Taberon Dave Honie Executed | Uta first Execution in 14 years | His Last Words and Last Meal….

At 12:03 in the morning on August 8th, 2024, a 48-year-old man in an orange jumpsuit lay strapped to a gurnie inside Utah’s maximum security prison. His arms stretched wide, an IV line snaking into each one. Through the reflective glass, he couldn’t see the faces watching him, but he knew exactly who was there.

 On one side sat the family of the woman he brutally murdered 26 years earlier. They had waited decades for this moment. On the other side sat his own mother and his daughter, the same daughter who was just 2 years old when her father killed her grandmother. Warden Bart Mortonson handed Tabaron Dave Honey a microphone.

His final words would haunt everyone who heard them. From the start, it’s been, “If it needs to be done for them to heal, let’s do this. If they tell you you can’t change, don’t listen to them.” To all my brothers and sisters here, continue to change. I love you all. Take care.

 He turned toward the glass where his family sat and mouthed, “I love you.” to faces he couldn’t see. From the other side, his mother’s voice broke the silence, “I love you, son.” 17 minutes later, Tabaron Hony was pronounced dead. But what he did on that summer night in 1998 was so savage, so incomprehensibly brutal that even after 26 years, no one in that witness room questioned whether justice had been served.

 This is his story. Cedar City, Utah, July 9th, 1998. 49year-old Claudia Marie Ben was home that evening doing what she always did, caring for her grandchildren. Three little girls were in her house, including her 2-year-old granddaughter, Tresa. Claudia was what her community called a superstar. She held a sociology degree from the University of Utah.

 She worked as a substance abuse counselor for the Paute tribe. She served as vice chairman of the Shivitz Band of Pyutes. Her family described her as a rising star, doing all the things she wanted to with nothing holding her back. What Claudia didn’t know was that 8 miles away, a storm was brewing. 22-year-old Tabaroon Hony had been drinking and using drugs all day.

 His mind was fixated on his ex-girlfriend Carol Pikavit, Claudia’s daughter, and the mother of his child. Between 8 and 8:30 p.m., Hony began calling Carol repeatedly, demanding she come see him. Carol refused. She was about to leave for work. That’s when his demands turned into threats. If you don’t come see me, I’m going to kill your mother.

 I’m going to kill your sister’s kids, and I’m going to take Tresa. Carol had heard threats from Hony before. She didn’t take this one seriously. At 10:30 p.m., Carol and her sister Bonita left for work, leaving their children in Claudia’s care. At 11:20 p.m., Tabaron Hony called a cab. What happened next would haunt Cedar City for decades.

 Hony arrived at Claudia’s house. An argument erupted through the sliding glass door. Then something in him snapped. He picked up a rock and smashed through the glass. Claudia ran to the kitchen and grabbed a butcher knife to defend herself and her granddaughters. She was a strong paute woman. She was going to fight. But Hony overpowered her.

 He ripped the knife from her hands and then he turned that knife on her. He slashed her throat four times from ear to ear. The cuts were so deep they reached her backbone, but he wasn’t done. He beat her. He bit her. He stabbed her repeatedly. He sexually assaulted her with that same knife. Three little girls were in that house while this was happening.

 And the horror wasn’t over yet. Around midnight, neighbors heard what they thought were gunshots. At 12:20 a.m., police arrived at Claudia Ben’s house. The first thing they noticed was the shattered sliding glass door. Officers ordered everyone inside to come out. A figure emerged from the garage. It was Tabberon Honey, covered in blood from his fingertips to his elbows.

 When officers asked about the blood, his response was immediate. I stabbed her. I killed her with a knife. As they handcuffed him, Hony began shouting, “Satan made me do it.” Inside the house, officers found a scene that would stay with them forever. Claudia Ben lay face down in the living room, partially nude, surrounded by a pool of her own blood, a butcher knife beside her body, her throat slashed so severely it was nearly decapitated.

