Pubdate: Sun, 27 Apr 2008
Source: Gazette, The (Colorado Springs, CO)
Copyright: 2008 The Gazette
Contact:  http://www.gazette.com/
Details: http://www.mapinc.org/media/165
Author: Brian Newsome

WHAT-IFS HAUNT THE MOTHER OF SLAIN GIRL

After She Lost Custody Because of Meth Abuse, Her Daughter Died in 
the Care of a Foster Mother.

PUEBLO - Ashley Lindenberger watches helplessly as her 2-year-old 
daughter screams from across the street.

"Mommy, Mommy, help me!" Alize cries, but her mother can't move.

It's one of many nightmares that wake Lindenberger in the night. But 
when she opens her eyes, the nightmare doesn't end: She knows she can 
never help Alize. Her daughter is dead because of a chain of bad 
choices that began with her own.

Lindenberger, 21, talks unflinchingly about her addiction to 
methamphetamines and a sordid life that put her in prison and led the 
Department of Human Services to take her daughter, Alize Vick, and 
son, 16-month-old Anthoni Vick, and place them in foster care.

Lindenberger is now sober and employed, and hers might have been a 
story of second chances and an eventual family reunion. But it turned 
into a tale of blame, guilt and what-ifs after her daughter was 
killed while in foster care.

What if she hadn't gotten caught up in a life of drugs and ended up 
in prison? What if Alize hadn't been put into the home of Jules Lynn 
Cuneo of Colorado Springs? What if someone had paid more attention to 
suspicions that Cuneo might have been abusing Alize? What if 
Lindenberger's mother, Kathleen Heil, had been able to take custody 
of the kids?

And what if, on Oct. 9, 2007, Alize hadn't been severely injured - 
allegedly thrown across a table by Cuneo?

It's a game Lindberger could play the rest of her life, but the fact 
is, on Oct. 10, in shackles, Lindenberger said goodbye to her 
braindead little girl with the toothy smile. She left with a plaster 
mold made of Alize's foot for remembrance - and hopes that she can 
regain custody of Anthoni after a hearing Wednesday.

As she looks to a future free of drugs and focused on family, the 
young mother says she hasn't fully come to grips with the idea that 
her daughter, who would have turned 3 in a month, won't share in it. 
And that a system and a woman charged with protecting her child in 
her absence may have done just the opposite.

A Troubled Life

Lindenberger, a shorthaired brunette who speaks softly and with 
resolve, grew up in foster care because her mother, Kathleen Heil, 
was a drug addict. She lived in 18 foster homes from age 3 to 16. She 
was abused in a few of them, she said. In others, she lashed out 
until the parents gave up hope and had her reassigned.

As a teenager she left Erie, Pa., for Colorado Springs to be with her 
mother and her grandmother. At 17, a boyfriend turned her on to meth.

They broke up, and she later met and moved in with Chris Vick, who 
fathered Alize and Anthoni.

At times they lived like a family. For Alize's first birthday there 
was a party at Memorial Park with about two dozen friends and family 
members and three birthday cakes.

Lindenberger was close with her daughter, an outgoing, independent, 
smiley child who would go up to a stranger and hug a leg.

Yet, for Lindenberger, there was no parting with the drugs.

As is the case with most meth addicts, the need to get high trumped 
time with her children. To stay high, Lindenberger resorted to 
dealing and stealing. She stole $40,000 from her grandmother, an act 
that continues to hurt their relationship.

Lindenberger seemed to spend more time in motels doing drugs than at 
home, she said.

"I wasn't really home, because I was high and I didn't want her to 
see me that way," Lindenberger said about Alize. "She could tell I 
was high, and she would push herself away from me."

Lindenberger was high and away from home the day child welfare 
workers took the kids away. It wasn't just her drug use that 
Department of Human Services found. Alize's paternal grandfather, who 
lived with them, was a registered sex offender, and there were too 
many people living in the two-bedroom home. Those were things, she 
says now, she paid little attention to since she was barely home herself.

When she heard the news from Alize's grandfather, she did more drugs. 
"It's just an easy way out of everything," she said.

Prison came a month after the children were removed, no surprise for 
Lindenberger. Arrested in an undercover operation, she was convicted 
of fraud, theft and dealing drugs - and had most recently jumped bail.

A Turnaround

Lindenberger was sent to prison April 24, 2007.

Once there, away from her children and the drugs, she vowed to 
change. By summer, she'd decided to enroll in a prison boot camp program.

"I need to do what I got to do with those kids of mine," she wrote in 
a letter to her mother June 20, about the decision to sign up for the 
military-style training. "I love them so much. I hate not being there 
for them."

She talked about the parenting classes and her plan to do whatever 
DHS demanded to get her children back.

Her intentions were tested by barking drill sergeants and grueling workouts.

One day she decided to quit. Lindenberger's drill sergeant made her 
fetch pictures of her children. Forcing her to do an exercise called 
the "electric chair," he demanded that she tell the children in the 
photo that she quit.

She couldn't.

Every decision, she was told, should be made with the thought: Is 
this something I would want my kids to see?

 From Hope to Fear

Alize and Anthoni had been taken in by Cuneo through Kids Crossing, a 
child-placement agency under contract with El Paso County DHS. Heil 
wanted them, but her criminal background prevented it.

