The days leading up to someone dying are very similar to the days that lead up to someone being born.
Family comes from all over to see one person.
To either say hello or say goodbye.
After we got the call that Cooper had decided it was time to stop treatment my dad and I drove the 5 hour drive to California where Cooper was staying.
Imagine it, 5 hours, complete silence, yet so many questions lingering in the air.
We arrived and headed upstairs to his room, while on our way up we noticed that my mom was in the family room with 4-5 doctors discussing all sorts of things I had no desire to hear. I gathered myself and ventured to Coopers room. I took a deep breath and entered the most peaceful room I’ve ever been in. I sat down in the chair I’ve sat in a million times, I laid my hand on top of Coopers, and he simply said “It’s time, I’m done”. Tears streaming down my face, I was truly speechless.
Not a week before this moment, Cooper had been in excruciating pain. I remember him texting me saying he couldn’t do this anymore, but I ignored his usual doubts because I would never admit to myself that he was actually telling me he was done fighting.
Over the course of a couple days family and friends from all over the United States came to see Cooper.
The most genuine state you will ever see someone in is right before the say the last words they will ever say to someone they love.
They are urgent, beautiful, and completely raw.
They are honest, bold, and astonishing.
They are the last words.
I heard a lot of people share there last words with Cooper.
I would watch people say their goodbyes, walk out of the room, and well, leave. What else were they suppose to do?
I sat near the coffee stand wondering what it would be like to say my goodbye, what it would be like to walk out of that room one last time, with just me and my last words.