My brother, my mom, this family—we will never be the same. We will never know what Cooper was going through or why he took his own life. I wish we could go back to life before October 8th, 2023. I wish we could have prevented this. I believe if Cooper could have made it through those moments, then hours, then days, perhaps he would have found hope and gotten through his difficult time.

I visited Cooper during his senior year while he was in college. I remember telling him, “I love you.” This was just a couple of years ago. Kelly had asked me to go check on Cooper in his apartment. He did not seem to be in a good way. He looked at me with skepticism when I told him, “I love you.”

I said, “Watch, Cooper. There will come a day when your brothers and sister will have children, and you will love them. I don’t know why or how it works, but you just do.” His eyes rolled up into his head just a little as if he was imagining being an uncle. Then a small smile cracked from under the pain, and there I saw hope in his eyes. Perhaps that is what got him through the next couple of years. I know that Cooper seemed happiest when he was with his brothers.

I have a lot of memories of Cooper. They make me smile and sustain me.

The Boys

I only saw Cooper a few times each year, even though I was his godfather. My earliest memory of Cooper is from when my wife, Cooper’s “Aunt Shell,” and I first moved back to Arizona from Tennessee. We lived with Kelly’s family for a couple of months while Cooper was a baby. I smile as I remember Victoria freaking out because I was bouncing Cooper a little too roughly in his bouncer. What did I know about babies?

For many years, our families gathered together in Southern Arizona for the 4th of July. I remember playing football with all the boys. Cooper could get considerably competitive. He showed no let-up for his younger cousin, Ry.

When Kelly and Victoria moved to Montana, my family flew out to go skiing. This was just before the pandemic. On our drive to Red Lodge ski resort, I remember Cooper and Carse bitching and arguing with each other over how far away a mountain was. Cooper said, “Carse is acting like a little bitch.” It cracked me up because Cooper was the younger brother, and he was holding his brother to account, standing up to him.

Cooper was a rule follower, mostly, especially when the rules came from his mom. I remember Cooper refused to eat chips in the living room on the carpet because his mom had made the rule not to. I gave him permission, and Victoria was not there, but Cooper still wouldn’t do it.

I remember yelling at Cooper once while we were playing. The look he gave me made me realize to never make that mistake again. I hurt his feelings. Cooper was a sensitive soul.

Cooper was a great cousin to my son, Ry. They spent a couple of days at the ski resort shredding together. They were both diehard soccer fans. They’d go kick the soccer ball together at Nanny’s house. They also took rides on the golf cart and did all the things cousins do—probably some things I don’t know about.

I know that Cooper was hurting. When I went to check on him after Kelly asked me to, I knew he wasn’t doing well. I told Kelly he should come get him, and he did. Kelly flew out to Arizona, picked up his boy, and drove back home with him. With Cooper being at home with his mom and dad, landing a job, he appeared to get his life together after several years of hard work. He was doing well.

There’s so much pain and tragedy in the world, but until October 8th, 2023, it had never touched our family so profoundly. Those stories you see on television—the awful, tragic things most people never imagine—have touched our family, and we will never be the same. It has forever changed us.

Our family is broken into two pieces. There is the family before October 8th, when we were living it up, and now there is the family after October 8th, where it will never be the same.

BUT, we can still find laughter, genuine laughter, and spaces without thought, spaces without shadows, and joy, love, and hope. Especially hope.

We miss you, Cooper James, and just like I told you at the University of Arizona, I love you. I will always remember you.

Cooper had a tragic accident as a result of mental illness or depression. This does not define the beautiful young man he was. In my mind, what happened to Cooper is no different than cancer. Cooper got sick, and like a collapsing star, he imploded.

I don’t know why I love you, Cooper, but I just do. Just like I do all my nieces and nephews.

My godson. Dang. Something got messed up and went wrong. How did this happen? Rest in peace, Cooper.

Love,

Uncle Jason