The Finish Line Cannot be Destroyed
by Eric Christensen
April 17, 2013
 
I doubt the Boston bomber understood the finish line at the Marathon.  To him, it was probably viewed as a place that would have crowds, news cameras and the nation’s attention - the awful convenience of location and time to try to shake our collective sense of safety.  As with most people bent on destruction, he underestimated the consequences.


The finish line means many things to runners.  It is not simply your place finish in a race, or how much you beat your last race’s time.  The finish line is an accomplishment line that carries a very personalized meaning for each of us who ran the race.  It can be a place of joy, gratitude, immense satisfaction, solace, or a fitting tribute to what has driven us to run that particular race.  Sharing the finish with your loved ones is symbolic of this participation in your training through their foregoing the weekend breakfasts with you, their encouragement when you lose focus, and their pride in your desire to better yourself.
 
You are not alone despite the solitary efforts required to finish the race.  From the thousands around you at the start who have also matched your passion and sacrifice to line up in the dark cold morning, the running mate you may be with throughout the race, or that wife, child, husband or friend waiting at the finish line.
 
I started running on a whim in middle age.  A group of classmates decided to sign up for a half marathon the year following our 30th High School Reunion.  We lived in various locations so we used email as a nice way to stay in touch, offer advice and encourage one another.  Through the preparation for this first race, I discovered the joys of running.  The first race led to a second, and so on.  I found that the 13.1 mile races forced me to be honest with my workouts, and that signing up with friends created an accountability of fun.  The joy was there with each race, as was the satisfaction of crossing the finish line.
 
The death of my 19 year old son Miles four years ago gave running and races new meaning.  Good amounts of concentration, sleep, diet and exercise were needed to manage the crushing grief.  Managing concentration and sleep were not possible by sheer will.  I knew I could make a daily effort to manage my diet and exercise that in turn would help me sleep and better my concentration.  My running became a source of salvation during this time.  The joy in running was gone and wouldn't return for more than a year.  I was often mentally exhausted after each run, but I knew I had to run to escape the gravity of grief pulling me deeper into my bed each morning.   My running mates Sean, Stacey, Samantha and Sam pulled me ahead and kept me accountable to first sign up then finish each race. 
 
The finish lines of the three half marathons I ran in the next year meant I was taking steps forward with grief.  I carried the memory of Miles with me in each workout, race and across finish lines.  The grief became more manageable through the running and I began to see each finish line as an act of defiance against what was at times an overwhelming desire to never leave my house.
 
So I know that this symbol the bomber tried to destroy – tried to make unsafe in our future – cannot be destroyed.  He killed, maimed and injured.  He changed forever the course of some families in terrible ways – as all terrorists do.  But he underestimated the will of the runners, the joy of their families to be at that finish, the willingness of the volunteers to celebrate their city.  The runners will be back in Boston and every city.  The lives lost and damaged acting as fuel to all of us who exercise as a means of defiance against time, entropy, fears, mediocrity, loss and the hundred other reasons that get us to put on a racing bib. 
 
Today, April 17, would have been Miles’ 23rd birthday.  The finish lines have never compensated for his loss – they have helped to make it manageable.  And the races have helped when I see other runners running in tribute to someone they have lost, some problem running has overcome, or as the quite celebration of their sacrifices.  I can only imagine their feelings at their finish lines.  These can never be taken from us by a bomber.
 
-Eric Christensen
 
I have left the bomber as an individual because that was what we knew when I wrote this note.
​

May 22, 2011
 
Judge Robert Fitzgerald
Superior Court, County of Orange, Dept. # C-5
Central Justice Center
 
RE:  Sentencing of J B, Case 09NF1375
 
Your Honor,
 
My name is Eric Christensen and I am the father of Miles Andrew Christensen.   JB was before your court on November 19, 2010 for sentencing following his guilty plea in the deaths of both my son and Jackie Ardalan on May 11, 2009.  You sentenced JB to two concurrent one year sentences in County Jail.  Of this sentence, 90 days were removed for his time in Chino State Prison, and an additional 15% of the term would be removed following “good behavior” while incarcerated.  I now understand that the County Jail is considering some type of work release program where the punishment aspect of his sentence will be all but removed. 
 
I do not know if you have any ability to intervene in this matter.  If you do, I am asking if you will on behalf of Miles, Jackie, me and their families.  This letter began following the November 2010 sentencing and I have held off on writing to you in order to try and gain some perspective on your sentence.  It is now necessary to finish the letter.
 
I must tell you that your sentence created the second worst day in my life – surpassed only by May 11, 2009 when my son was killed by JB.  I had been reading about drunk driving accidents and fatalities among young people in Orange County for years prior to my son’s death, going so far as to clip articles and talk to both of my sons about the risks that were very real and present for their age.  Among these articles were ones about the sentences handed down to the people convicted.  The sentencing seemed unusually consistent when there was a fatality involving a passenger who also had alcohol in their system.  I am sure you know that a six year sentence in state prison was what I read for these types of drunk driving fatalities.  Six years for killing one or two friends.  It felt at the time like a light sentence when I read these as a curious citizen.  You can imagine my feelings when my own son was killed under similar circumstances and I considered how cheap three years for his life would be as a sentence to his killer. 
 