 And then they found the children. Three little girls, all covered in blood. One of them had injuries indicating Hony had sexually abused her after killing Claudia. Sarah China Azul, Claudia’s niece, would later testify, “We busted in the door and there was blood all over the damn house. She fought for her life.

 She saved her grandkids, too. That’s a strong Pyute woman right there.” To understand Tabaron Hony, you have to understand where he came from. He was born October 29th, 1975 on the Hopi Indian Reservation in northeastern Arizona. The Hopi are one of the oldest living cultures in documented history. But by the time Tabaron was born, generations of trauma had taken their toll.

 His parents, like many Native Americans of their generation, had been forced into government boarding schools as children, institutions designed to strip away their language, their culture, their identity. They were never taught how to be parents. Hony’s parents became heavy drinkers. They neglected their son. The poverty on the reservation was crushing.

Tabberon first tasted alcohol when he was just 5 years old. By 12, he was drinking and using drugs regularly, cocaine, heroin, methamphetamine, whatever he could find to escape the pain. His attorneys would later present evidence that Hony suffered from fetal alcohol syndrome. They pointed to multiple traumatic brain injuries, including a 30-foot fall as a teenager.

A psychologist who evaluated him decades later described Hony as a sensitive and caring child early in life. But the trauma, the alcohol, the drugs, they changed him. Parts of him emotionally shut down. In 1995, Hony met Carol Pikyavit. She was Claudia Ben’s daughter. Soon, Carol was pregnant with his child.

 Their daughter Tresa was born in 1996. But the relationship was volatile. On’s drinking, his violence, it poisoned everything. He beat Carol. He made threats. By 1998, they had split. Carol and Tresa moved in with her mother, Claudia. But Hony couldn’t let go. For investigators, this case was open and shut. Tabaron Hony confessed at the scene.

 He confessed again the next day. His DNA was everywhere. The cab driver testified to dropping him off. The charges were severe. Aggravated murder, object rape, forcible sodomy, aggravated sexual assault, burglary, and aggravated child sexual abuse. Defense attorney Steven Mccoy would later call this the most challenging capital murder case of his career.

 “We didn’t really have a defense,” he admitted. He was intoxicated. He didn’t really remember what happened. Our defense was trying to show his intoxication, knowing we were going to be asking the judge to spare his life. The question of Hony’s life or death would rest in the hands of a single judge. The trial began in Iron County’s fifth district court in spring 1999. Judge Robert T.

 Braithweight presided. The trial lasted only 2 days. The evidence was overwhelming. The jury deliberated 4 hours before returning. guilty of aggravated murder, object rape, forcible sodomy, aggravated sexual assault, and burglary. Now came the critical question. Life in prison or death? Defense attorney Maki made a calculated decision.

 Cedar City juries were known to be conservative. He convinced Hony to wave his right to a jury for sentencing. Judge Braithweight alone would decide his fate. During the penalty phase, prosecutor Scott Burns declared he did not murder a drunken Indian in the park. He murdered a superstar in the Pyute community. Carol Pikiavat, Hony’s ex and mother of his child, testified she would be satisfied with life without parole.

 But Claudia’s family wanted death. On May 20th, 1999, Judge Braithweight delivered his verdict. Death by lethal injection. His words were blunt. It was not a sentence I gave to the defendant. He earned it. If this isn’t a death penalty case, I don’t know what is. When the sentence was announced, Hony turned to Claudia’s family and mouthed two words.

 You got it. Tabon Dave Honey was 23 years old. He would spend the next 25 years on death row. For most people, death row is a place of isolation and despair. For Tabaron Hony, it became something else. Without access to drugs and alcohol for the first time in his adult life, Hony began to change.

 He earned his high school diploma behind bars, specifically for his daughter, Tresa, so she couldn’t use his lack of education as an excuse to derail her own. He learned plumbing, working his way up to a position of trust that no other death row inmate had ever earned. He worked on nearly every building in the facility.

