Impact Statement

From the first breath our children take, to the last breath we take, we
watch, we worry, we pray. Our children are our flesh and blood. Their joy is our
joy. Their dreams are our dreams. Their pain is our pain. Their death is our death.
On Friday, October lih, 2012 at 9:09 p.m. my life ended. My eyes were open, my
heart was still beating, there was breath in my lungs and yet my life, a good life,
was forever gone.
The death of your child, even more so your only child, is the worst life can
throw at you. The dreams of my past were that of my son's future. I dream no
more; now only nightmares claw at my sleep. Nightmares born in the darkness of
evil that savaged the final moments of my young son's life. These terrifying
moments speak to me when I have the least control. Ryan's pain is now my pain,
pain that I clearly felt during one of my many nightmares. On that night Ryan
spoke to me so that he may now speak through me.
The pain is palpable as the bullets mercilessly corrupt my defenseless body.
As they rip their paths, each burns as it destroys. The realization that my life is
ending sweeps over me. I think of those I love. I think of my goals, all I hoped for,
of what could have been, what should be. As my blood, my very life, flows from
my body and soaks the carpet upon which I lie, I know my dreams will never be.
All of the work, all of the sacrifices, all for nothing. This cannot be. It is far too
soon for me to die. There is much I want to do. Dear God please not yet!
Pure evil stands over me triumphantly, patiently watching, waiting for that
which she desperately wants but can never possess to perish from this earth. I
take my last breath - her will be done.
I wake from this nightmare yelling, crying, my heart pounding as though
desperately trying to explode from my chest. Night slowly turns to day- to the
continuous nightmare that is now my life. There is no refuge. Time does not heal
all wounds; some even worsen. The best I can hope for is one day to find a way to
placate the emptiness.

The hight of my son's murder I slept, thinking all was well in my life. Since
the birth of Ryan, I gauged my well -being by that of his. If he was well, so was I.
And why would he not be? Ryan was a young, promising attorney educated
throughout the world at schools that prepared him for any challenge, opportunity
. or goal he chose to pursue in life . His law practice was thriving. Ryan enjoyed the
love and pride of two good families that watched over him with every step he
took as he journeyed on his life's path . He was brilliant, h-e was beautiful and
above all, he was kind. By all accounts Ryan's life was truly blessed - until that
Friday night. That night I laid down to sleep thinking all was well in my son's
world and by extension, mine. What I did not know was that all I knew and
treasured in my life was forever gone.
Earlier on that very day, I had confided to a close friend whose stepson had
died years previously, that if Ryan were to die, I would not ever again know how I
would get out of bed. How I would eat, sleep, talk or even breathe. For me, the
meaning of life was my Ryan . That night, my last night of peaceful sleep, my
meaning of l'ife lay bloodied and lifeless on a sheet of cold metal in the county
morgue.
Ryan's parents, Lisa and Peter, were visiting their daughter Libby, the
youngest of Ryan's sisters, who was away at school. His other two sisters, Alison
and Katie, were both living and working in New York City. They all did as I that
horrific night. They slept peacefully, not knowing that life as we knew it was
forever gone. Our beautiful, brilliant, kind-hearted Ryan was dead.
The following day, Peter and I received the phone call every loving parent
prays never to answer. Until my last breath I will hear the voice and the words of
the man on the other end of that call - "Mr. Poston, this is the Campbell County
Coroner's Office. We have a body here which we believe is a member of your
family." My brain snapped. Peter collapsed . I instantly knew my beautiful child
was dead. I instantly knew Shayna Hubers had murdered him.
Being a good parent is a selfless act. It is an act of truly loving outside of
one's self. To lose a child, especially to lose a child to murder, is an agony so
consuming, so dark, that your brain cannot and will not comprehend . It invades
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your sleep and haunts your will to live. Real loss is only possible when you love
something more than you love yourself. Those of us who love Ryan know real
loss.
Our Ryan died violently, senselessly. All six bullets Shayna Hubers fired
ripped through our son's body as he fought to hold onto his life. Individually,
none of the six were fatal; combined, those six gunshot wounds slowly, painfully
bled our Ryan to death on the floor of his home. It torments us greatly, the
question of whether or not Ryan was cognizant of his life ending. We pray that he
knew not what had befallen him.
Shayna Hubers' aim was not only to murder, but also to disfigure, to
humiliate and emasculate that which she had been denied. The simple truth is
that while growing up, and even as an adult, this spoiled, evil, narcissistic
murderer had seldom, if ever, been denied that which she wanted. The word "no"
was not spoken or heard in her world .
"There is no safety for honest men, but by believing all possible evil of evil
men. Evil men do not always snarl. Some smile charmingly. Those are the most
dangerous." - Edmund Burke. Our families, the Postons and Carters, have
learned that evil can be ethereal in stature, deceptive in its purpose and in all
shapes, sizes and genders as it comes into your home and poses as your friend.
Once evil has touched your life, it never leaves. Every thought, every occasion, it
is with you.
After you have lain in the blood of your murdered child and cursed Heaven
above, after you have cleaned his blood from the walls of his home, after you
have painstakingly, over the course of a year, removed his belongings from his
home to give to others, after constructing a temporary marker for your child's
grave site until a permanent headstone could be designed and engraved, you
know you will never again experience real peace or true happiness. It takes one
to a place that no loving parent should even visit. That place is now where we,
who love Ryan, forever dwell.

