day to thank the many awesome professional and committed staff. Thank you.

Also, I would be completely remiss if I didn't acknowledge the countless friends and strangers who rushed to help after the explosion. It is often said that very good can usually come from the extreme bad. Well, if there's any silver lining that I could say, it is the unaccountable strangers around the world, many exceptional and compassionate people who extended their love, support and kindness as we endured this nightmare. I am confident that my family would all agree that we are getting through this unbelievable ordeal because of the help and thoughtfulness of so many. So, please, from the bottom of my heart, thank you, and we are forever grateful. Over the last two years, I've spent countless hours thinking and asking why and who could be capable of committing such horrific acts, who could harbor so much anger and have so much hate that they could not only preplan, execute and commit acts of terrorism with such malice intentions and wiliness to cause as much death, destruction and fear, to be so removed from human decency and compassion that they not only place bombs besides innocent women and children, but quite honestly, after two long years, I still haven't come to understand what possible motive, reason or goal these two cowards had in mind when they exploded two homemade bombs packed with nails, screws and ball-bearings and other foreign objects.

Today I sit in this courtroom after spending many painful minutes, hours, days and weeks, months watching my two sons work to overcome, adjust and achieve the things most of us take for granted every day. Before I continue further, let me proudly proclaim, my two sons are doing remarkably well. And for the record, they recognize what was taken from them; yet, in some strange way, they have become stronger and more determined to achieve and make a positive difference.

While I find it difficult and extremely painful to put into words, let me try my best to tell you what my family has been through over the past couple of years. On Monday, April 15th at approximately 3:10, I experienced what I would clearly describe a mother's worst fear: A telephone call that I will never forget as long as I shall live. I not only heard the pain, I could feel the extreme fear and severe hurt as my second-oldest-son Paul called me from the street. I'll never forget his voice, his uncertainty, his urgency for help, yet all the time telling me he couldn't find his brother or his girlfriend.

After quickly talking with Paul and learning of the events, I heard this unfamiliar voice take the phone. I now know it was an EMT who wanted me to hurry to get to the hospital. It was very bad. The feeling of shock overwhelmed me. It was like time standing still. I can only best describe it as it seemed like an eternity. I was confronted with rushing to my two sons but had no idea where they were or where to go, in fact, if they were still alive.

I have to confess not for a second can I imagine or conceive the chaotic scene immediately following the explosion. After talking with Paul for that brief minute, the urgency, distress, pain and panic all evident, and yet assent in his voice as he remarkably attempted to remain calm, I started to panic but knew I had to keep it together so I could handle the long nights and days that awaited me.

To share some additional facts that were caused by that day: My two sons each lost a right leg. They sustained numerous wounds, injuries and burns. Paul's leg was actually severed from his body and was clearly visible when we watched the video of the explosion. He required two immediate surgeries just in order to save his life that evening. He was amputated above the knee and was placed in a medical coma for seven days until his infection cleared. It was difficult for Paul these first few weeks and at times we didn't know what was happening from one hour to the next. He spent the next 32 days in the hospital with family and friends providing emotional support, his younger brother Jonathan, who planned to attend the marathon with his two brothers that day, decided to visit JP at another area hospital.

JP was admitted to a different hospital where his legs were shredded -- where he had his leg shredded in the blast, one so severe the video confirmed that his leg was barely attached by skin and bone. It was dangling from his tattered and burned clothes. These images were clearly visible in the courtroom, images that I now wish I could erase and bury.

It should be noted that I was informed that JP arrived by EMS at the hospital with just about a liter of blood remaining in his broken, almost-lifeless body. He was barely clinging to life and spent the next 46 days in the hospital with family and friends. In addition to the limb loss, both my boys -- both of my sons had burns over 50 percent of their bodies, which required skin grafts, surgeries, and various other medical procedures. They both incurred permanent hearing loss and require medical -- due to medical care as they move forward. The bomb and explosion didn't just take their legs, but their bodies were embedded with shrapnel, nails, screws and ball-bearings causing severe and permanent nerve damage. This very day they both carry around foreign objects that may or may not work their way out through the skin. It is sad that my sons are reminded of the defendant's cowardly and gutless acts whenever they feel the pain or the movement of the metal inside their bodies. Over the last two years our lives have been turned upside down and inside out with emotions. My sons have had over 50 surgeries combined. One has lost functionality of his hand due to nerve damage caused by the shrapnel, and the other requires additional surgery to his ever-changing limb.

The bombings have not only changed JP and Paul's lives, it has also changed the lives of my entire family and friends. We will never be the same again. I cannot begin to describe the fear, the pain, the sadness and the emotional distress the bombing has caused us. As a mother, I was beyond devastated. Having two severely injured sons at two different hospitals undergoing many emergency surgeries, often at the exact same time, clearly presented a problem for me. I was being pulled in two different directions, and it would be impossible for me to explain to you today. I had to do what I hope and pray that no parent or mother should have to do: Choose, or better yet, decide where and which time I would spend my time with.

Only a mother may understand this, and it is difficult for me to say, but the guilt that I live with for not being able to be with each son when they needed me the most still haunts me to this day. I'm very proud of JP and Paul, the courage and strength they have shown my family and I this past two years. They've chosen to move on, adjusting to the new normal and have accepted their life to the better. They have clearly decided to forgive and not permit hurt and anger to enter their world and to live life to the fullest, but they are still human.

They were once trade guys. Roofers. You know, the guys who are supposed to handle everything and solve everything? Well, I know they do not want their family and friends to see them struggle, but I see how the tragic event has affected them and their siblings. I see the pain, and I can't begin to describe in words how they have suffered throughout this nightmare.

We are a very close family, and my granddaughter idolizes JP and Paul. I can tell you the day they were trying to find the right words to explain to her why they lost their legs, and how extremely difficult it was for them. That day I knew our lives had changed forever. There is not a day that goes by that a family member does not shed a tear. The simple things in life now becoming a challenge. The thing that most of us take for granted daily, but now at the very least are difficult and clearly heartbreaking for us to witness.

But please let me remind you I'm also very grateful that I have my two sons here today. Not for a minute am I saying me or my family have experienced the worst because that's not true. There are many familiar faces of families here that lost so -- even more, and believe me, my heart breaks for them every day. Although I'm speaking for my family, I want you to know as a mother, we have a common bond that will forever unite us because we truly all lost so much on April 15th.

I worry every single day about them. As soon as they walk out the door, I'm filled with worry. I worry when they're home alone, without their prosthetic on; I worry when it snows out and there's ice on the ground. I worry about every little thing. I struggle with the deepest sadness and I question God every day why. But we find strength in each other in knowing that justice has been served.

Regrettably, my family and I do relive April 15th every single day. Every day the boys wake up and are forced to put on their prosthetic, they're reminded of the explosion. The heartache never goes away, when they look in the mirror, when they see the scars across the bodies, surely April 15 will haunt us forever. I have sat through most of the trial in hopes of making some sense of how anyone could intentionally blow up innocent human beings and small children. I can't even begin to imagine the pain and suffering my boys and all the other survivors and first responders went through that day on Boylston Street, but now after all the evidence we've heard, after all the tearful testimony from other survivors and some of the victims themselves and the families that weren't lucky enough to have all of their loved ones here today, after watching the video footage will forever be a part of my memory, it was truly -- it was and is truly upsetting and distressing to see the wreckage, carnage, damage and death to know my two sons and many others were lying on a cold, hard, concrete ground, blood draining from their bodies. There are no words to describe the anguish being felt that day. I can only hope that pain lessens as time subsides.

Thank you.