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Tressa Honie is caught between anger and grief in the lead-up to Utah’s first execution since 2010. That’s because her father is the person set to die by lethal injection, and her maternal grandmother is the person he brutally murdered in 1998.
The heinous intrafamilial crime has placed a strain on her relationships for more than two decades as she’s kept in touch with her father in prison while her mother's family has fought relentlessly for him to be put to death.
In her final 48 hours visiting Taberon Dave Honie before his execution, set for Thursday shortly after midnight, Tressa is grappling with how to carry out his dying wish: for her to move on and heal.
“My mom's side, they can heal together," she said in an interview. “I'm happy you guys are going to get this closure, this justice, but where does that leave me? I feel like I have to heal alone.”
Tressa left the Utah state prison in a daze Tuesday evening as it hit her that she would only have one more day with her father, who she credits as her most supportive parent after drug use drove a wedge between her and her mother. As the 27-year-old prepares to grieve her father, she's also grieving the life she could have had if his crimes hadn't trapped her family in a cycle of self-destruction and left them mourning the matriarch she believes could have kept them all in line.
Honie, one of six death row inmates in Utah, was convicted of aggravated murder for the July 1998 death of his girlfriend’s mother, Claudia Benn. He was 22 when he broke into Benn’s house in Cedar City, the tribal headquarters of the Paiute Indian Tribe of Utah, after a day of heavy drinking and drug use. He repeatedly slashed Benn's throat and stabbed other parts of her body. The judge who sentenced him to death also found that Honie had sexually abused one of Benn's grandchildren who was in the house along with a then 2-year-old Tressa at the time of the murder.
Honie, now 48, told Tressa he has come to terms with his fate, she said.
The father and daughter spent their final days talking about anything but his crimes, sharing early childhood memories and laughing about how neither has a favorite color. After years of resentment, she's ready to replace some of the anger she's held for her father with reminders of his humanity.
But their meetings haven't always been so cordial. Tressa grew up knowing her father was behind bars but didn't know why until she approached him at 14, looking for answers. Honie struggled to look at her as he explained some of what he had done and told her where she could find the court records, she recalled.
“When I did find out fully why he was in prison or on death row, I thought, ‘Well, maybe if I wasn’t born, this wouldn't have happened,'” Tressa said. “I did kind of blame myself. I didn't know how to cope.”
Years of drug abuse followed, distancing Tressa from family members who tried to extend support while grieving Benn, who they described as a pillar in their family and community. Benn was a tribal council member, substance abuse counselor and caregiver for her children and grandchildren.
Tressa has few memories of her grandmother, but she's found herself grieving the absence of a strong maternal role model.
“Hearing the type of woman my grandmother was, I would've loved that,” Tressa said.
Honie also started using drugs such as cocaine, heroin and methamphetamine at a young age. His attorneys testified about his own childhood trauma from parents who abused alcohol. They and others on the Hopi Indian Reservation where he grew up had been placed in government boarding schools that were often abusive and stripped Indigenous children of their culture as part of assimilation efforts.
Now, Tressa is determined to break that cycle of generational trauma.
She is in recovery, raising a child of her own and has developed some empathy for her father after her own addiction struggle. Honie has said he wasn’t in his “right mind” when he killed Benn and doesn’t remember much about the murder.
Trevia Wall, Benn’s niece, said she's had an “on-and-off” relationship with Tressa over the years but has tried to offer her extra support leading up to her father’s death. Wall was among those who testified in favor of Honie’s execution — an outcome she deemed necessary to get justice for her aunt. The two cousins embraced and cried together after the last hearing.
“It’s bittersweet,” Wall said in an interview. “Now we can finally move forward, we can finally heal, but it’s bitter because I hurt for my cousin, his daughter. He put her in the middle, and she was torn between her father and her grandmother.”
Randall Benn, another cousin who supported the family's push to execute Honie, said he knows it will close a painful chapter in his life but will open a new one for Tressa. He said he and other family members will be waiting with open arms whenever she’s ready.
Even though Tressa had urged the parole board to commute her father's death sentence, she plans to witness his execution. About a dozen family members are expected to attend.
“I just want to be there to the end," she said, "for me and him.”