Unfortunately, I was aware of the budget constraints our state was facing, the upheaval in the penal system administration; and sadly, your sentencing history found in an internet search.  I was therefore resigned to hearing this lighter option of a sentence on November 19th.  As a parent, I was not out for blood vengeance, and understood the reasons for our justice systems gradations of criminal homicide.  I was anticipating justice within this context but never – never within a million years – was I prepared to hear your sentence of two years in County Jail.  My son’s life in the eyes of society, represented by your office, became worth less in time meted out than the time his mother was pregnant with him 20 years before.  The statistics for sentencing following any drunk driving homicide that year are beyond my research, but I cannot believe that your sentence fell within even the first deviation from the norm. 
 
My feeling following your sentence was as if my son was killed again.  The competing feelings of numbness and outrage have never really gone far below the surface in the past seven months.  This is your sentence on my life.  My way of coping with them today following the shocking news of a partial release for JB is to ask you to try and rectify what I believe was your far too lenient sentence by intervening in the Jail’s entertaining of this further insult to Jackie’s and Miles’ lives.  I can summarize the reasons for my request with the following:
 
Lack of Remorse
My parenting skills can rightfully be called into question but I did raise my sons to understand that true sorrow involves an expression of regret to the one wronged.  Sorrow – or repentance – is normally manifested in the turning from the wrong based on a heartfelt recognition of your wrong.  JB has yet to send any form of communication to me regarding his regret at killing Miles.  Not a text, email, letter, card, call or request to talk to me regarding his regret.  Not in the year and a half prior to sentencing or the seven months following.  If his attorney told him not to contact me, then that should be a decision he lives with in his unexpressed thoughts.  But he should not be able to credibly tell you that he has sorrow over something he never expressed to me – or Jackie’s parents.  He did not utter a word of sorrow at his sentencing, so you can imagine how shocked I was to hear you mention this as some type of mitigating factor in his sentence.  There is an expression in business that unexpressed competence is assumed incompetence.  I cannot judge JB’s heart – but I can judge the lack of any expression of remorse from him to me. 
 
Additionally, I understand that the injuries causing my son’s death are more consistent with his being hit as a pedestrian – not a passenger.  JB knows the true story of that night.  He knows if the police are right in their suspicion that there was another driver racing him.  His lack of cooperation in settling this issue screams a lack of remorse.  The limited punishment he has should not be abbreviated anymore by a work release that would effectively chop this first leg holding up the sentence.
 
Safety for Society
I was never given any information regarding alcohol or substance abuse education/treatment Berggren underwent/attended during the interim of the crash and his incarceration.  I understand that attendance at AA meetings and other resources to understand addiction are voluntary in prison.  I am old enough to understand that a lack of understanding our failures is an excellent harbinger of our future to repeat the mistakes – no matter how much we may intend to never repeat them.  Since I have no knowledge of JB’s remorse, or his availing himself of chemical dependency resources, I have to assume that he will be a time bomb waiting to explode again in reckless driving and further alcohol abuse.  A lack of attendance at any type of sober living program speaks of a lack of introspection and remorse regarding his actions. 
 
The Multiple Offender Alcohol Program requirement of his parole only indicates a future action that unfortunately has less than stellar outcomes.  Based on the lack of deterrent programing he accessed before sentencing, there is no more predictability that society will be safe from him than there was prior to his killing Miles and Jackie.  This is a second reason for my asking you to intervene on the Jail’s consideration of him for work release.
 
Deterrent for Society
A portion of every sentence is supposed to act as a deterrent to anyone in society who may be contemplating a similar criminal act.  This third leg holding up the platform of a sentence was severely shortened on November 19, 2011.  The County Jail system is now wishing to sand down the remaining stump, leaving the sentence as nothing more than a trip stone on the floor of justice. 
 
I cannot pretend to remember when I turned the corner on the false assumption of youth that I was immune from the consequences of stupid actions.  Nor can I honestly say that the original intention of a 13 year sentence would have prevented other young people from acting in as reckless a manner as JB.  But I know that it pains me when I wonder if it would have prevented any of the ongoing drunk and reckless driving accidents plaguing our county.  I am certain that the contemplated reduction of his already light sentence will do more harm. 
 
Please consider acting on my request and somehow correcting what I consider to have been a great wrong in your sentencing November 19, 2010.  I wrote the following to you in the Victim Impact Statement.  It rings even more loudly now as my plea to you:
 
Your Honor, I ask you to consider the weight of two lives taken in your sentencing.  I believe they demand more balance in our justice system than the feather of no jail time, or the pebbles of a smaller sentence that can be reduced to 1.5 years per life through our prison system.  Even the sentence recommended by the district attorney will have Jared out of jail at a younger age than I was when Miles was born. 
​
I am now urging you to intervene in order to extend the period of jail time to that only of the time his mother was pregnant with him.  You already took away what had seemed like an absurdly short period of 1.5 years for each life taken.

