Family still mourns the loss of Susan, Lisa

The family of the victims says Christmastime stirs up many memories.
By PATRICIA MEADE
VINDICATOR CRIME REPORTER
STRUTHERS -- Had they a say, Susan Clemente's parents would have chosen a tortuous execution for Stephen A. Vrabel -- not painless death by lethal injection.
"I think it's too easy," Norma Clemente said, shaking her head. "Fifteen years of pain for us, and he just goes to sleep?"
Her husband of 49 years, Anthony Sr., nodding in agreement, said: "He won't feel a thing."
On March 3, 1989, Vrabel shot Susan, just shy of her 29th birthday, and their 3-year-old daughter, Lisa, in the apartment they shared on Poland Avenue. He crammed Susan's body into the refrigerator and Lisa's into the freezer, along with two of her favorite teddy bears.
The Clementes don't know why Vrabel murdered their daughter and granddaughter. They'd like to know but say they likely never will.
Vrabel put a stop to further death-penalty appeals, which cleared the way for his execution Wednesday by lethal injection at the Southern Ohio Correctional Facility in Lucasville. The 47-year-old inmate was placed on death row in October 1995.
On Monday, Republican Gov. Bob Taft denied clemency for Vrabel. "Mr. Vrabel is guilty of the murders of Susan and Lisa Clemente, and the aggravating circumstances of his crimes outweigh any mitigating factors," the governor said.
Past 15 years
A few days ago, Norma and Anthony, retired Struthers High School athletic director, talked about the events of the past 15 years as they sat at a trestle table in the house on Harvey Street where they've lived 48 years and raised five children.
Above the gleaming kitchen table that Anthony made ("urethane," he said, explaining the mirror shine) hangs a wooden sign: "Clementes' Italian Kitchen."
The Clementes, both 73, expressed concern that Gov. Bob Taft might grant a reprieve at the last minute or that Vrabel might change his mind and request one last appeal. At a clemency hearing earlier this month, an eight-member Ohio Parole Authority board unanimously recommended to the governor that clemency be denied.
"We just want it to come to an end. We want it to be over," Anthony said. "We've had to think about what happened every time he'd come back here, going to court, on the news."
Witnessing the execution
In all, 19 Clemente family and friends signed up to be at the prison for the execution. Susan's father, two brothers, two brothers-in-law and son John Spirko (from her first marriage) were to witness the death.
The Clementes said their son-in-law, Michael Aey, who discovered the bodies, "has to see" Vrabel put to death.
"I want it to happen -- I just don't want to watch it," Norma said. "He has shown no remorse, no remorse at all."
Rita Sakara of Poland, Susan's aunt, smiled as she described how Susan, as a child, loved to grab olives from a salad, put them on the tips of her fingers and run outside. Vrabel's death won't provide closure, just an ending, she said.
A prison bus will shuttle the Clemente family and friends from their motel to the prison and back, sparing them exposure to death-penalty protesters.
Anthony said prison officials asked about medications the witnesses may be taking to ensure that, if the sight of Vrabel dying causes distress, the medicine is handy. As far as the Clementes know, everyone's healthy.
Norma said they've had no contact with Vrabel all these years.
She mused that Susan would be 44 now and Lisa would be 18 and a Struthers High School graduate. Susan, her father said, was a "positive person" and great track athlete who loved to run hurdles in high school.
The Clementes, who have 10 grandchildren, said they never got to see Lisa grow up -- just one of the painful realities of Vrabel's action they deal with daily. The pretty dark-haired child's photo is displayed next to her mother's high school picture in the kitchen.
"The clemency hearing, I think, was the hardest thing I ever had to go through," Norma said, moving the photos to the trestle table.
"They brought up a lot of things even we didn't know about," her husband added. "We learned a lot of the things about the night it happened."
Memories
He praised the victims' assistance program in Columbus, saying it has helped them through rough spots, like the clemency hearing.
For the Clementes, vivid memories of the murders surface in March and April each year. Christmastime, though, is the worst, for the big, close-knit family.
"The whole family comes over to eat, drink and be merry," Anthony said. "We miss them."
Norma smiled as she recalled how her daughter Susan could eat and eat and not gain a pound.
Around this time, Cody, the Clementes' large and friendly 12-year-old golden retriever, stirred under the table. He'd settled there after offering a barking welcome to a reporter and photographer from The Vindicator.
"Every morning when he gets up, he wants his toast, then he wants his walk," Anthony said. "Sometimes he wants my toast, too."
Norma said Cody's the boss; they follow him wherever he wants to walk.
As the Clementes escorted their visitors to the door, they paused in the living room where one wall holds four generations of family photos. "You have to have good memories," Anthony said.