Family, Friends & Fellow Officers Remember...

Bryan,
I just wanted to tell you Happy Birthday, and to let you know that there is not a day that goes by that I don't think about what you did for us! Thanks.

~Heather~

Heather

April 16, 2006

Happy Birthday brother!!! Your tourney went great. Everyone involved true put their heart into maing sure your name is held high in honor!!!

Officer Larry Waltermyer
Columbus Police

April 16, 2006

Nice visiting with you on your Birthday, To the family I hope you all have a nice Easter!

a friend

April 16, 2006

Happy Easter Brian!!!!!!!!!!!

Ofc. Daniel R. Jones (Med.Ret)
Columbus, Ohio Division of Police

April 16, 2006

Bryan, I just wanted to say Happy Birthday,we miss you and think of you every day. See ya tomorrow.

family

April 14, 2006

We're playing poker in your honor Saturday. Marissa wants to celebrate your life and not your death. So I decided to try and make it an annual gig on your b-day. That way we can play cards, drink beer and celebrate with friends and family. Cant think of a better way of doing it. Anyways, watch over us all and we miss you. Happy birthday brother!!


PS. If someone in your family wins again this year, we're protesting!! (LOL)

Ward
CPD

April 13, 2006

Thank you for looking out for all of us when we need it most.

Officer Robert M. Sagle #2254
Columbus Division of Police

April 13, 2006

Bryan-

It's been a long time since I've written you. As usual, a lot has been going on around here. Last month, Donnie, Malia, your parents, and myself went to Washington DC to receive the Medal of Valor on your behalf. It was really cool to meet President Bush, but obviously, it should have been you meeting him, not me. After all, you were his biggest fan! I remember when you and I voted in the 2004 Presidential Election. I carried Malia in her Baby Bjorn frontpack and she screamed the entire time, both in line and during the voting itself. You were both floored and irritated with me that I voted for John Kerry. At the time, I thought Bush was a dumba**, who didn't even know where the major cities of the world were located. It's amazing how being a secondhand victim of a horrendous crime changed me. The thought of voting Democratic is nauseating to me now. Being a part of this process has changed me so much as a person, some for the better and some not. It's not as easy to find the good in others. Listening to the defense at your trial was nauseating. I wanted to throw up when I heard excuse after excuse of why Daryl Lawrence shouldn't die for what he did to you. It has made me wonder who in their right mind could work as a defense attorney, representing a cop killer at that, and look themselves in the mirror every morning.

Anyways,about DC.....I bought Malia an awesome champagne colored dress with matching coat. The coat had rhinestone buttons and was so very Jackie O. She looked awesome! She was supposed to meet Bush with me, but she decided that a nap was more important. Oh well! I got some great pics of her on the steps of the Capitol building.

Right after your trial, I went to Vegas for a few days for some relaxation. It was just what I needed. I came back feeling really good, even though I didn't win a penny. It gave me a chance to hang out with Angie and Krissy.

Speaking of the ladies, we have been joking lately that we are 'professional mourners'. We attend so many funerals and calling hours that we consider ourselves funeral connisseurs. To many, it might seem morbid, but then again, it's something only widows would find funny and actually understand. Thank God for them!! We have such a blast together.

Bryan, I am now a stay-at-home mom...kind of. I resigned from the Sheriff's Office. There are so many things that I want to do that I don't even know where to start. I need to go back to school and finish my Bachelors, seeing as how I dropped out senior year to go to the academy. It's hard to think about leaving Law Enforcement altogether, so I'm exploring a lot of stuff. Then there are other days where I say 'screw it', I'm applying to Vet School. So for now, I'm hanging out with Malia and doing all of the fun stuff we never got to do before. She is absolutely loving having me to herself, full-time....however, she is getting very, very clingy with me. My neighbor has assured me that it's a normal toddler phase, but crap....there are times where she freaks out when I am not in her sight! I have been working on her playroom. Donnie and Troy installed awesome cabinetry with a desk. It is perfect and she loves the room.

You would be so proud of Malia, Bryan. She is so damn smart. I can show her any book, and ask her to identify any animal, shape, color, etc...and she knows them all. It is really cool. She is very much into hugging and kissing these days. When she gets really frustrated, she likes to hit Felony!! It's awful, but thankfully, he is a great dog and tolerates it. Actually, he probably doesn't even feel it since he's 120lb now. Anyways, I tell Malia "Malia, hitting isn't nice! You need to tell Felony you're sorry and give him some love." Malia walks over to him, stands on her tiptoes, and kisses him on the nose. It's hilarious. In her mind, all is forgiven with a kiss.

Although I eventually want Malia and I to live in the country, our neighborhood is really starting to grow on me. It's relaxing to listen to the boats and jetskis, now that it's getting warmer. Alum Creek just opened a dog park, with a fenced in running area and also a special part of the reservoir where the dogs can swim. Felony was jumping on the rocks on the shoreline and slipped and fell right into the water...he sunk. The water had to be about 12 feet deep. Slooooowly, I watched him rise back up to the surface and paddle back to shore. He had the look of WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT? It was so funny. He has got to be the least agile dog that ever existed. Angie and Cory brought their Rotts down with us last week, and their dogs are so impressive....they do all kinds of agility exercises and other cool stuff. I just have this thing that looks like a deer/camel cross. If it's dark and he's standing in the backyard at just the right angle, he looks like a freaking deer in the yard.