 A prison worker who knew him called Hony a blessing. He described him as kind, considerate, and courteous, someone who checked on other inmates. In 25 years, Hony received only one disciplinary writeup. His defense attorney described him as a quiet, good-natured, easy to deal with client. But the most remarkable transformation was his relationship with his daughter.

 Tresa grew up knowing her father killed her grandmother. She struggled with the same demons, addiction, trauma. But through prison visits and letters, Tabberon remained what Tresa called her most supportive parental figure. The killer was the one she could count on. The appeals process lasted 25 years. In 2002, the Utah Supreme Court upheld his conviction, rejecting claims of racial bias and unconstitutional sentencing.

The US Supreme Court declined to hear the case. In 2013, Hony tried again, claiming ineffective assistance of counsel. denied in 2014. He filed federal habius corpus in 2015. Denied in 2019, the 10th Circuit Court of Appeals affirmed in 2023. The US Supreme Court refused again. In December 2023, Hony and four other death row inmates sued to overturn Utah’s execution methods, dismissed.

 Hony had exhausted every legal avenue. On May 1st, 2024, the Utah Attorney General signed the execution warrant application. On June 10th, 2024, Judge Jeffrey Wilcox signed the warrant. Tabberon Hony would die by lethal injection on August 8th, 2024. 25 years and 80 days after being sentenced, he finally had an execution date.

 Hony had one last chance, the Utah Board of Pardons and Parole. On July 22nd and 23rd, 2024, a two-day commutation hearing was held. His team presented expert witnesses on intergenerational trauma, boarding school abuses, fetal alcohol syndrome. Then Hony himself took the stand, his hands shackled to a chain around his waist.

 He struggled with a question that had haunted him. How could he ask for mercy when he had shown none? Yes, I’m a monster, he told the board. the only thing that kept me going all these years. This would never have happened if I was in my right mind. I make no excuses. How can I come over here and ask you guys to spare me? Because I’m her helper. I’m her guiding light.

 I’m her pillar. He was talking about his daughter. Tresa testified next. Caught between two impossible truths. I’m affected on both sides. That was my grandmother and that’s my father. 26 years ago, I was robbed of a grandmother and he also robbed me of himself. Then came Claudia’s family. Betsy China addressed Hony directly.

 Tabberon, you robbed us. 25 years of missing out on her knowledge. Sarah China Azul demanded justice. The way he killed her, that’s just sick. An eye for an eye, as God says it. Bonita, Claudia’s daughter. I can’t pick up a phone and call her anymore. I can’t wish her a happy birthday. We can’t make no more memories with her.

 On July 26th, the board delivered its decision. The board does not find sufficient cause to commute Mr. Hony’s death sentence. Sarah China Azul got the news while driving to a family funeral. She cried tears, both happy and sad. We’ve been waiting for this day for 26 years. The tragedy didn’t end in 1998. It rippled through two families for decades.

 For Claudia’s family, her death left a void that could never be filled. She had been their superstar, the one who helped her people overcome addiction. For Tresahone, the tragedy was impossibly complex. Her grandmother’s family wanted her father dead. Her father was her primary support. My mom’s side, they can heal together.

 But where does that leave me? I feel like I have to heal alone. Trevia Wall, Claudia’s niece, testified for execution, but also embraced Tresa and cried with her after the hearing. It’s bittersweet. Now we can finally heal. But I hurt for my cousin, his daughter. He put her in the middle. In the end, both families would gather to watch Tabberon Honey die, separated by walls of reflective glass, united only by tragedy. August 7th, 2024.

Just after 6:00 a.m., Hony was moved to an observation cell. He spent most of the day sitting on the floor talking with family through a window. No physical contact allowed. His daughter Tresa came. His mother, his father, three sisters, cousins. They rotated for nearly 10 hours. Prison staff described his mood as gracious and appreciative.

