ONE YEAR AGO TODAY… From the heart of a mother

(It is still very difficult to go back to that place in time and to relive the unfathomable agony and sorrow of this past year.)  My youngest son, James Stephen Cooper, took his own life leaving a huge void in our family’s fabric.  The day started out fairly normal enough:  my day off from paid work consisted of many household duties that are handled in their own turn.  On this day, however, I would go to my place of employment in the afternoon to interview for another position promising me a change from part-time to full-time employment.  As I sat at my office desk working through a pile of mail and other papers, the telephone rang.  Seeing my youngest son’s phone number on the caller I.D. box, I instantly picked up the phone and heard his familiar voice, tired and rather somber, asking if we had received a call from the police department about his missing wallet.  No, the errant wallet was still missing.  Steve had lost his wallet before, but this time it contained all the money from his recently cashed federal tax return check plus his state’s tax return on a debit card.  The previous day, Shelby (my husband), Steve and I had searched and searched everywhere for that wallet and finally ended up reporting it lost with our local police department.  Who can really fathom the pivotal role that wallet would play in the ensuing events of March 5, 2018?

Before hanging up the phone, I asked Steve if he would be having lunch at home with us.  No, he would go into town.  He did come home around his normal lunch time but would not be returning to work.  He had informed his supervisor that he did not feel very well and was granted his remaining shift off.  Much later, one of his coworkers would tell my other son, John, that before Steve left work that day, he went around and gave several of them a hug.  The significance of this action, of course, was not understood by them until after his death.  At home, Steve went silently into his room and abode there about an hour, maybe less.  Shelby, Glen (my oldest son) and I were at the table eating lunch when Stephen appeared from his room.  He was very silent and hovered around the table looking into an adjacent room, what we call the “sun room” where our five housecats reside at various times of the day.  Looking for his favorite cat called Maki, he looked unsure and seemed to want to say something to us.  Anyway, without further formalities he mumbled a muted good-bye, opened the front door and slipped out of our lives.  No hugs or other wishes.   Just gone.

I don’t know what prompted Shelby to go into Steve’s room.  After finishing and cleaning up from lunch, he headed there to look for clothes or maybe dishes to bring back into the kitchen.  Instead he found something much more disturbing than anything else he had ever discovered in our youngest son’s room.  The Note. Receiving the note or brief letter from Shelby’s hands and having read it, I knew then and there my son was taking that final walk down the path of mortal destruction.  We instantly called our local sheriff’s office to report our son’s plans and emphasized the seriousness of his intentions.  I called work to tell my company’s HR director that I would not be there for the interview that afternoon.  This, in turn, caused a stir among my fellow coworkers.  By then, some had reported to her Steve’s strange actions from the morning (the hugs).  You see, both Steve and I shared the same employer.  Several agonizing hours followed.  Shelby tried calling Steve on his cell phone.  No answer.  Shelby left a brief voice message pleading with Steve to call him back to talk.  I was much too stunned to follow suit.  We did wish for him to keep his cell phone active because the sheriff’s department was hoping to get permission from our cell phone provider to track Steve’s movements.  Our other three sons were informed of the events during this time as well.

Early March days in Oklahoma are a mix of winter and spring, depending on the prevailing fronts.  Days are lengthening with the average sunset beginning around 6:30 p.m.  This particular day was very cool and required a coat when venturing outside.  I say all of this because my youngest son so enjoyed being outdoors.  He frequently played disc golf, enjoyed kayaking on our local lakes, fishing on lakes and rivers, and would occasionally make camping trips (especially to Colorado) and visit friends.  Mostly, he liked driving places.  He spent the last hours of his life driving and being outside.  As far as we know, he did not visit, call or text anyone during this time.  Steve was very likeable and had many friends, but his friends, like us, were far away from his thoughts.  He had also enveloped himself in the electronic gaming world.  His final post on his Facebook page that day, complete with a picture taken early that afternoon, pays his final respects to this other world of his.  “I’ll make this short, as a gamer I see life as such…In the end all the exp and I’m still a half rate player.  It’s finally time to delete all the saved data.  GG everyone catch ya on the flip side.”  His much longer note to us was one of contrition, regret and sorrow.  By the time the Deputy, who initially contacted us earlier in the day, returned to our home around 8 p.m., even before he spoke, I knew Steve was gone.  He died sometime around 7 to 7:30, out at one of his favorite kayaking spots on one of our local lakes, facing the last of the day’s dying light of our world’s sun.  He died alone in a forsaken state and a forlorn place.  My heart aches for my son to this day, knowing this of him.

Later, on that wholly sleepless night, leading into March 6^th, I walked into Steve’s now unoccupied room looking over his worldly goods and trying to be with him through the proxy of his possessions.  Upon looking into his closet full of clothes and footwear, I saw that stupid wallet!  Opening it revealed a bundle of cash, the state’s debit card, his current driver’s license and other wallet-worthy things.  Stunned, I took the wallet to Shelby.  Could this really have been the catalyst to my son’s swift demise?  Or was it a prop he used as an “excuse” to bring his earthly life to an end?  I may never really know the answer to these two questions this side of heaven.  However, I am very thankful for Steve’s final “hug” to us.  That would be his farewell letter, which he left in plain sight for us to find. 

It’s closing paragraph reads in part:  “In closing I wish that God blesses you all greatly.  I pray that you will witness to many people, because I could never even bring myself to share the gospel with even one single soul.  I also pray that when you look back on your own lives you regret nothing, life is too short to spend agonizing over things that cannot change, trust me as I speak from experience.  Dad, Mom, Glen, Mathew, and John I love you all so much.  I’m sorry that I’m about to cause you such pain… but it’s time for me to commit the ultimate act of selfishness….James Stephen Cooper 1992-2018.”

Written by Stephen’s mother, Kim Cooper