For some, their personal tragedies dated back decades. For others, the grief was as fresh as July 20, when a shooting rampage claimed the lives of 12 people inside an Aurora theater.
All had one thing in common: Their siblings, children, parents or other loved ones died at the hands of another.
More than 150 people — family members, victim-assistance providers and police officials — gathered Tuesday for the National Day of Remembrance for Murder Victims outside the newly built crime lab at Denver police headquarters, a building, in part, dedicated to them.
Pam Tuthill, whose daughter Peyton was murdered in Denver in 1999, offered hope to those suffering recent losses and encouraged everyone to get involved in helping others.
Tuthill has been working on a national project to notify victims when paroled perpetrators move from state to state, for example.
“Many of us have thought life is too painful to go on living,” Tuthill said. “But we can all help each other in just amazing ways.”
The event, part of a national campaign, was organized locally by the Colorado Organization of Victim Assistance and other outreach groups.
Grieving families carrying photos and posters of their lost loved ones streamed up to the microphone, reciting names, birthdays and dates of death.
Some had brief messages. Janet Gallegos, grandmother of toddler Neveah Gallegos, who died at the hands of her mother’s boyfriend in 2007, urged listeners to put a stop to physical abuse against children.
Many said their cases remained unresolved.
Others, such as Tuthill, lauded the efforts of Denver police, prosecutors and crime lab.
“Every day in that crime lab, we’re committed to quality and the leading edge of science … so that the truth is found,” said lab director Gregg LaBerge.
For the parents of 25-year-old Eloy Conrad Duran III, killed in 2010 in an attack by 20 suspected gang members, closure seems a long way off, they said.
Some of Duran’s attackers remain at large, said his father, Eloy Duran Jr.
He said his recently rediscovered religious faith is helping him and his wife, Constance Perez, start to cope.
“We know there are people walking the streets of Denver who were part of it,” Duran said. “But after two years, we’ve come to the realization we have to try to move forward. It’s tough. It’s tough. We live this every day.”