My mom and I took Malia to the mall on Saturday for her Easter pictures. Luckily, we had an old pro who knew how to get Malia's attention. The photos turned out so cute. However, we did not have such good luck with Malia seeing the mall Easter Bunny. She wanted nothing to do with him. In the end, I ended up sitting on the Easter Bunny's lap, with me holding Malia. Lovely.

I found out that the 1970s Chuck Taylor Converse AllStars have been resurrected. Malia is now the proud owner of a bright pink pair - they are way cool for a 2 yr old.

Your 2nd Annual Memorial Poker Tourney is this Saturday. It will be awesome. This year, I'm going to play in it. Hopefully I'll make you proud and win everyone's cash. Afterwards, we are having a celebration in your honor--lotsa beer and all that good stuff!

We miss you and love you,
Marissa and Malia

p.s. You would be so proud of me. I learned to drive a stick shift this week. Don't worry, not on your Mustang!

Marissa

April 10, 2006

Bryan, what more can be said on hear that already hasn't been said? I just want to say that everyday before I put my uniform on to go to work I click on your page and just ask that I could have half the strength,courage,and dedication you had everyday. You make me proud to be a Columbus Police Officer and to have been one of your brothers in blue!!

Police Officer Larry Waltermyer
Columbus Police Dept.

April 4, 2006

Mrs.Hurst, I wanted to hug you the day I heard of your loss. Brian sounds so special,that old saying the good die young seems so true.I want you to know my family will think of you and your little daughter and Brian often.Our father was a Lima police officer who was killed in line of duty also.His killer came up for parole and was granted it by our Ohio Parole Board,we fought and won 5 more years. Iam so glad true justice was given to the inmate of your husband. I hope it is not wrong to put this message to you on this wonderful site. Please know you are always thought of.God Bless you and your Daughter and family

debbie hurst

April 3, 2006

Good luck! You deserve to have some kind of normal in your life now! What ever normal would be. God bless you and Malia.

Laurie
cpd Florida

April 3, 2006

Thank you kindly Marissa and Donnie for posting those for us who were unable to go to the trial

Bryan, we miss you everyday. I will be visiting you soon

a friend

April 1, 2006

Marissa,
I saw the news this morning about your settlement with the County. I couldn't believe how big Malia is! She is so beautiful! I just wanted to wish you the best with everything. It must be hard to have 2 major decisions come one right after another. We're thinking about you and praying for you. I really admire you're strength and bravery through everything. All our best to you.

CPD wife

March 31, 2006

Gumper,

Marissa and I were talking about the trial and decided we should post our Victim Impact statements since the judge didn't allow us to read them in their entirety. I guess it didn't matter though. The judge probably made the right decision looking back. Miss you!!

Victim Impact Statement

Submitted by Sgt. Donald M. Oliverio
Friend/Co-worker
Columbus, OH Police Department

Thank you your honor. Good morning. I am Donnie Oliverio. Officer Bryan Hurst was a co-worker and also my best friend. I have had many opportunities to speak on Bryan’s behalf over the years, including as the best man in his wedding and numerous times as a result of the tragic events that have occurred since January 6, 2005. This time my role is much different. First, this is the first time I have been asked to talk about how Bryan’s death has impacted me. Up until this point I have focused on Bryan and his family so this statement will be especially difficult. Daryl Lawrence shot and killed my best friend who, most importantly, was a husband, father, and son. Mr. Lawrence’s guilt is no longer in dispute having been found guilty by a jury of his peers. The bullet Mr. Lawrence fired into Bryan’s chest not only killed Bryan, but also left a void in many lives that can never be filled. Unless you have lost a best friend, husband, father, or son to senseless violence you may not fully comprehend the far-reaching impact such a loss has on the victims left behind. I hope to help you understand. In doing so I will be asking you to make arguably the most important decision of your lives.

Bryan and I met shortly after he joined the Columbus Police Department almost 10 years ago. We were partnered up in the same cruiser after he was assigned to the same east side precinct I was working. As luck would have it we found out we grew up on the same street in a very small town outside Clarksburg, WV. Neither one of us had much growing up. My mother was an alcoholic and my father left before I was born. My father was always in trouble with the law. Mostly for failing to pay child support and tax evasion. My mother didn’t even have a driver’s license until she was 35. Stepfathers came and went. My mother and grandmother were victims of domestic violence at the hands of my stepfather. I remember when I was 6 or 7, my older brother went to bed with a .22 pistol and swore to me he would use it if my stepfather placed another hand on our mom. The violence continued, but my brother chose the correct path. He knew even then that his actions had consequences. Similarly, Bryan grew up without much and his father left when he was young. Neither of us had an opportunity to go to Bishop Hartley or St. Charles. Bryan’s mother remarried, and fortunately his new father Ted is an outstanding man. Bryan always spoke proudly of Ted. Bryan liked being Ted’s son. You know I never once remember Bryan ever mentioning his biological father, except to say he had one that lived in W.V. Somehow we both managed to be productive citizens. Mr. Lawrence chose to take the wrong path and it his fault he did not have success in life. His actions have consequences. Even though Bryan ended up moving to Ohio when we were kids, that didn’t keep us apart for long as we became best of friends as we matured into street cops. I learned that Bryan and I joined the force for similar reasons. We wanted to do the right thing and we wanted to help people. We wanted to be part of a team and having a large police family made it easier to deal with living apart from family. Bryan wanted to serve his country and he did so proudly as a United States Marine. Bryan’s upbringing and his experiences as a police officer and marine taught him that his actions had consequences. Bryan understood that being asked to stand a post meant just that, and he always proudly fulfilled his duties and was honored and privileged to have the opportunity to do so. Bryan knew that if he were to stray from his post, his actions would have consequences. And that he may not have control over just what the consequences would be. Ladies and gentlemen, Daryl Lawrence’s actions have consequences as well. Mr. Lawrence has strayed from his post. And he unfortunately does not have control over what those consequences will ultimately be. And here lies the seriousness of your decision.

