In Memoriam
David Paul Cooper
“‘Can you not drive off death? I will give all my possessions for a moment more of time.’ Queen Elizabeth of England cried out to her maids of honor, on her deathbed.” When Death Comes by Keith Harris
Once again, I have found myself sitting in a hospital waiting room, for the Intensive Care Unit. This visit is most unexpected, in fact, I can safely say shocking.
I am one of a large party, and we quickly take over most of the allotted space. It is as if we feel that our visit will not be brief, and we must make ourselves at home, though we struggle with what at home should mean.
The good coffee is on the third floor, and I prefer the first floor restroom, the prices in the cafeteria are reasonable – we recommend the salad bar, of which I am weary, and the hot sandwiches are better than the entrées, you are on your own when it comes to a jacket, I am always hot, so I welcome the cooler atmosphere; and remember that the main doors close promptly at 9:00 P. M., after which you must enter through the Emergency Room.
We take turns going back to sit with my Aunt Roxanne, who only occasionally leaves my Uncle David. Mostly, she sits holding his hand, speaking to him – willing him to wake. She loves him enough that he should wake up, how can he ignore her pleas? They were married in May, in 1964. Apparently, he was late to his wedding, as he was busy reading – that sounds like him.
He is too young. We should not be here keeping vigil over him. It has only been a few brief months since he and his wife, sat with my cousins, Melanie and Linda, and Kate and me, as we watched over Aunt Lazarus – Aunt Helen, I should say. Now, it is he who lies in bed. It does not make sense, yet I try to understand, and mostly fail.
There is no specific order on who will walk back next. We come and go instinctively, in between visits to his bedside we talk, we watch the Republican Convention, we tell stories and jokes, and we eat grapes and pretzel crackers, which Christy recommended. I feel guilty, but I too turn on my computer. We wonder about Hurricane Ike, and Tropical Storm Hanna, and Josephine. The week began watching Hurricane Gustave, I think – it has been a long week. We occasionally answer an email or take a business call, but mostly we answer calls from loved ones near and far. I struggle most with the calls to my Mother and my cousin Melanie.
I can not bear having to give my Mother so much bad news. She has already lost her brother William, Uncle Buddy, and her Sister Helen. Melanie had nursed her Mother, Aunt Helen, for years, and as we speak, I hear the anguish in Melanie’s voice. But we make calls, and we answer calls, and we go for the good coffee and we leave to walk Merry or pick up children or handle whatever else life will not let us ignore.
Do we get better at dealing with the demands of the waiting room? The longer we wait does it make it easier? I do not know. But we wait, and we pray. That is a comfort, it is a family who believes in prayer – I am grateful. I would hate to have to talk about good or bad energy and karma and fate, instead of God. Also, it seems we are all but one Republicans, thank God indeed. I also could not stand to listen to hours of Bush bashing.
As we wait, we expand our circle. It is not that more of us arrive, though we do, but rather that the sorrow which impregnates the room will not be ignored. We start to share our story.
My Uncle David fell down, in the garage, as he was putting up some shelves. Someone told me about his fall a month ago, he broke three ribs. (It will turn out to be nine ribs, but initially we believe it to be three.) I was sorry to hear the news, but did not bother to call or even send a get well card. I guess three ribs did not seem significant.
He slept in a chair, looking for comfort as the ribs were supposed to heal. Before the ribs healed, he had a stroke, which was located in the base of his brain. He went to the hospital, after a few days they sent him home, as he was still walking and talking. He then woke up with a hematoma which covered his torso. (I know you too have had bruises, but this is not like anything anyone has ever seen, including all of his doctors and nurses.) He is readmitted to the hospital. Sonograms reveal that he has multiple blood clots in each leg, plus very large blood clouts in his lungs. He undergoes a procedure where small devices are inserted into his body to catch the clouts and prevent them from going to his heart.
Kate and I arrive in St. Petersburg. My opening remarks to David and Roxanne are that we have to stop meeting like this – in hospital rooms, where we all spent so much time together in Fort Lauderdale, with Aunt Helen. I now feel like I was crass and insensitive – I should leave the jokes to others.
He looks good. We talk and visit and run errands. He looks better. I feel hopeful, we all feel hopeful. Kate takes a few meetings in Tampa, and we say good-by, glad you are feeling better. I assume we will be back in a couple of weeks, when Kate returns for business. I also assume he will be in rehab by then, working on walking and trying to regain strength.
We check out of our hotel and start to head home when my Mother calls. Uncle Gary just called: David has had a massive heart attack. I am confused. I do not understand what my Mother is saying. For a moment, I think she is telling me that Gary has had a heart attack, as I am certain that David is fine. I wonder how we can possibly deal with another Cooper being ill. But my Mother speaks again: In the middle of the night David had a heart attack.
In fact, he first had a massive stroke, on the left side of his brain, which left his right side paralyzed, and left him mute and blind. It can not be, but it is true. The stroke was followed by the massive heart attack, which apparently was caused when a blood clot broke off from his lungs, escaped the contraption that was supposed to hold it in place, and caused the heart attack which left him coded for 15 minutes, and included 6 electric shocks, before a pulse returned. More tests reveal that his entire chest cavity is one big blood clout. There is nothing but bad news.