​Judge Robert Fitzgerald
Superior Court, County of Orange, Dept. # C-5

RE:  Sentencing of JB

Your Honor,

I am Eric Andrew Christensen, the father of Miles Andrew Christensen.  I am writing this Victim Impact Statement to describe, in small measure, the effect his death has had and will continue to have on me.
In the early morning of May 11, 2009, Jackie Ardalan and my son were with the defendant JB.  As the police report shows, they had all been drinking alcohol.  And for reasons the defendant has yet to explain, he recklessly drove at a high rate of speed on a winding road, lost control, stopping when his truck slid up an embankment and crashed into a tree.  This crash was so catastrophic that it opened the cabin of the truck, throwing Jackie and my son Miles to their deaths.  My son’s seat was pushed to the back bed of the truck, facing sideways.  This son that I had so much joy in raising; who had so much joy in his life and so much to live for; who was only at the beginning of his adult life; was killed by a reckless, drunken act.

This first year after Miles’ death has been one of waking up on Sunday nights at 2:30 AM, tears, lack of concentration, remorse, sadness, anger, regret and so many other emotions that take turns tormenting me.  I see my other son, Tanner, who pulled into himself and I worry about how it will affect his future choices for college, career and relationships.  His friends and family have rallied around him and supported him, even as they too have felt the pain of losing their friend and surrogate older brother in Miles.  My friends, my family and my clients have been consistently great in their love and support.  But through this year, I feel alone and know that my son Tanner must also feel this emptiness despite standing among people who love him. 

There are the memories of the times I spent with Miles and the pain of knowing we will never have them again.  The river rafting, golfing, skiing, trips to national parks like Yellowstone, and seeing our nation’s capital.  I think about the barbecues, holidays and our Friday lunches.  Each season has had my thoughts go to what Miles would do:  snowboarding, surfing, softball, dirt bike riding, and trail riding.  He lived such a full life that had so much laughter in it.  Now it is gone and the laughter is silent.  I missed Miles at each of his brother’s senior season football games this Fall, and how Miles would have been proud of his accomplishments.  I missed him at Tanner’s high school graduation.  And I resent that all of the delays in this process have acted as an open sore on Tanner’s senior year.

Overlying this is the solitude of judgment I feel as a parent.  I find little satisfaction in anything I may have done right as a parent and find that there is no emotional balm that can sooth the pain of my failures as a father.  I know that the things we tend to work out with time with our adult children will never be granted to me.  I now live with the feeling that there is no redemption in this mortal life for the failures I had in raising my son.  I told him I loved him every day; we hugged one another every time we met and said good-bye; we prayed every night that he was with me, and we talked about important things; I volunteered in his grade school classes, and on and on.  But I wake up every day feeling that my soul has been disabled by my failures and the loss of Miles through JB’s reckless action.

As I look to the future, I know that there will no longer be any unhindered celebrations or unfettered joys for me.  Every leap of happiness is now dragged down by the weight of his absence.  It can be a small pang within, or it can be tears – but it is always the ending to my joys today.  

I will celebrate Christmas, New Year, Thanksgiving, birthdays and the like; but they will continue to be saddened by Miles’ absence.  His laugh, his smile, his cooking that meant so much will be gone.  I will look but not be able to find Miles at future celebrations like my own wedding, Tanner’s wedding, the birth of nephews and nieces, or the times he would spend as an uncle. 

And I hurt for Tanner who will spend the rest of his life without his brother and friend.  A friend of mine has a father who is 92 years old.  He wept when he heard of Miles’ death.  He wept for not only the loss of Miles but for the future Tanner will spend without Miles.  This 92 year old man lost his brother in a drunk driving accident 75 years ago.  For 75 years he has wanted him back and knows about the long sentence Tanner has before him.  This is what was taken.

Most of all, I will miss the life not lived.  I will miss getting to know the wife Miles will never have, the children who will never be born, his life as a brother to Tanner, the times we would have spent together, the way he would face his future, and the life he will never experience – I will miss my son Miles.

And I know that this feeling that wakes me up in the morning, puts me to bed at night and pulls on me throughout the day will be my last feeling in this life – I miss Miles.  This is my lifetime sentence.

JB, the recklessness of your actions that night are singular to you.  They were not the everyday occurrence of every young drunk driver.  If they were, then the streets in Orange County would be littered with death every weekend night.  You and I know that my son and Jackie are dead because of your recklessness. 

Your Honor, I ask you to consider the weight of two lives taken in your sentencing.  I believe they demand more balance in our justice system than the feather of no jail time, or the pebbles of a smaller sentence that can be reduced to 1.5 years per life through our prison system.  Even the sentence recommended by the district attorney will have JB out of jail at a younger age than I was when Miles was born. 

​Yet it is the one sentence I see that can promote itself as a deterrent for those watching this case – hopefully serving to change their behavior behind the wheel of a car.  I was a father who spoke again and again about the dangers of drinking and driving – going so far as to cut out articles on teen fatalities as illustrations of my point.  It didn’t work.  I do hope the sentence you determine will act as a deterrent for the sphere of friends of JB and those who knew Jackie and my son Miles.