Bryan quickly blossomed into an outstanding street cop. He did his job, much as he was doing on January 6, 2005. He repeatedly risked his life in the line of duty so others could sleep in peace at night. Bryan saved many lives on the morning of January 6, 2005. But don’t think for a minute that the morning of January 6, 2005 was the only time Bryan placed the lives of others before his own. Bryan completed his duty and by his death he continues to serve as his quick and heroic actions ultimately brought a violent killer to this trial. Bryan volunteered, and nobody had to ask. Bryan risked his life and was willing to lay down his life for others the minute he decided to enlist in the Marine Corp. and to become a police officer. He did it because that was his job. His vocation. His calling. And he did it well. And as you know he did it well right up until his last breath was taken from him by the evil that entered that bank. And nobody had to ask.

Bryan’s work enabled him to purchase his own home at the age of 26. I remember he was so proud of his house. We worked on it together many times. We finished the basement, built a fence, and were always doing little repairs. We helped each other out just as best friends should. Bryan was always there when I needed him. Whether while making an arrest or just working on a project in our free time. I still make arrests and work on projects. But now Bryan is not there to help. I could always count on Bryan to be there when I needed him. Sometimes I forget he is gone for an instant. I pick up the phone to call him but the person on the other end is not my friend. I quickly come back to reality and hang up the phone. I now know it is okay to cry.

Bryan and I faced many dangerous situations together as street cops. We always discussed the possibility of dying at work. I don’t think either of us ever thought it would actually happen. You see, you have to have a level of confidence to do this job. Deep down I know we worried about it, but we would never admit it. Acknowledging our fear was out of the question. We were trained to win, and we were confident we always would. Bryan put on a uniform to go to work, much as many of you do. But our uniform had to make us invincible. Kind of like our very own superman suit. Unfortunately we learned that we are not invincible and no level of confidence can keep every cop alive. Miss Menasche was correct. Bryan was a good cop. A trained cop. And yes he used nicotine and drank Pepsi with caffeine. But I can tell you that no cop would have made it out of that bank alive given the circumstances created by Mr. Lawrence. No matter how good or how trained they may have been. If somebody wants you dead bad enough, then you are going to die. Now I know it is okay to acknowledge fear as long as you don’t submit to it. My superman suit is gone and I still have to do my job. And do you know what? Now I am scared and I am not afraid to admit it. I have contemplated choosing a different career, but I know that is not what Bryan would want. I will not dishonor my friend by abandoning the vocation Bryan lost his life doing. My wife is scared more for me now than ever. I think she can sense that my confidence is gone. And a police officer with a lack of confidence is a dangerous thing. I have a daughter just like Bryan but she is five years old, as well as a young son, too young to understand everything that is going on. My daughter knows Bryan as Gump. It was a nickname some of the guys on the precinct and I gave Bryan. She saw on the news that the verdict was announced and she saw that I was upset. She saw Gump on the news as well. She says, “That’s Gump daddy. Why are you sad?” When I came home after court my daughter told me she was very sorry that I was sad and she wanted to give me a snack to cheer me up. You bet I’m scared. I don’t want to leave my wife without a husband, or my kids without a father. I want that snack to cheer me up. But because of Mr. Lawrence a daughter will not know her daddy, and a wife, mother, father, brother, and sister will live the rest of their lives without Bryan. I hope you can fathom the terror that Bryan must have felt in the last moments of his life, a life that Mr. Lawrence gave no regard, as you make this most important decision.

Bryan just wanted to go to work. Make a days pay for a days work. Then go home and be with his beautiful wife, Marissa and his adorable daughter, Malia.

I remember when Bryan met Marissa. She did a ride-along with Bryan on our precinct. They began dating and eventually married and had Malia. Bryan was so excited when he met Marissa. They were a great couple. A couple that is now one. Marissa and Malia now have to move on without Bryan due to his murder. That will be a difficult task that no man, woman, or child should have to endure. It seems like yesterday when Bryan asked me to be the best man in his wedding. I think I was as excited as he was. I was proud of him and the life he was creating for himself. I am proud to have known him and to have had the opportunity to be his friend. I now know that best friends will not be around forever. I am forced to move on as well. But now I pay more attention. I don’t take things for granted. I look my friends in the eye when I am talking to them. I listen to them intently and try to soak up every minute of the times I have with them. I stop to talk with them instead of quickly passing by. Because I know that they may be gone tomorrow. And I leave them with a hug and a quick, “Be careful!” or “I love you man!” Fortunately I vividly remember my last day with Bryan. It was December 29, 2004, just days before his death. We went out to watch the Ohio State Buckeyes in the Alamo Bowl. The Bucks won the game but we didn’t get to see the very end together. But I did get to give him a hug and a squeeze and a quick “Be careful!” before he left. Bryan had to leave for some reason. I remember thinking it was unlike him to leave before the end of a game. He was an avid football fan. He loved his Steelers and the Buckeyes.