After we tell our story, to the waiting room strangers, we are offered condolences. For some reason, total strangers, who are in as much pain as we are, actually offer comfort. They share their stories too, and we listen, asking questions. I do not know the peoples names, maybe I overhear them calling out to one another, but I do not retain that information. We nevertheless share the most intimate of information. We have not shared secrets about our love lives or about some childhood dare or unfulfilled yearning or desire; instead we have sat discussing the most taboo of subjects – death.
Life is also talked about. What does it mean to be alive? We do not know, but there is a consensus that tubes coming out of every orifice and wires attached to your neck, chest, arms and legs, as you lie unconscious can not be life, or at least should not be life. Nobody would want to live that way. How is it that everyone in the Intensive Care Unit got attached to so many machines?
The family now has to decide about all of those machines. Most of us barely understand what has been explained. They put my Uncle in a chilled coma, hoping that his body, in 24 hours would begin to heal himself. The next day, one degree at a time, they will begin to bring his temperature back up, and reduce the medicine which kept him from being in pain and aware. Test revile that even after he is warm again, there is no healing.
What do we do about those machines? I believe that life rest in God’s hands. The Bible says that unto each of us is appointed a time to live and a time to die. My Aunt knows that my Uncle would not want to live like this, she holds his Living Will, and holds his heart – she knows his wishes. Why does science force people into this position? It is wrong.
I stand by my conviction: His life is in God’s hands – machines or no machines, it is God who will decide.
The machines are turned off, and he continues to breath. The hour pass, and though logically I know his body is tired and worn, I still hope. I do believe in miracles, David could still rise out of that bed, why not? But he does not get up. We leave. My Aunt stays, sleeping beside him. He struggles for air. The sun has set and risen again, he still struggles and she still sits, by his side. Finally, as he gasps for air, she lays her head on his chest, and then whispers in his ear: It is okay David. The kids are okay, I am okay. You can go. He takes his last breath, and heads toward heaven and Aunt Helen, who must have been missing her baby brother terribly.
My Uncle, David Paul Cooper, son of Delbert and Hazel Cooper, was born October 1, 1939, in Franklin Furnace, Ohio, and passed away on September 8, 2008, from cardiac and pulmonary complications. Formerly of Westerville Ohio, more recently of Port Charlotte, Florida; he spent forty-four years with wife, Roxanne Dixon Cooper, who was the light of his life.
He had been a small business owner, a licensed nurse, and avid community volunteer, fostering over 60 children, with Roxanne; and preparing meals at Port Charlotte United Methodist, where they were members since 1979, and where he served as a sexton. David was a life long learner and an avid reader who was deeply interested in prophetic and Judaic studies, politics, and fishing – partial to walleye from Pelee Island where he and Roxanne loved to vacation.
David cherished his family and was committed to their joy and well being; spending countless hours helping his children whenever possible and playing with his grandchildren, whom he adored. He was witty and warm, always the first to offer both a helping hand and clever antidote.
He never failed to look at Kate’s projects, when he visited. Whether it was helping her install closet doors or fix kitchen cabinets, he always took the time to offer useful suggestions, and roll up his sleeves! He was also the only person I willing let help me in my tiny kitchen. I am so glad I handed him a knife, instead giving Kate that look which said: Kitchen being invaded – quick get him out of here.
I loved the way he and his brothers made my Mother feel. “Hey girl,” was how he greeted her, the last time he spoke. I could imagine the smile on my Mothers face. When they got together, they would gradually make there way back to Ohio, and a different time where the cares were probably greater but tempered by time.
David was one of the strongest men I have ever known. There was nothing weak about this man who could literally do anything from build a car to a house; but he was also the most gentle of souls tending the women in his life, from his wife whom he worshiped to sisters, daughter, and granddaughters, with the most gentle of touch.
I was afraid of David when I first met him. I found him intimidating and felt like he might be annoyed that we had invaded his space. I was so wrong. I loved and admired him, and most enjoyed being able to speak with him. For some reason, I was surprised to learn that he shared my passion for Israel, and impressed when he sent my Mother subscriptions to magazines about prophecy and Israel. He had a deep and committed and most pleasantly curious faith. David sought God and sought to understand the deeper truths of the Bible. He loved knowledge and though soft spoken, his words worth listening for.
He is survived by his children: Timothy David and his wife Dana, and Christine Ann and her husband Brad Cogger, and grandchildren Madison, and Courtney, Caleb, and Cameron. Survived as well by siblings Delbert Jr. (Doris), Stella (Ignacio), Oscar (Pam), Glenn (Beverly), Gary (Aileen), preceded in death by Irene (Mitchell), Helen (Paul), William (Joan), Melvin, and Lester (Nancy).
Donations in his honor may be made to: The Friends of Israel Gospel Ministry, Inc. P.O. Box 908, Bellmawr, NJ 08099. Sadly, that is all for now.