Lisa, Peter and I share our deep love for Ryan . We also share a belief that
although a child may come from a broken marriage, that does not necessitate he
should be raised in a broken home. To that end, we came together as a family.
When Ryan was a young boy and I would take him to the movies, often his sisters
would join us. To the girls, I was simply Uncle Jay. When Lisa, Peter and the
children moved overseas, I was always a welcomed guest in their home. They
came to my family's parties and we went to theirs.
Ryan was raised with the love and devotion of two fathers. If there was an
issue, Peter and I would sit down and discuss the solution. To me Peter was
family, to Ryan he was his father. To honor his love for Peter, and that he
considered himself to be both a Poston and a Carter, Ryan legally changed his
middle name from Christopher to Carter. On Peter's birthday, Ryan took his
father to dinner and his gift was the document that told the world he was Ryan
Carter Poston.
It all just worked. It worked beautifully. Together as a family we raised a
tremendous young man who would grow to be a well-adjusted adult loved and
respected by all whose paths he crossed. Thus it came as no surprise to me when
an officer investigating Ryan's murder told me that in his long career he never
failed to find someone to speak poorly of the deceased. But not so wit h Ryan.
After speaking with former girlfriends, neighbors, co-workers, his friends and
many others, they could not find a single person who had a bad word t o say about
my son. I found comfort in his words. Again, no surprise.
It is no wonder that Ryan's funeral was attended by hundreds of people
who traveled from all corners of the world and represented all walks of life. The
church was a sea of every skin color, culture, political leaning and lifest yle choice.
The commonality amongst them was their love for a man who was as kind as he
was beautiful. As brilliant as he was unassuming. They were drawn to his quick
wit, his insatiable thirst for knowledge and his encyclopedic grasp on most any
subject they wished to discuss .. When you challenged Ryan intellectually, you did
so at your own peril. And yet he had_a way of getting his point across without