January 6, 2005 has forever changed my life. I work special duty like Bryan. Much like other officers do. Only now I am much more careful. I am much more suspicious. Call it scared if you want to. Hopefully that fear will keep me alive until my confidence returns. I remember waking up to a phone call from Officer Steve Rosser the morning Bryan died. He said, “Donnie, are you up?” I said, no!” He said loudly, “Get up, I don’t know how else to tell you this but I think Gump’s been shot in the head.” I remember thinking it couldn’t be Bryan. He didn’t work this early so I was temporarily relieved but still concerned and confused. It took me a minute to remember that it was Thursday and Bryan was working special duty. I dropped the phone and ran down the hall. I remember my body went limp. My lips went numb and for some reason I couldn’t keep the saliva in my mouth. I couldn’t talk or get off the floor. My mother-in-law was there watching my kids so I could get some sleep after coming off the night shift. My oldest was so scared of me that she began crying hysterically and ran away. I somehow managed to drive to Bryan’s house. The next thing I knew I was clutching Marissa trying to find the strength to tell her that her husband was gone. Here started the horrific journey that we are still on today as you are asked to make the most important decision of your lives. Thoughts of my arrival at Grant Hospital will haunt me forever. Police officers lined the streets. But Bryan was not lined up among them. I remember riding with Marissa and Commander Mathias in the back of the paddy wagon as it carried Bryan from Grant, past a stream of officers standing at attention, to the morgue. I carried Bryan to his grave a few days later while in the company of our family members. All 4,000 of them.

In closing, Bryan died a hero and he will be forever honored and remembered. I think this sums up the kind of man Bryan was best. During my best man speech at Bryan’s wedding I stated to the congregation. “Bryan would do anything for his friends. He would give you more than just the shirt off his back, he would give you his kidney if you asked him to.” You see, it turned out I was wrong. Bryan Scott Hurst gave more than a kidney. He gave his life. But nobody had to ask.

Sgt. Donnie Oliverio
Columbus, OH Police Dept.

March 28, 2006

My Hero!!! I wish I could have met you.

March 26, 2006

Marissa, I must say that your last posting was probably the most powerful message I have ever read on here. Thank-you for sharing your memories and thank-you for sharing your life. I hope you and Malia are doing well. Bryan, continue to watch over them.

becky Muncy, widow of Sgt. Marc Muncy
assistant Prosecuting Atty, Franklin County

March 26, 2006

We will be in Washington in May to honor you.

All our love,
Linda Rittenhouse
Matt's Mom Forever

Linda Rittenhouse
Mother of Officer Matthew Rittenhouse E.O.W. 9/16/04

March 24, 2006

That statement left me speechless!

Ofc. Daniel R. Jones #2079 (Med.Ret)
Columbus, Ohio Division Of Police

March 23, 2006

Bryan-

I've decided to post the statement that I read as "Victim Impact" in court. My first draft, which I am going to post later on when I locate it, is grittier and to the point. Sadly, I learned that victims have no rights when it comes to testifying in court. I was not permitted to address Daryl Lawrence and tell the jury how I really, truly felt. However, Lawrence's family was allowed to address our family as they pleased. That is my one true disappointment of the trial, even though we were victorious in the end.--------------


Victim Impact Statement
Marissa C. Hurst
3/1/06


I’ve known for while that I needed to write this, but just couldn’t. It’s not that I was at a loss for words, but rather that I have too much to say. How do I convey the absolute destruction of my life on just a few pages of paper? Every time I have another special memory of Bryan, I jot it down because I want to share it. I don’t know if I’m writing it down to share with others, or if I’m writing it down so I don’t ever forget myself. I finally decided that I’m going to tell the complete story of my life with Bryan. I want everyone to realize that Bryan was a real, living, breathing person and not a robot wearing a uniform and a gun belt.

Bryan came into my life in April 2000. I had to do a series of police ride-a-longs with Columbus Police for my Criminology coursework at OSU. I chose to do mine on 12 precinct, because it was the same neighborhood where my college job was located. I knew it was a bad neighborhood, but I wanted to see what went on out there outside the comfort of my office. Needless to say, I was assigned to ride with Bryan during his shift from 3p - 11p. The shift was hopping, and he bounced from call to call to call. It was so busy that I only got a chance to ask a few of the questions for my assignment. Although it was a warm day, it got cold towards the evening and Bryan told me that he had a coat in his personal car, parked at the substation. I told him that I didn’t need it, but he kept insisting, so I agreed and we went back to the sub. Although Bryan did get me the jacket, I later learned that he wanted to go back there so he could show me his brand new convertible Mustang, the first new car he had ever owned. He was so proud of that car.

