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Cooper’s Story

Before the morning of July 4, 2022, Cooper Roberts was an 8-year-old boy who did what so many other 8-year-old boys do: he played sports, wrestled with his twin brother, loved dancing to all music — especially Country — and looked forward to finding out what 3rd grade would be like. But when a mass shooting took place as the crowd gathered to watch the July 4th Independence Day parade in Cooper’s hometown of Highland Park, IL, his life was changed forever. And so was his family’s — as both he and his mother were shot, and his twin brother was wounded with shrapnel.

Updates (7)

December 7, 2023

Holiday Season Update, December 2023

New photos: www.dropbox.com

Before the morning of July 4, 2022, Cooper was a typical, happy 8-year-old boy who played sports, wrestled with his twin brother, loved dancing to all music - especially country - and looked forward to starting 3rd grade. But when a mass shooting took place at his hometown parade in Highland Park, IL, his life and that of his family was changed forever. His mother was shot, Cooper sustained life-threatening wounds, and his twin brother Luke witnessed everything, spattered in shrapnel and blood from his family. After months in the hospital, then rehab, Cooper remains in a wheelchair.

As I sit here, searching for all the right words that just aren’t coming to describe the past few months with our family in the “new normal,” I feel that familiar burning in my eyes as I fight back tears. The tears come from this internal cyclone of emotions that lives every day in my heart and soul; the constant swirling and mixing of grief and gratitude, loss and love, fear and fight, sadness and joy; the desire to curl up and cry and the need to do everything in my power to save my family, save myself from drowning in hurt; to scratch and claw to reclaim any precious moment of peace and happiness and familiarity I can find.

Every day is a battle; a literal fight for your life; a thousand calculated decisions to make to not just be a survivor, but to actually survive. Yes, we lived through a mass shooting, and I am unfathomably grateful for that outcome that many people don’t get. But the residual “shrapnel” of our lives – the broken pieces we will be fixing forever, the severed spine of my 8-year-old, the massive trauma for his twin – cut far deeper than I ever thought. In a mass shooting, we rightly grieve for the dead, the gone. I’m not sure I’ve thought enough about those who survive and at what cost.

I remind myself that this is a long war, one that requires me to summon everything I have to meet the demands of the depth and breadth of commitment required every day, knowing that there is no finish line in this race, no end to the battles we have to fight. This is our “after-the shooting” life, filled with daily obstacles to overcome. And, if I am being totally honest, the emotional challenges that come with the holidays -- like the heartbreaking ghosts of holidays past that seem to linger around us, always reminding me of the family we were before July 4, 2022, that day we walked straight into Evil and destruction … it is draining. And sad. And I am tired.

I used to love these magical weeks of the winter holiday season. It always felt like the world was just a little lighter, everyone a little happier, there was a glow. I still feel that way some days. There are times when I feel “normal” again, when I can feel that holiday happiness and excitement. I say with more than a little shame, though, that there are also days that I don’t. The pain and heartache come on at random moments: driving by and seeing kids playing an activity that my boys no longer can, parking my car and seeing how quickly and easily other families can get in and out of their vehicle -- no worrying about whether the limited handicap parking spots will be available and whether the van’s ramp will work, no having to help their child transfer from the seat in the car to his wheelchair.

Survivorship is lonely and isolating. Yet, I know we are not alone in this struggle. And I know that there are so many people – directly impacted or not by the shooting– who continue to go out of their way to show their support for Cooper, Luke and our family; people who dedicate themselves to extending care and support in whatever ways are needed to help us heal. For that, I am so eternally grateful. Your love, prayers and support sustain and inspire me. Thank you just isn’t enough.

So, in my pledge to always be fully transparent and vulnerable about what this experience of surviving is like, I must admit these are hard, hard days. No days off, no weekends or holiday breaks to be able to walk away – even for just a little bit – from this new life we have been forced into, no vacations from reality. Each day is filled with reminders of exactly what Evil did to us that day. Our bodies are different now, our home, my career, the vehicles we drive, the activities the boys can access … you name it, every corner of our life has been hit by this. We cannot escape it, so we are trying our hardest to live with it.