being condescending or arrogant, without ever raising his voice or losing his
temper. And most impressively, without ever losing a friend.
Think of the damage Shayna Hubers has wrought upon so many living and
those who will never be. This woman not only murdered Ryan that fateful night,
but also our grandchildren and their children . In essence she murdered
generations of our families. She stole from us the joy of meeting and loving the
woman Ryan would one day have fallen in love with and married. Forever gone
are the memories we would have shared, the dreams of Ryan we would have
seen fulfilled. What we have lost as a family and a community is immeasurable.
Forever gone are the possibilities Ryan was certain to have shared with the world.
Think of never again hearing your child's voice. Of feeling the warmth of
his embrace, his kiss on your check. Hearing his laughter. Of simply knowing he is
near. Think of one day lying on your death bed surrounded by your grandchildren
and great grandchildren. The last face you gaze upon before leaving this earth
would be that of your child . For me, that is forever gone. I will leave this earth
never having held my grandchildren. Think of what Shayna Hubers has stolen
from us. Not only did she forever steal Ryan's tomorrows, she stole ours. Not
only did she steal Ryan's possibilities, she has stolen ours.
I do not know where my child is. I do not know if he is safe. I pray he is. 1'do
not know if he is warm. If he is frightened. If he can hear my voice when I speak to
him. If he knows when I am crying when the pain becomes unbearable. My
Christian faith has taught me to believe our Ryan is in the warm protective
embrace of God. This truth is the comfort I seek when the demons come calling
in the dark of night.
"Life is not fair" are words I had shared with Ryan on many occasions as he
sought answers to life's injustices. I have thought of that phrase often since my
son's murder. In the harsh light of day, those words may be as close as we will
get to an answer to the question of why. Why Ryan? Why us? The torment of why
will never leave us. The sense of guilt that we are alive and our child is not is
always with us. Why did we not protect him? Why did we not see the evil that
entered our world? What is God's plan? Is there a plan? Between the guilt and the
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sorrow, how will light ever again shine on our lives? We may one day learn to live
with the horror that our Ryan was murdered. That he is gone, just gone. But I fear
we will never outlive the question of why.
In life, the first great injustice to befall us can be the parents to whom we
are born. This misfortune was not to be for Ryan and his sisters. Lisa and Peter
lived their lives playing by the rules. They did so in their marriage and with the
raising of their children. They led by example, they led by living purposeful lives.
As good parents do, they gave their children the foundation of an excellent
education and, more importantly, unconditional love and support in all they have
pursued.
Ryan, even in his short life, lived to the fullest. He and his sisters have
traveled the world. With every step of every journey they were never far from the
watchful eyes and loving hearts of their parents. As each pursued their goals, they
were taught right from wrong and the value, the duty, of always giving back.
Good parenting is not an accident, it does not just happen. Raising your
children to be productive members of society is about long hours and hard work.
Lisa and Peter not only understood this, they lived it. Together they raised four
beautiful, responsible and loving children who are a reflection of parenting done
right.
Since Ryan's murder, I have painfully witnessed the overwhelming damage
Shayna Hubers' evil has wrought on so many good and decent lives. Lives that
will forever cast a shadow of sadness. I have watched a mother who did not just
love her only son, she adored him. Lisa, who is a strong woman and mother,
struggles everyday to live with and make sense of that which has no answers. The
murder of her son is crushing and yet she must move forward to honor his
memory and for those she loves and those who love her, who now need her even
more. It is what a good mother does.
With admiration, I have watched as Peter lives the brutal task of mourning
the death of his son, providing for his family, staying strong for his wife and
daughters, all while his heart, his world has been shattered. A good man, a strong
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man living a nightmare not of his making. Peter has the wisdom and serenity to
accept that which he cannot change . This is not the life he has worked hard for,
nor the life he had planned for himself and his family. He has no choice but to
keep moving forward with the loss, the memory and his love for his slain son. Life
goes on for those he loves, and those he loves need him.
The lives of Alison, Katie and Libby are now that of their big brother being
gone. Knowing that he was destroyed violently. How do these kind, int elligent,
loving women accept the loss and move forward? The truth is, these women who
have never hurt anyone and never will, will carry the heartache that is their
brother with every step they take until the day they are all reunited.
Ryan's sister Katie, upon hearing of her brother's murder, ran seven blocks
home through the streets of New York City scream ing and crying this cannot be,
my brother cannot be dead. Katie who spoke so eloquently at her brot her's trial
of her family forever living with an "empty chair." At Libby's college graduation
this past spring, there was an empty chair. At their weddings, at Christmas,
Thanksgiving, Easter, their birthdays, their children's birthdays, everyday, every
special occasion they celebrate for the remainder of their lives, there will always
be the empty chair at the family table . They will always wonder what great things
Ryan would have been doing had not this woman taken him. Who would his wife
be? What interesting things would his children, their nieces and nephews, be
doing with their lives? Lost forever is the comfort and advice only a big brother
can give. It is simply breathtaking in its enormity.
One of the last times I would ever again be with my son was the last time
he graced my home. It was late and he was seeking refuge from the woman, the
stalker, who in the very near future would take his life. Ryan abandoned his own
home to escape her twisted concept of love . Even in the safety of my home, she
stalked him relentlessly through the night with a barrage of text messages.
The following morning, I did as I had done thousands of times in my son's
life. I went into his bedroom to check on him. Although twenty-nine years of age,
a grown responsible man, he was and always would be my chiid . I laid down next
to him, put my head next to his on his pillow, draped my arm over his body, kissed
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him on his cheek and said "I love you Ryan." Without moving, without opening his
eyes, my child mumbled back to me "I love you Dad." We then both slept. The
last time I would ever do so with my precious son. What I would give to relive that
morning. God, I miss him!
As a little boy, even in front of his buddies, every time Ryan and I parted, he
would kiss me on the cheek and tell me he loved me. He did so with Lisa and
Peter, he did so with his grandparents. Ryan was adored by his sixteen aunts and
uncles, his forty plus cousins and friends beyond count. Everyone wanted to be
near him - he was truly special.
Tragically, in hindsight, had Ryan been my daughter instead of my son, and
had Shayna Hubers been a man as opposed to a woman, I would have handled
the situation very differently. I would have sought the involvement of the police
and I would have asked that a restraining order be issued . Although I did confront
Shayna Hubers about staying away from my son, had he been my daughter, I
would have been far more actively involved than I was with my son's future
murderer. This is where the guilt of which I spoke earlier has its genesis. Our
society views the aggression of a woman against a man with less concern as did I.
We lose sight of the fact that a gun, although an innocent object on its own, is the
great equalizer when held by evil. If only I knew then what I know now.
Today, I do my best to fill the void that cannot be filled. I wear my son's
clothes, I talk to him, and I surround myself with his memories. I write this
copious, cathartic impact statement not only to defend his name and honor, but
to say to whomever is reading this - my son was a tremendous young man who
was without fault in his violent and senseless death. What was one of his great
virtues, his kindness, played into bringing about his death. Had Ryan more
stridently confronted his stalker to move forward in her life without him, there is
a strong possibility my son would still be with us. Just as the investigators could
not find a single person, other than the claims of a convicted murderer, who had
ever heard Ryan raise his voice or lose his temper, those same investigators found
not a trace of evidence that my son had ever physically harmed Shayna Hubers or
any other person walking this earth. On the contrary, their investigation
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uncovered evidence beyond any doubt that he was the victim of his murderer's
physical abuse. Confrontation was not Ryan's nature. Had it been, you would not
be reading these words.
As we approach three years since the night of October 12th' 2012, we as a
family have had to endure the glacial process of prosecuting Shayna Hubers for
murdering our Ryan while we also mourn his death. To this day, this vile being
has shown no remorse, none whatsoever. We have no choice but to watch in the
courtroom with repulsion as she laughs and banters with her mother, father and
friends while going about her life. She plans for the day she will once again walk
amongst us a free woman. Think of that. She murders my beautiful child in coldblood and one day while she is still of childbearing age, she will have the freedom
to walk past me on the street and smile as my childless son lies buried in the
ground.
At what point in time do we who love Ryan seek closure? Do we seek it
over the course of three years as the trial is ongoing? Do we seek it as Ryan's
murderer exhausts the appeals process? Could we seek closure as Shayna Hubers
does TV interviews basking in the glory of her notorious celebrity? Do we seek it
as she pursues parole? What chance is there of closure for Ryan's murder as his
murderer walks our streets?
Our families and friends have quietly, graciously and painfully watched and
listened as Ryan's good name has been murdered time and time again by those
who publically defend his murderer in a court of law. Think of the horrific
invasion of Ryan's and his loved ones dignity and privacy, as his lifeless body, lying
in a pool of his own blood is shown countless times on TV for the world to gawk
and gasp. At what point, at what time, do we seek sleeping at night, knowing our
beloved Ryan is resting in peace? Try as I have, I do not see it, not now, not ever.
At the very least, we will never have closure in our lives as long as Shayna Hubers
draws breath.
We who love Ryan respectfully ask the court, in the memory of Ryan Carter
Poston, to delay, for as long as judicially allowed, the day this cold-blooded