At first, Lindenberger was hopeful about Cuneo. When she was beaten 
up for getting the kids taken away, Lindenberger said, Cuneo offered 
to drive her to the hospital. Cuneo seemed nice, Lindenberger 
recalled, and she was good with her own children.

When Lindenberger was sent away, Cuneo promised to write her with 
regular updates. Those letters were short-lived.

But Lindenberger continued to receive letters from Heil, who saw the 
children on Mondays. The letters talked about how great the children 
were doing.

Something, though, seemed amiss. It was as if the letters told a 
story too perfect.

"I would just start crying. I knew something was wrong with my kids," she said.

Heil had, in fact, hidden things from her daughter. She didn't tell 
her daughter about the complaints she says she'd made to Kids 
Crossing, such as Alize's fears of going home to Cuneo or her 
comments that the woman hit her. She didn't tell her daughter that 
Alize's missing tooth and marks on her body seemed, to her, unlikely 
to be accidents. She wanted Lindenberger to focus on her recovery.

In a letter on July 9, Lindenberger wrote to her mother: "How's 
Alize's tooth? When did she fall(?) Was it with you, because Alize is 
havin more & more accidents and I want to make sure there (sic.) accidents."

Then on Oct. 9, as she sat in a drug and alcohol treatment class, 
Lindenberger was summoned to an office. She thought she was in trouble.

When she saw her drill sergeant crying, she knew it wasn't about her.

Alize was in intensive care, she was told. Initially she thought 
Alize might live, but when a transport was arranged for her to go the 
hospital, she knew what was up. "They don't just transport prisoners 
up to the hospital," she said.

Picking Up the Pieces

Lindenberger spent several more months in prison after her daughter's 
death, focusing on being a good mother for Anthoni and pledging to 
abandon the life that put her there.

She's gotten her GED, attended parenting classes and fulfilled other 
DHS requirements she hopes will reunite her with Anthoni, but the 
family that has custody is pursuing adoption.

Even if she is denied custody, she said, there's no temptation to 
turn to drugs again. Occasionally she'll pass a motel where she would 
get high, and the thought makes her sick, she said.

"Nothing in the world is worth a kid. Drugs, money, anything."

Lindenberger enjoys working at a Subway in Pueblo, and she is 
considering computer classes to learn graphic design. Someday, she 
says, she would like to get married, own a home and have more children.

Yet Alize's death permeates her life. She gets angry at Cuneo and at 
DHS. She remains in "shock," she said, and hasn't fully comprehended 
that she can't have another visit with her daughter.

Sundays, she and Heil laugh - and cry - over the dozens of photos of 
Alize that cover the walls of their Pueblo home and fill a Dora the 
Explorer photo album. They talk about the funny things Alize did one 
minute, and mourn her death the next.

They try not to think about the what-ifs. Those come in the nightmares.

Letters From Prison

During her incarceration, Ashley Lindenberger sent letters to her 
mother expressing her hopes of regaining custody of her two children. 
Here are some excerpts:

June 20, 2007: "Well Mom, I've deced to go to bootcamp. It'll help me 
get home to the babies sooner ... and mom, I need the discipline, I 
need to do what I got to do with these kids of mine. I love them so 
much. I hate not being there for them, mostly cuz I know they need 
me, but another reason is because I don't want them to ever feel the 
way I felt when I didn't have you, but I can I tell u maybe god took 
u from me when I was little so you could be there for me and the kids 
now. Thank you for being here for me through the hardest part of my 
life. I'm going to do this ... If not for me for Alize & Anthoni, I'm 
missin everything & I just want them in my arms. I know I should have 
thought about that when I was (expletive) up, but . . . I was goin 
through stuff I can't even explain to my own self. I hate it. I want 
(to) be better for myself. I really do."

July 8: "Hey mommy! How are you? Have I told you I've been taking 
parenting classes? Well I have been. I enjoy them very much so. We 
are learning alot of techniques. I've been missin my kids like crazy 
mommy. I want Jules to be able to bring the kids to see me. Do you 
think DHS will allow them to come up here and see me? That would be cool."

Sept. 7: "I guess I never realized how much I really loved and missed 
you. I mean I awlays knew I loved you guys, it's just drugs made it 
so I couldn't realize the damage I was doing or makin my mind forget 
how important you all are. Which brings me to a point when I can get 
out mommy I just want to be around u,, Tom & "the beautiful kids."

The Case

Jules Lynn Cuneo, 34, is accused of killing 2-year-old Alize Vick. 
She first told investigators she was bouncing the girl on her lap 
when she fell on a coffee table. She later admitted pushing the girl 
in "anger or frustration," then throwing her across a table where 
Alize hit her head, according to investigators.

Cuneo is scheduled for trial July 28 on charges of first-degree 
murder and child abuse causing death. She has pleaded not guilty.

Cuneo remains at the El Paso County Criminal Justice Center without 
bond and could face life in prison without parole if convicted of 
first-degree murder.

Alize's death was among 13 child deaths last year reviewed by the 
Colorado Department of Human Services because of concerns over how 
cases were handled. El Paso County DHS officials say abuse complaints 
prior to Alize's death were fully investigated, but the state found 
fault with the county's procedures.

Complaints the girl's grandmother made to Kids Crossing, the 
child-placement agency, are being investigated by a different DHS department. 
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MAP posted-by: Richard Lake