Yesterday was the sentencing hearing. Holly and Steve were with me; they were rocks and I shall never forget their strength. Here are some of the other things I remember.

--Sitting in the prosecutor's office before the hearing and being told that he would be recommending the minimum sentence, (308 months) ostensibly as part of the plea bargain.

--Being told that when the public defender and prosecutor both recommend the minimum, the judge usually accepts that recommendation, but that the judge always has the final say.

--Not really caring so much whether Nancy got the min or the max, just wanting it to be over.

--Deciding to press ahead with my entire statement, in which I asked the judge to impose the max.

--Local news cameraman and reporter in courtroom; I still am amazed this was news.

--Listening to Nancy plead guilty.

--Nancy never once looking at any of us. She was dressed in prison garb, in handcuffs attached to a waist chain.

--Being called to make my statement.

--Proximity to Nancy. Whenever a person made a statement, there were four people facing the judge, practically standing shoulder to shoulder: the person speaking, the prosecutor, the public defender, and Nancy. I was just a few feet from Nancy, much closer than I ever imagined.

--Throat going *totally* dry, and gulping water. It was so emotional I can't even begin to describe it, except that now I know precisely what it feels like to have your voice "crack with emotion" and not realistically have the option to stop speaking.

--Making eye contact with judge, and holding it while I spoke, several different times. I didn't realize that I knew so much of my statement by heart. I of course looked down a lot to read the statement as well.

--Therapeutic value of writing and re-writing statement.

--Hearing various members of my family cry while I spoke.

--Seeing the judge wipe her eye while I spoke...either a tear or a speck of dust...the judge was a paragon of stoicism, very hard to read.

--Throughout my statement and particularly at the end, feeling like the judge was *listening* and *hearing* me, and then realizing that I just didn't care so much about whether Nancy got the max or the min.

--Knowing Nancy could hear everything, and wondering what she thought of all of it.

--Listening to Holly's deeply moving and beautifully crafted statement that focused on Peter's best qualities.

--Not feeling anything other than surprise when the judge stated with precise business-like efficiency, that she was going to impose a 380-month sentence (the maximum).

--Hearing Nancy correct the judge when the judge said "five months" by accident instead of "five years" for the firearm enhancement.

--Not knowing exactly why the judge imposed the max despite the "mininum" recommendations from the prosecutor and public defender: Was it Holly's statement and my statement, and the letters and articles about Peter the judge had received? (Surely a combination thereof?) Or was it just the sheer heinousness of the crime; and it didn't matter what was said in court yesterday?

--The professionalism of the lead police detective, prosecutor, victim's advocates, judge, public defender, bailiffs, and court reporters. The folks do very hard, important work every day and rarely get recognized for it.

--I kept thinking of all my great friends and family who were thinking of Holly and me and praying for us yesterday. It absolutely helped get us through.

--The lead police detective, whose thoroughness and efficiency and calming manner (in the immediate aftermath) I shall never forget, turned to me at the end of the hearing yesterday, looked me in the eyes, shook my hand firmly and said, "that was the most powerful victim statement I have ever heard in court."

--I sought out Nancy's public defender in the hallway after the hearing. My mood was not jubilant. I was drained and restrained. I shook her hand and told her with 100% sincerity and truthfulness, that I respect her and appreciate the job she is doing; it is truly important work. I have a friend in LA who is a public defender and it is a job I could never do. I hope my little gesture meant something to her.

--Drove to firehouse after hearing, and finally met the guy (after about six tries) who grabbed the gun from Nancy's hand that night. It was great to meet him and we thanked him profusely for being part of the reason why we will not have to spend a lifetime wondering what happened in that basement.

--Drove to Pierce College after the firehouse and toured the tutoring center where Peter worked, and met several of his collaugues, many of whom came to the memorial service in Tacoma back in March. Wonderful, wonderful, people.

--Feeling almost overwhelming relief to arrive in the City of the Angels last night, and knowing that I could go home and take a walk with Holly and our dog...and our dog would be ecstatic to see us...and thinking that Nancy had an entirely different welcome wherever she ended up last night.

--I plan on posting my statement in its entirety on this thread tomorrow. Warning: it is long--about 2.5 regular-sized pages. Certain of you may have seen prior versions, but it was constantly changing until the last minute. Some may not want to read it due to its length or other reasons.

Here is coverage from a local newspaper and TV station.

***For anyone unfamilar with this case, please note the domestic violence tribute featured in the linked video clip considers my father only as a *victim* (and one of the few male true victims) of domestic violence. He was never even accused of domestic violence by Nancy or anyone else.

Thank you all for so much support during these difficult times.