murderer once again walks among us. In a pure world, a just world, light should
never shine on that day.
Shortly after Ryan's murder, a young woman who was his friend shared
with me a special story that I now share with you. She had purchased a white
bicycle helmet and taken it with her to a nightclub where she worked. During the
evening, as her many friends entered the club, she asked them to write
something memorable on the helmet and then sign it. All who did so wrote silly
nothings and signed their names. Ryan then entered the club. As with those
preceding him, his friend asked him to do as she had asked the others. Ryan
contemplated only briefly, he then wrote on the helmet - "In Aere Aedificare,
RyRy."
The young woman, unable to translate Latin, asked what it said. Ryan, with
his respect and thirst for seeking knowledge, smiled and said you have to look it
up. She did, and upon doing so learned it was a quote from St. Augustine which
translated read - "to build castles in the air."
That was my boy, our Ryan. The son, brother, friend we have forever lost.
The castles Ryan would have built on this earth, with the bounty of gifts bestowed
upon him, we will never know. Evil, for reasons only evil knows, took it upon
herself to steal from us and the world that which she could never possess. We
take comfort as best we can in believing our Ryan, our beautiful, brilliant, kindhearted Ryan, is waiting for us in God's Castle in the Air.

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Toda~
caugRt M.yse~tr
SM.rir~g tyoJL ~o JLeaso~ ...

MMe just

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for Yo"!

==~~~ ~

- - ---- - - - ; - - - - - - - - - - --

---

... tReK I JLeatized

I fATOS tRiKtliKQ oty you,

Dad.

....

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