The shift wore to an end and I learned that Bryan grew up in West Virginia, later moved to Toledo, spent 4 years in the Marine Corps, and then went to college for 2 years. It seemed like a lot to have accomplished for someone who looked about 20 years old, so I asked him how old he was. He answered, “How old are you?”, smiling. I told him that I was 21, and he said, still smiling, “I’m 21, too!” It was funny and obvious that he was kidding. A few minutes later, he admitted he was actually 29.

At the end of the shift , I “accidentally” kept his jacket and he “accidentally” forgot to ask for it back.

The next day at work, everyone asked about my ride-a-long. I told my co-workers just how exciting our neighborhood really was, but I mostly talked about how kind the officer I had ridden with was. We then all began affectionately referring to him as “Officer Bryan.”

Needless to say, within a few days, Officer Bryan showed up at my office. Everyone was getting excited, saying “Officer Bryan is here to get his jacket!” I brought him in and subjected him to the scrutiny of an office full of women. He stopped in to chitchat, and I returned his jacket. I thought that might be the last we saw of Officer Bryan, but it wasn’t. The following day, he stopped by the office again during his shift. He again engaged in some small talk, but seemed like there was something more that he wanted to say. He didn’t though, because he was too shy. After he left, my co-worker Marcie (later my Maid of Honor in my wedding) said “Officer Bryan wants to ask you out!”

Two more office visits and countless minutes of small talk, Officer Bryan finally asked me if I would like to go to a Detroit Tigers baseball game with him. I agreed, only to learn the day of the actual game that I would be meeting his whole family that day. In my very limited relationship experience, I thought that was supposed to come way later….

Anyways, we had a great time. For the first time in my life, I got to see a police officer as a real person, with a real family. I never knew any cops prior to Bryan and my only recollections of cops were peripheral. Like a lot of people, I remember seeing cops at events, cops working the campus area at OSU, cops writing tickets on the freeway, but never as real people. I could only remember uniforms but never bothered to look into the faces of any cops. Bryan changed all that.

One of our earliest dates was my most memorable. My friend Marcie and I volunteered in the summertime at outdoor concerts for children put on my the Columbus Symphony Orchestra and Bryan said he wanted to come with us. This particular night, our duty was to do face-painting on children before the concert. We set up our stations, with paint brushes and several tubes of paint. The line of kids was really long, so Bryan volunteered to help us paint faces. Most kids came up and requested simple things painted on their faces, like balloons or stars. However, the first little girl that came up to Bryan told him, very matter of factly, that she wanted a Power Puff Girl. Not just any Power Puff Girl, but a specific one. Now Bryan did not have any children, nor did he have any nieces or nephews at the time. Most of Bryan’s friends didn’t have kids yet. Therefore, Bryan had absolutely no idea what a Power Puff Girl was, but this little girl wasn’t going to take no for an answer, so Bryan told her “no problem!” and began his work of art on her cheek. My friend Marcie and I tried not to laugh hysterically as he painted. When it was all finished, it looked like a bird wearing some type of tye-dyed tshirt. It was very much not a Power Puff Girl, but when Bryan held the mirror up for the little girl’s inspection, she was thrilled. I knew then that Bryan was a very special and very sensitive person.

Needless to say, the rest is history. Bryan and I were married on March 15, 2003. I knew that the whole day was emotional for him, but nothing prepared me for what happened at the altar. We stood together, hand in hand, while the pastor spoke. While I was reciting my vows, Bryan began to sway back and forth, shifting his weight from foot to foot. I could sense that he was getting emotional, but I also figured that he had just been standing for too long. I recited my vows and then it was Bryan’s turn. The pastor instructed Bryan to repeat the vows after him, but Bryan remained silent. He didn’t speak….and didn’t speak. Bryan continued to sway back and forth, still silent. I looked at him and squeezed his hand. It was then that the tears started down his face. After wiping his tears, he finally choked out his vows. If I have one clear recollection of our ceremony, it was everyone saying afterwards what an incredibly sweet man Bryan was, and they were right.

We began what was to be a beautiful and perfect life. I had also become a police officer two years before our marriage. We shared a closeness not only as husband and wife, but also a camaraderie as fellow officers. We felt like a team. We worked together on our home. One of my funniest memories is when Bryan and his best friend Donnie finished our basement. One night, after Donnie had left, Bryan continued to work on installing can lighting into the ceiling. It clearly was a two person job but Bryan was really proud of what they had accomplished so far, and wanted to keep working. Anyways, these lights were circular shaped and outlined with sharp metal. As Bryan was trying to pop one into place up into the ceiling, his left hand slipped the metal sliced his wrist. That was the first of our many trips to the emergency room during Bryan’s home improvement projects. However, when we went to the ER, we were visited by social workers and a psychiatrist instead of a ER doctor. They asked us to repeat our story over and over again about what had happened. Bryan and I were getting irritated because he clearly needed to be stitched up, and it suddenly dawned on us that they thought Bryan had tried to slit his wrist in an apparent suicide attempt. Here he was, covered in drywall and sawdust, clothes caked with drywall mud, tools still sticking out of his jeans pockets. After the staff was convinced that Bryan really did cut himself working in the basement, I told Bryan no more home improvement projects without supervision.

