ROCHESTER, N.Y. — In New York, a growing number of violent crimes are going unsolved — 58% in 2012, rising to 63% by 2022, according to the state Division of Criminal Justice Services. While homicides declined that year, 791 people were still killed.
One of those lives, 19-year-old Jasper Junious, was taken on June 25, 2002. His case remains unsolved. Like many families, his mother is still waiting for justice.
In her quiet living room, surrounded by framed photos and fading memories, Stephanie Lucas clings to the image of her teenage son who never made it home. His life was taken far too soon, and for Stephanie, everything changed.
“I got a call, 'This is a chaplain; one of your sons got shot.' I dropped the phone," she said. "When I got to the hospital, I saw the sheet. And when they pulled it back, I just screamed. I ran out, dropped to my knees, just hollering."
Lucas says that Jasper had a license and that a friend, who only had a permit, asked him to ride along. That ride would be his last. He was shot and killed while sitting in the car.
When asked if she ever found out how or why her son was killed, Lucas admitted she didn’t.
“The case was closed. When I would be around people, I was being penalized because I would be looking at them wondering, 'are you the one that shot my child?' But after a while, I stopped doing that because it was really making me crazy," she said.
To cope with the loss, Lucas turned her pain into purpose — through work, therapy and advocacy. She marched in Washington, D.C., alongside other victims’ families, joined support groups and guided other mothers toward healing. As life slowed down, grief resurfaced — but so did strength.
“There is hope. That tunnel feels endless, but there's a light if you let people help you through," she added.
One of her fondest memories is how Jasper helped her believe in herself.
"He helped me get my GED, the math part. I had a book with the math and everything, and he told me not to worry about it. He said, 'You got it; you're going to get your GED.' And I did," Lucas said with pride.
More than two decades later, Lucas still talks to her son daily.
"I talk to him every day — me and the dog," she said. "When I walk him, people look and say, 'That's the crazy lady who lives there.' "