writing on not writing

I still haven't written about the trial. I guess it just feels so big that I don't even know where to start. The short of it, for those keeping track:

The state's attorney was amazing. He was thorough, and he treated people with respect. The defense attorney did not do the same.

The state's witnesses were also thorough, while the defense witnesses' stories were wildly inconsistent.

I talked to my mom everyday. I know the whole thing weighed on everyone, especially on my mom and grandparents, who went everyday.

When we were called in on the tenth day, it was because the jury had a verdict on one of the two counts. That verdict was guilty, and the family heaved a silent sigh of relief. The judge gave the defense attorney the chance to poll the jury to confirm the verdict, and the last juror, the foreperson, changed his mind on his vote. They returned to deliberate, but they were hopelessly deadlocked. After that news, I felt so empty.

We learned a lot of useful information from the state's attorney, who stayed to chat with the jury after they were dismissed. Notably: they believed my mom, they didn't think my uncle had anything to do with causing the accident that killed him, they thought the defendant was most certainly guilty of causing the accident but that it wasn't proven without a reasonable doubt that she was drunk behind the wheel, they didn't believe the defendant or her witnesses, they thought the state's attorney was respectful while the defense attorney was not, they thought the state's witnesses were credible, and they were impressed with the show of support for the state's case, which included my family being there everyday and a cadre of off-duty state troopers who came to see the closings. All of these things did help relieve the emptiness we felt with the declaration of the mistrial.

There's more to say about things that have happened since then, but this hits the highlights from the trial itself, I suppose.