In the fall of 2003, Bryan began telling me that he was ready to start a family. I told him that I wasn’t sure that I was ready and wanted to wait a few years, but Bryan was very persistent. Bryan said that he didn’t want to be at retirement age when our kids were in high school. Bryan really stressed to me that he wanted to try for children right away and he almost seemed urgent about it. I knew that Bryan’s biological father had not been a part of his life and thought that Bryan maybe had the need to be a father himself, to extend his love to his child in the way that his biological father had never done to him.

Needless to say, Bryan and I were enrolled in a Lamaze and Birthing class the following summer, awaiting the birth of our daughter. I clearly remember one of the classes, when we were all laying on the ground, practicing our breathing methods and then talking about the different pain medications available during childbirth. I distinctly remember Bryan telling me, “These classes are for wusses, not for people like us. You’ve been punched, hit, shot with a Taser gun….I know you will breeze right through childbirth and won’t need any of their drugs!” When labor actually started, both he and I were knocked back into reality on that one! I cried and whimpered like a baby while Bryan held my hand, talked to me, and brought me ice chips. Both Bryan and I practically begged for the epidural. However, just a few hours later, Malia Allison Hurst came into our lives. Again, just like during our wedding, Bryan was overcome with emotion, only this time far stronger and far greater. Regardless of what direction my life may take, I will forever remember the tears of happiness falling down Bryan’s face as he held Malia for the first time. Looking at Malia was truly love at first site for Bryan.

Unfortunately, Bryan’s time with Malia was limited almost immediately. The Sheriff’s Office where I work did not have an appropriate maternity leave program in place and I was fired when I couldn’t return to work only two weeks after Malia was born. We suddenly went from two incomes to one and Bryan did what he had to in order to support his family. Bryan never complained. He had been working hard his entire life and this was no different.
I didn’t like that Bryan was gone so much. He was not getting to spend enough time with Malia and I know it affected him. But still, he did what he had to do and dealt with our circumstances.

It was a frustrating time, being home alone 24/7 with a newborn. I had no experience and didn’t know what I was doing. One night, when Malia was about a month old, she had been crying nonstop for an hour and I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with her. I called Bryan, who was working patrol that night. His partner, who didn’t have any kids, suggested that Malia might have gas. His partner was pretty sure that there was some type of medication available for gassy babies. None of us knew what that medication was called though, so Bryan and his partner then went on a quest through Columbus’ 18 precinct in search of it. Bryan finally called me about an hour later and announced that he had found the gas medicine. We agreed to meet at the Walgreens on Morse Rd for the transfer. When I arrived, Bryan was walking out of the drugstore, in full CPD uniform, carrying every medicine for gassy babies ever known to man. That was the kind of man Bryan was.

In late December 2004, Bryan and I began planning our first vacation together since Malia’s birth. We booked flight to Florida and planned a trip to Disneyworld and the beach, scheduled for the second week of January 2005. That trip never happened.

The morning of January 6, 2005 began like any other. Bryan got up early because he was scheduled to work 5/3 Bank that morning. I took Malia to her babysitter’s and I went to my boxing class at the gym. Customarily, I would call Bryan on the way back from the gym to see how his morning at the bank was going. I two-wayed Bryan on his Nextel at approximately 11:15 a.m. after my class was over. I got no response. I then called his phone and voicemail picked up. Down deep, I knew that something was wrong. Something in my body was telling me that Bryan was not okay.

I got home about ten minutes later, still with that sickening feeling that something bad had happened. Almost immediately, there was a knock at my door. Bryan’s best friend Donnie was standing on my porch. That was the moment I knew. Donnie and I just stared at each other, neither one knowing what to do or say. Donnie was holding back sobs. I know that he was trying to tell me what happened, but couldn’t get it all out. I needed to know exactly what had happened. I remember Donnie telling me that Bryan had been shot. I remember trying to think rationally, telling myself that just because he was shot, it didn’t mean he was dead. I asked Donnie, “He’s okay though, right?” Donnie didn’t say anything, just looked at me through the tears and shook his head. I said “Where is he?” Donnie told me that Bryan was at Grant Hospital and that we needed to leave immediately.

As Donnie and I drove to Grant, I realized that I needed to call people. I remember calling my best friend and calling my parents. I called Bryan’s parents’ house and his sister Stacey answered the phone. All I could say was “Bryan is dead. He was shot.” I remember listening to shrieking and crying on the other end of the phone.

We arrived at Grant and there was no mistaking what was happening. It was real. I knew he was dead by the way everyone avoided looking at me as I walked toward the room. What I saw in that room has changed who I am as a person. Laying on a hospital gurney in the center of the room was Bryan, just as you saw him in the photo. My husband, Bryan, was dead. His tongue was clamped with the things that resemble scissors and his eyes were closed. There were reddish dots all over his face. Donnie and I looked at each other because we saw the dots at the same time. We both knew what those were and what they meant.

