Honorable Judge Jeffrey O’Hara, I am speaking to you today, in front of this court, to detail what impact my adolescent twin brothers death has had on me, my day-to-day life, and my mental health, not to mention the impact which it has had upon my mother, family, and all those who loved and cared for John. I can say unequivocally that the consequences of what took place at the Kooistra’s investment property the evening of June 20th, 2020, has caused profound and irreparable harm to my own life, as well as the lives of those who loved John, who expected and even took for granted a future lifetime of kinship and brotherhood, those who raised, and shaped, and coached John into the epitome of what it means to be a venerable individual, who was determined to make the most out of what God had given him, those who want justice for the transgressive negligence exhibited on behalf of the defendants, David Kooistra and Nichole Marie Kooistra, a.k.a Nichole Marie, on the night which has brought us all gathered here today. Also, let us not forget he who has been harmed most clearly and to the greatest degree, my brother John Holmes. Consequently, in my firm opinion, and I’m sure I’m speaking as well for all those who knew my brother personally, mankind has suffered a loss of potential that would have easily had historic impact, and I know that the world is in dire need of those as principled and disciplined as John. My brother felt he was more mature than he of course was. It’s true that he was wise beyond his years, and that he had lived more, experienced more, learned more, than many people do in a lifetime. However, it is also true that he, like any young man, was naive and failed to see the possible consequences of his actions. I don’t need to explain why it’s expensive to insure someone of our age and gender. But my brother wasn’t the adult he thought he was. He was a legal minor, with the inevitable inexperience of youth which that entails. Conversely, Mr. and Mrs. Kooistra were the, hopefully, clear-of-mind responsible “adults-in-the-room”, knowingly inviting more than two dozen minors into the house which they were responsible for, allowing them to drink freely, both drinks and hard liquor which the children had brought, as well as a keg that we are still not certain rather it was brought by the kids or provided by the adults for the birthday party and and acknowledging the kids, John included, chugging beer while suspended inverted by their peers while being held by the legs, according to what was told to my family by the police as well as what we have gathered from our own interviews with the kids who John spent his final hours with. As an aside, what’s caused my family incredible grief is the fact that I can count on one hand how many of the kids who we confidently believe were being fully honest about what they remember about that night. John was a friend to literally everybody, but his friends weren’t stupid. His best friends should be able to recall more than 3-4 sentences of what happened at the party. I do feel that they should bear a heavy moral responsibility that they allowed a friend get so drunk that his BAC was three times the legal limit, and then in that state of intoxication, offer him marijuana, let alone the fact they let him leave the house, probably right through the front door, in a blacked-out state with his keys in his pocket. We also have no explanation for why he decided to tell his girlfriend that he needed to be picked up urgently, an hour before they had planned for her to pick him up. No explanation for why he left besides the bathroom was full so he went to pee outside, they think. No explanation for why he sat in his running car for 15-20 minutes waiting for his girlfriend to arrive, before demanding to her that he’s gonna drive himself when she was only 4 minutes away, ignoring her pleas to stay where he’s at. My single-parent mother will never get these answers of how my twin brother spent his final hours. His final meal was pizza, brought down by the defendants, but I doubt he had any considering the strict dieting he had begun months prior to his death. Of the people who surrounded John that evening, who he considered to be many of his closest friends, I can’t even count on three hands how many of them either gave us conflicting half-truths or more commonly, politely declined to talk with us. I bet they probably made themselves feel better about themselves donating to our GoFundMe. I can name several of his best friends who within a week of his death, give or take like two days, were drinking socially and partying again, during COVID. In the immediate wake of his death. I know this, because they felt comfortable enough to post it publicly to Snapchat. I don’t think you need me to explain the obvious emotions that this forces my mother and I to endure, and I can only imagine the betrayal that my brother would feel knowing these things. I understand that these statements are not directly relevant to what I am supposed to be talking about, but I state them to exemplify the brazen disrespect for the dangers of alcohol within this group of friends, an affiliation which significantly emboldened that same delusion and allure of alcohol within my brother, something which was quietly enabled by the parents who knowingly allowed and continue to allow it into their homes. It still would not be right if the parents were up and aware, collecting keys in exchange for pizza, so on and so forth, but I believe had that at least been the case, my brother’s girlfriend would’ve successfully picked him up that evening and he would’ve picked up our moms car the next morning. Instead, my brother left the house that evening, in a poly-drug-induced stupor, in a dark summer solstice evening towards his death. He was driving