At 4:30 p.m., he ate his last meal, a cheeseburger, fries, and a milkshake. But Hony wanted his last meal remembered differently, as the meal he had recently shared with his family, not something eaten alone. 2 days earlier, he had participated in traditional hopey spiritual ceremonies. At 8:30 p.m., the deputy warden arrived.

 Time for final goodbyes. Hony told his family to keep their heads up. Outside, about 40 protesters gathered in a free speech zone 2 mi away, holding signs that read, “All life is precious.” The execution chamber is a sterile white room with six overhead lights and 12 spotlights. When the curtains pulled back, Tabaron Hony was already strapped to the table.

orange jumpsuit, hair in a ponytail, glasses, arms stretched wide, held by leather straps, IVs in both arms, a white sheet covering him from the waist down. Warden Bart Mortensson and operations director Randall Honey stood on either side. At 12:03 a.m., Mortensson handed Hony the microphone. From the start, it’s been, “If it needs to be done for them to heal, let’s do this.

 If they tell you you can’t change, don’t listen to them. To all my brothers and sisters here, continue to change. I love you all. Take care. He turned toward his family’s room, mouththing, I love you. Through glass he couldn’t see through. His mother’s voice, “I love you, son.” He thanked the warden for taking care of his fami

1. At 12:04 a.m., the first dose of pentabarbatl was administered. His foot began to tap. Breathing quickened. eyes closed. His curled hand slowly relaxed. At 12:13 a.m., a second dose. His chest stopped moving. At 12:21 a.m., the heart monitor flatlined. At 12:25 a.m., Tabberon Dave Honey was pronounced dead. One witness said it looked like someone went to sleep and didn’t wake up.

 After Hony was pronounced dead, the curtains were drawn. But for his family, one final ritual remained. In Hopi tradition, the soul can become trapped in the body after death. Prison officials granted an unusual request. Hony’s father and cousin were allowed into the execution chamber. Using bird feathers and cornmeal, they laid a path for his soul to leave the room.

 According to their beliefs, the operations director explained, the soul could get trapped. They performed their ceremony to release it so he can return back. A cleaning crew came afterward. The smell of bleach filled the room. When media witnesses entered around 1:30 a.m., the chamber was sanitized. The gurnie looked like any other piece of medical equipment.

Outside, protesters fell silent when word came. Abraham Bonoitz of Death Penalty Action picked up a microphone. The execution has been confirmed. The execution cost Utah taxpayers over $288,000. The pentobatital alone was $200,000. Hony was the eighth person executed in Utah since 1977, the first since 2010.

 Governor Spencer Cox released a statement. The state of Utah fulfilled its legal obligation. The actions of Mr. Ihony that lead to his death sentence are heinous. I hope this brings closure to those impacted. For Claudia’s family, there was finally peace. Randall Ben said, “It felt like my aunt is resting good now.” For Tresahone, the journey was just beginning. She watched her father die.

Lost her most supportive parent. Now she had to find a way to heal alone. Her father’s dying wish was for her to move on, to break the cycle of trauma that had destroyed so many lives. Tabaron Hony was a monster. He said so himself. What he did to Claudia Ben was savage, brutal, and unforgivable.

 But he was also a product of intergenerational trauma, of government policies that destroyed native families, of poverty and addiction that perpetuated across generations. He spent 25 years becoming something different. He got sober, got educated, became a mentor, tried to be a father from behind bars. None of that brought Claudia back.

 None of that erased what he did. But in his final words, Hony offered something. If they tell you you can’t change, don’t listen to them. for all the victims of this tragedy on both sides of that reflective glass. Maybe that’s the only thing left to hold on to. The possibility of change, the hope of healing, the end of a cycle that has claimed too many lives.

Tabaron Dave Honey was 48 years old when he died. Claudia Marie Ben was 49 when he killed her. One family found closure. One daughter was left to heal alone. And somewhere a soul was finally released.