The room was filled with people but I layed right on top of Bryan anyways. His body was still a little bit warm. I inhaled him, trying to smell his cologne, deodarant, soap…anything Bryan. I rubbed his head, felt his hair….his hair gel was still sticky. Everything about him felt like a live person; it didn’t seem right that he was dead. The room was a complete blur except for Bryan’s body. While I was laying on Bryan’s chest, I noticed a large brown paper bag in the corner of the room. There was something bright red sticking out of the bag that I didn’t recognize. I walked over to it and realized that this wet, red, bloody item was what used to be Bryan’s stark white ballistic vest. It was like a moment in a dream where you want to scream but nothing comes out. That is the only way to describe what it felt like to look at that vest. Most of the blood had been wiped off Bryan’s body by the time I got to the hospital, so I didn’t know exactly what had happened medically. However, when I saw his vest, it became clear to me that Bryan had bled to death. Anger came into my body like I have never had before. I was assured by various high-up police personnel that they were following several leads and some blood trails. I demanded a police radio because I wanted to listen to what was going on. Family and friends began arriving at the hospital as everyone learned the news, although I can’t remember who was there.

After about an hour, I was told that Bryan’s body needed to be transported to the county morgue. Bryan was loaded up into a police paddy wagon by fellow CPD officers, Donnie and myself. When we got outside, cops and citizens alike had begun to line the street. They were all saluting as we drove by in the wagon that carried the body of my husband. I saw grown men on the street, weeping.

We arrived at the morgue, still glued to the police radio. The tones of everyone speaking on the radio was one of desperation. Every time an officer aired traffic that sounded promising, my heart rate would race in anticipation, only to be let down when it proved to be a false lead. It was excruciating as the emotions went up and down with everything said across the air.

It was at the morgue where Bryan was given a toe tag and placed in the official body bag. It was gruesome and heartbreaking at the same time. There were so many people there, asking me questions about organ donation, which funeral home I was using, where Bryan would be buried…..I remember thinking “How can I think about those things right now?”

It turns out that I did need to think about those things.

I became a widow at the age of 25 and my daughter lost her father just shy of turning 6 months old. Donnie and I had to decide where Bryan, a 33 year old father, husband, son, brother and best friend should be buried. We had to choose what type of coffin to bury him in. I had to choose Bryan’s headstone before his time on earth should have been up. Donnie personally dressed Bryan for calling hours, because he wanted to make sure everything was right. We placed Bryan’s favorite photo of Malia, her first visit with Santa, in his shirt pocket. The first time I saw Bryan in the casket, I got physically sick. Even the mortician’s thick makeup couldn’t cover up the red spots on Bryan’s face. I can’t begain to explain the emptiness that I felt the first time I held Bryan’s hand and it was hard as a rock, stiff from both embalming fluids and rigormortis. That hand is not the hand I clutched at my wedding. I had a living, breathing, loving person. We had four sets of calling hours, mourners lined up down the street to pay their respects. I felt like I couldn’t breathe every time I looked in the coffin, at the shell that used to be Bryan, the man I married.

Bryan’s funeral was as magnificent as it should have been. It was a hero’s funeral and fit for a king. Over 3,000 people filled the church to pay respect to a great man.

I want to explain what life has been like for Malia and Bryan‘s murder. I lost my partner and best friend. Now when I hear a funny joke, I realize that I don’t have someone to share it with. I see happy couples and sometimes feel nauseated. I can’t even explain how it feels to look at a death certificate of a 33 yr old father labeled “Homicide.” Bryan had just been awarded a job in the detective bureau and was scheduled to start in mid January. It’s hard to explain how it felt to go to the department store and explain that you needed to return 6 new suits and ties, not because anything was wrong with the merchandise, but because the person who was going to wear them was murdered and would not be needing them now. It’s hard to explain know how it feels to raise Malia on my own. Bryan and I did things the so-called ‘right’ way. We got our educations, got good jobs, got married, had Malia when we knew we could financially provide for a child. It was all taken away in the bank that day. A little girl’s father was stripped away. Bryan wanted nothing more than to be a father.

The first monumental events in Malia’s life were celebrated without her father. Bryan could not be there for Malia’s first birthday, because she was robbed of that. Bryan was not there on the day Malia took her first steps or when she said her first word. Malia’s first Father’s Day was spent at the cemetery. A then 11-month old baby celebrating Father’s Day at a gravesite. I know that Bryan will not be there to walk Malia down the aisle when she gets married. That is the reality of our life after Jan. 6.

I would like to share with you what it feels like to be a young widow. First, I began to lose my own identity. To many people, I am no longer Marissa, but instead “Bryan Hurst’s widow.“ I can’t explain the questionable and sometimes disapproving glances I’ve gotten in public, as a young woman with a baby, without a wedding ring. I want to scream, “MY HUSBAND WAS MURDERED! I am not a single mom by choice! I did not get knocked up in college! I didn’t have a child out of wedlock! My husband was murdered, he was taken from us. We aren’t divorced or separated. I don’t like doing this on my own, but I wasn’t given a choice.”

So here’s the issue for me. Everyone in life is dealt their hand of cards, but it’s your choice how you play them. Bryan born in West Virginia and was not born into money. He used to joke and tell me that his only toy was a plastic bag and he had to play on the railroad tracks. I know he was only kidding, but he made it clear that he didn’t have much as a child. As I already stated, Bryan’s biological father was non-existent in his life. It’s by God’s grace that he was given a wonderful stepfather a little later in childhood. Bryan knew that college was not a freebie and he wasn’t going to be handed anything by anyone. Bryan went into the Marine Corps in order to pay for college when he got out. Those are the choices we have to make.