down an unlit Ada road, approaching a 45 degree turn, and had drifted into the opposite lane. Two cars rounded the corner, one returning from a fishing trip, the other, a wedding. It wasn’t until days later that I found out about them. The first car moved onto the near-shoulder, and my brother moved back towards his lane at the last opportunity, enough to pass cleanly in between the two cars, and off the side of the road. Touchdown. This probably seems like a really morbid joke, but I feel it’s quite serious. I consider that to be his last and most important goal, and I think he would too. The left side of the car was both braced against and gradually torn to shreds, bit by bit, by a line of trees and barbed wires running parallel with the road, before flipping onto its passenger side, and finally meeting with two immovable objects; trees, apparently much older than those before, the older one was likely greater than twice the age of the preceding, not-yet-fully grown youths and saplings that my brother had chopped down prematurely in his path. The other was quite a bit younger, but it was still starting to get up there. John’s path intersected with these two trees, and as the engine block of the vehicle wedged itself, and him along with it, between this fateful pair, mighty enough to stop a vehicle moving with such intensity and velocity, the car rapidly erupted in a symphony of flames, which engulfed my brother trapped inside. The coroner's report stated his cause of death as being asphyxia from smoke inhalation. Smoke inhalation is an unbelievably improbable way to die in a car accident which results in asphyxia, with the vast majority being the result of extended or severe compression of the chest. I’d guess it might also be that very few car accidents which involve the vehicle becoming engulfed in flames result in the occupant dying from asphyxia as opposed to being burned alive, but I digress. I spoke with John, after having to convince my mom that it was best to leave the velvet cover that adorned the cardboard box undisturbed. The cardboard box that now contained whatever recoverable remains they could pull from the wreckage that, in neither body nor soul, resembled my twin brother. I asked my mother to stand outside the funeral home that I’d always noticed on the way to our yearly check-ups at our doctor’s office, less than a mile or two from our home. I actually passed it today. The mortician told me that my brother “was dead before he knew what happened.” I don’t know how long after the crash that this was, probably three or four days,been no sign of braking and given the fact that he was traveling at such excessive speeds, I safely presumed that he had fallen asleep with his foot on the gas, drifted into the opposite lane, and driven straight through the turn, unaware. This was before we learned of the other two cars, and his last second turn. Again, this may all seem somewhat irrelevant, but I say this today to try to explain to you what it feels like to spend that first sleepless night, wondering had he been aware, did he know what was going on, were my brothers last seconds on Earth an unbelievably turbulent thundering through debris, followed by a sudden forceful stop, and then terror, realizing he’s trapped in a flipped car in the cold night that’s begun rupturing in flames, and that he’d die painfully and alone in the woods, before his life had even really started. Knowing that he turned and was at least somewhat aware, plants that seed of doubt still in my mind. This is only a facet, although admittedly significant, of what my mother and I have endured over the past year. The 40 minute drive to our god-father’s, who’s in nearly every sense our dad, the morning after, is another experience that comes to mind, and having to tell him this at 8am on Fathers Day. “Where’s John?” It’s probably easiest that I just read this questionnaire they gave me at the doctors office today, and give a little accompanying description for each. In conclusion, your honor, I just want to say that I in a very literal sense lost a piece of me when John died. He had an unbelievable impact on who I am, and who I will become, and I lost everything that could’ve came of that in a lifetime of spent with him. I no longer get to sit on a long porch one day in rocking chairs like we talked about. He never gets to meet my kids, nor can I meet his, and our mother, that set of her grandkids. I’ll never know the person he’d have grown up to be. It’s thrown my life into a torrent that I have just barely begun to overcome a state of catatonic dysfunction. I have to deal with survivors guilt because my mother and I’s personalities have always conflicted but he was there to balance it and tell us how we were both wrong, and me for them, although less frequently. In his absence our relationship has been strained to the point of near breaking and I love my mother but we both have had difficulty adjusting to what is in all senses a new way of life. I know that he would take better care of her had it been me. He’d know not to start arguments, he’d know to be caring and calm, he’d not be laying in bed most days wishing he could go back to before I was dead, he’d want to honor my memory by trying to achieve more. But here I am. I know I’m being hard on myself, but it’s difficult not to feel these ways. After seeing the grief this has caused, I don’t feel suicidal, but there are many times when I feel that I’d much rather just fade into nothingness than continue without John, and allow everyone to just forget that I exist. Your honor, I ask that you please take what I have said fully into account when considering sentencing, and that this is a plea for the maximum sentence of 30 days in jail, because my brother can never be returned to me or my family.