When the Lights Go Out

October 3, 2025

On Tuesday September 23rd, the lights went out. We suddenly found ourselves in pitch black and couldn’t feel or sense any hope.

Who is “we”? My family and friends who sat in the 299th district court in Travis County Courthouse in Austin Texas.

It was around 5:20pm when Judge Karen Sage entered the courtroom after taking a 5 minute break to deliberate. The floor beneath me dropped away as the judge spoke. I was suddenly in a frozen bubble. My brain scrambled to grasp what I was hearing.

We had been prepared by the DA for a variety of outcomes but this one, probation only and no jail, was not one of them. Not with the substantial evidence we had: convicted felon, on probation and testing positive 2 hours after selling to Spencer, multiple accounts of bad behavior while in custody, and evidence that he sold fentanyl to a man who died, and was aware of it, just a few months before he sold to Spencer.

One other point. Spencer did not have access to money. He was struggling with substance abuse, and this was one of the limitations we placed on him. The dealer, named Alex, accepted an Oculus gaming system from Spencer instead of money for the drugs.

I hear: “I also know because I have been doing this for a long time, that no number of years that I sentence this defendant to will reduce your pain in any way…Fentanyl is a scourge, and too many young people are dying. I don’t believe that taking a stand on an individual case, though, is necessarily the way to stop that.” said Judge Karen Sage, a direct quote from the transcript.

She continued speaking and what I felt coming from her words was judgement, that we were somehow wrong for wanting justice. She was speaking from a place of moral superiority and her words felt like being “schooled”. Shame and disgust erupted within me and soaked my insides as I realized what she was saying.

I hear: “I am going to sentence you to 10 years in TDC, but this sentence will be probated for 10 years…I am worried. You have messed up a lot before. Ok, I am taking a chance here…”.

My brain could not take in the information. I was hearing the words but my brain moved them out just as soon as they came in. She was going on and on. In slow motion, I looked to my right at Brooklyn, my 22 year old daughter, in confusion. “She means 10 years in jail, right? Isn’t that what she is saying?” Brooklyn is shaking her head, tears streaming down her cheeks and whispers “No jail, only probation”. She was staring down at my lap, not at me. Her deep heartbreak and loss, betrayal and disbelief were palpable.

In that moment, when I realized what the sentence was, a part of me broke. BROKE. It was like getting slapped hard in the face with a wooden paddle, dismembering parts of me as it hit; at the same time, an invisible force shoved me downward into a hellish reality. Alex, who plead guilty to “selling drugs to a minor causing death or serious bodily injury”, was free.

This is When the Lights Go Out.

I heard an official sounding voice asking for anyone wanting to make an allocution statement to please come forward. An allocution statement is a victim impact statement that is made after the sentencing. I looked over at Brooklyn and Hunter, Spencer’s dad. Their cheeks and eyes were flaming red and wet with tears. Hunter stood up first and walked up to the stand. He was speaking through his tears: “I disagree completely with this sentencing. I hope you remember who gave you this chance, it was Spencer. You better say his name every day, and remember him for what he gave you. Say his name! SPENCER!”

Next, Brooklyn stood up as if suddenly animated by some supernatural force and walked, while audibly crying, up to the stand. With shaking hands she unfolded the piece of paper and read her statement that he killed her best friend and listed how her life changed upon losing her brother. She was visibly shattered. I have never witnessed such astonishing bravery. As she walked back to her seat, she happened to glance at the defense attorney to her right who looked right into Brooklyn’s eyes and said, “I am so sorry”.

It’s been over a week now since this hearing and the lights are still out. Our pain and suffering continue from the assault in court. We continue to light candles of hope as we speak up and share.

The story of Spencer, forever17, continues.