Families of Slain O.C. Kids Say Life Is Pain and Silence

The two families have sat silently in court since summer, listening to doctors and lawyers talk about the man who intentionally rammed his car into a Costa Mesa day-care center and killed their loved ones.

On Thursday, it was finally their time to talk.

It was time for the mother of slain 3-year-old Brandon Wiener to talk about her husband, who spends hours sitting silently in his son’s room, isolated from the rest of the family.

It was time for Brandon’s 14-year-old brother Justin to tell the packed courtroom how he no longer looks forward to holidays, and how everything in their house reminds him of Brandon--especially the toys he often stumbles upon.

And it was time for the father of Sierra Soto, a 4-year-old who died on the playground along with Brandon, to say that the pain is so intense on some days that he hopes he too will die.

“It’s like pulling out the plug when all the lights are on,” said Eric Soto. “You want to wake up and say . . . ‘it’s just a horrible nightmare.’ ”

The testimony came at the start of the penalty phase in the Steven Allen Abrams trial, at which jurors will decide whether he should be sentenced to death or life in prison for the 1999 attack. Abrams was convicted of first-degree murder in August.

Prosecutors asked family members to testify so jurors could hear the extent of the losses they have suffered. Until now, the families have refused to speak publicly about the case on instructions from the district attorney’s office.

Defense attorney Leonard Gumlia argued in court that Abrams’ life should be spared because he was insane at the time. Throughout the hearing, Abrams, 39, sat slumped to one side, looking away from the witness stand.

Five family members took the stand Thursday, all carefully avoiding eye contact with the defendant. One tense moment came as Cindy Soto, the mother of Sierra, passed Abrams as she walked to the judge’s chamber. As she neared the defense table, she suddenly stopped with a violent shudder. A moment later, she regained her composure and was helped through by a court officer.

“I felt destroyed,” Soto said, remembering how she felt upon learning of Sierra’s death.

No longer does she look forward to visiting amusement parks, pumpkin patches and other places where she often took her daughter. Holidays hold no meaning for her anymore. “There are none. . . . It’s just void. No Christmas. No New Year’s.”

Soto, a dance instructor, said she has contemplated closing her Newport Beach studio because it reminds her too much of Sierra, who was the studio’s “mascot” and took lessons there.

“Sierra was my whole life. She was my only child. She was part of everything I did,” she said.

For Eric Soto, being near the ocean is the hardest. He used to run along the shoreline in Laguna Beach with his daughter, helping her pick up seashells and look for crabs. But after her death, he said he fell into a deep depression the one time he went to the shore to go diving.

“When I go into the water, there’s nothing for me to bring back to my little girl,” he said.

He is often haunted when imagining his daughter’s thoughts when she died: Was she “wondering why I hadn’t protected her?” he asked.

The Wiener family has also struggled to endure the months of grief, according to testimony.

Justin misses wrestling with his little brother, and helping him scramble for money and candy spilling out from pinatas. And how Brandon always clung to his leg, hugging and begging him to play.

Everything is different, he said, especially during Hanukkah, Christmas and other family get-togethers.

“Our family event stuff . . . it’s not the same because it doesn’t feel like the whole family’s there,” he said.

His mother, Pamela Wiener, said Justin can’t bring himself to visit his brother’s grave.

She dabbed away tears and told jurors she recently had an emotional breakdown that made her miss work. She longs for “everything about her son,” especially how he used to jump into her arms and call out to her: “Mommy, Mommy.”

“It’s a struggle every day just to get up in the morning, but I have to,” said Wiener. “It’s so hard. My baby’s not here.”

She doesn’t speak of the tragedy with her husband, Aaron, anymore. And she said he often couldn’t work, opting to spend his time alone in his son’s room.

Bucky Wiener, Brandon’s uncle, described his nephew as an intensely curious, intelligent and fun-loving child who will be forever missed. Everyone in the family has suffered, he said.

Justin does not smile as much as he used to, he said. And Aaron’s depression, he believes, probably led to him losing his job. He said his brother, who did not testify, is a private man who has struggled deeply over the loss of his son.

“He’s strong, but how strong can you be when something like that happens,” he said.