No one can understand my feelings of emptiness, numbness and confusion after Bryan was murdered. I couldn’t make any sense of my life and what I was supposed to do with myself. Everything at my home was a reminder of my life with Bryan: wedding photos, Bryan’s weight bench in the basement, his Mustang in the garage, the deck that he built for Malia’s ‘welcome’ luau party. I had absolutely no idea how I was going to care for Malia on my own.

But again, life is about choices. I decided that if Malia was going to have a mentally stable mother, we needed to change our surroundings. We moved out of the home that Bryan and I loved so much. I thought a ‘new start’, a change of scenery, without constant reminders of Bryan, would be healthy for us. But you know what? No matter where we run, we can’t escape the past and what happened to our family. Life as we knew it has been destroyed. Every night after I give Malia her bath, I show her the framed photos of Bryan that are on her bedroom dresser. There is a framed photo of Bryan on our wedding day. There are two photos of Bryan holding Malia as an infant. Every night, I point to the photos and say, “Malia…who is that?” And Malia says “Daddy!” Like I said before, Malia knows only photographs and a gravestone marker as her Daddy. Regardless, I know that I can tell her what a wonderful man her Daddy was. I can tell her how much her Daddy loved her and how badly she was wanted. I can tell her about the things that she and Daddy did together, however limited their time together was . I will tell her how her Daddy nicknamed her “Toot” because of her ability to pass gas like a full-grown adult. I will tell her how proud her Daddy was to be a United States Marine and how he took me to a “birthday party” for the Marine Corps every November, where people actually had a huge birthday cake for the Corps. I will tell her about her Daddy’s love for the Pittsburgh Steelers, how every year he was sure they would finally make it to the Superbowl. I will tell Malia how that finally came true the year after her Daddy’s death and that he saw it from Heaven. I will let Malia have a pony when she gets older, because her Daddy let me have a horse even though we lived in the city, had to pay to board it, and it did nothing but cost us money. I will tell Malia that her Daddy was kind hearted and wanted to please people. I will let Malia have a puppy when she wants one, because her Daddy let me have one. Malia’s Daddy didn’t even complain when I brought home two dogs instead of one. Everything people will tell Malia about her Daddy will make her proud to be his daughter.

Marissa Hurst
DCSO

March 22, 2006

YOU WILL NEVER BE FORGOTTON AND WILL ALWAYS BE MISSED BRYAN. FINALLY A JUST SENTENCE!!!! SEMPER FI BROTHER

P/0 DANNY J BOLT #1960
COLUMBUS POLICE (DIS-RETIRED)

March 22, 2006

Bryan

After 14 long and grueling months, you would think that we would have closure, with your killer being sentenced to death. The relief of the trial being over is bitter-sweet. Since the day of your death, some of us have clung to every aspect of your killer, the trial, every detail-just to have something to keep you close. Now that it's over, we no longer have 'a link' to you. Now is when the grief starts for some. Keep us strong and stay with us....we love you and wish we could have told more when we had the chance.

by the way, thanks for the pen. He needed that. Next time, make it a UM pen;-)

March 22, 2006

Thank you to whomever posted the Prepared Remarks of Attorney General Alberto R. Gonzales
at the Public Safety Officer Medal of Valor Ceremony. I think it is important that as many people are made aware that such awards and ceremonies exist as possible.

From reading the many reflections left by family, friends and fellow officers of Officer Hurst, it is abundantly clear that he was a fine man and a brave and dedicated police officer. I cry every time I read the reflections here, and my aching heart surely pales in comparison to the pain felt by those who knew and loved him.

I pray that time will dull your pain but not the memories.

Jodie Colwell
CA

March 19, 2006

We are thinking of you and your precious family today. And holding your memory and tremendous sacrifice in our hearts with love and honor.


Sincerely,
Linda Rittenhouse
Matt's Mom

Linda Rittenhouse
Mother of Officer Matthew Rittenhouse E.O.W. 9/16/04

March 19, 2006

Bryan-

You are my hero and I am glad that justice has been served. Please know that all of us that were at the bank that day think of you every day and thank you for your sacrifice. The guy upstairs sent you to us for protection. You will be a part of my every day the rest of my life. Thank you so much, rest easy now.

March 18, 2006

Bryan,
Though I never knew you, I feel as though I have a good idea now of what a great and amazing man you were. During the trial, Marissa was so brave and dignified. I had never experienced a trial before, only sentencings. I couldn't imagine how exhausting it was for your whole family, but they were there to see this through and to get justice for you. You did not die in vain. Those you left behind are so amazing. Marissa, Malia, your parents, siblings, Donnie and Jim, among many, many more supporters....you touched so many lives and you have touched mine, even though I never had the good fortune to meet you. Your family and Donnie's honesty and love during their victims impact statements were so touching and gave us a glipse of what a wonderful and geniunie guy you were. Keep watch over everyone. You have a beautiful, smart daughter and Marissa is doing an amazing job. She's such a good mom and has become such a great friend to me. Thank you for your sacrifice and we will be here for your family always.

Krissy and Todd Ensoll

March 18, 2006