We work hard every day even on the hardest days, to lean into the Light and to not get pulled under by the Dark. For example, while we work towards having an accessible home that meets all of Cooper’s daily living needs, we are living in a home that presents lots of daily obstacles. Sadly, our family home is no longer a comfort, but a challenge. No longer do we have the joy of experiencing those magical little moments we took for granted before, like the boys just running through the back door after school and jumping onto the couch. They can’t race downstairs to the basement playroom, nor can they go play soccer anymore in the narrow, grassy backyard. The aspects of the home that we loved when we bought it shortly before the shooting - the “charming & full of character” features that come with an almost 100-year-old home -- now betray us … narrow halls and doorways, steep stairs, no first-floor master bedroom or full bath, a narrow backyard, a galley-style kitchen, etc. Our home simply cannot meet the needs we now have – a constant reminder of the staggering changes in our lives.

This home is filled with special, now sacred, memories for me. It was the last home Cooper walked in, the backyard was the last place the boys practiced soccer, the basement playroom is filled with memories of the boys playing, having sleepovers, the memories of baking cookies in the kitchen, walking to the lake and to downtown. This home has been filled with so much love and joy.

Something as simple as holiday cooking and baking with the boys is fraught with constant reminders of what Cooper CAN’T do. What was a familiar, fun and comforting experience can bring tears. The kitchen isn’t accessible, and it makes it very hard – if not impossible – for Cooper to engage in cooking and baking (or even just getting his own snacks) the way he did before. The counter-top heights and cupboards aren’t friendly to him; the galley-style kitchen is hard for a wheelchair to maneuver through -- things that “before” were not even on the radar now require all sorts of intentional planning, moving, preparing, organizing, adjusting. Home should always be the place you feel most comfortable in, where you are able to relax and enjoy family. Home should not be hard; should not be a place filled with obstacles and barriers.

And I can’t even talk about the financials around a fully accessible home, accessible vehicles, constant medical bills, adaptive equipment, and much, much more.

I am tired. Tired of crying, tired of being sad, tired of picking up pieces and agonizing over decisions we should never be making. I am tired of looking at pictures of a family that no longer exists, tired of watching the news every day and seeing how violence continues to plague our country and world; destroying families and children like mine, tired of wasting countless hours fighting – begging – insurance companies to cover what my children need, tired of making countless pleas seeking access to medical trials that Cooper needs and deserves as they may be his best chance to regain any ambulation and being rejected – soundly – because he is a minor. I am tired of the PTSD that follows you everywhere like a shadow and I am tired of our loss of spontaneity. I miss being able to just call the boys into the kitchen to cook with me, I miss naturally responding to an unseasonably warm day with a quick walk to the lake, or going for a picnic and letting the boys play at the park, or deciding at the last minute to go catch one of the major sports teams play because they are in town. Now, we need to check for availability of what are always a very limited number of handicap accessible seats at major arenas, or we need to ensure handicap accessible parking options. And most parks are not fully accessible and do not have handicap accessible playground equipment.

On the brighter side, sports continue to be a big part of Cooper’s fight to recover. He has started to play hockey and he LOVES it! It has been a blessing to see Cooper find a team sport that has given him this sense of competition, athleticism and most importantly, community. I dare to say there isn’t a sport Cooper wouldn’t enjoy; he is such a natural athlete. He misses soccer every day. It was his first true love. He is a little boy who loves being on a team so much! For as athletic as he is, he loves cheering his teammates on as much as he loves playing any sport. He is the consummate team player. He has been so happy playing hockey; just the practices thrill him…it reminds me of how Cooper was with soccer -- as excited to go to practice as he was to go to a game. It brings tears to my eyes as I type this, thinking about the smile on his face and the excitement in his voice when he talks about his team and about sport in general. I see real joy in him again, and not with an asterisk. I see Cooper at his very happiest…filled with love for his team, love for his sport, and I see the spark in him as he pushes himself physically to become the best sled hockey player he can possibly be. I have missed seeing Cooper happy like that, getting to be a child again.

Luke is adamant about going to Cooper’s practices, even after a long day of school and his own appointments. He wants to – no, needs to be there, to cheer him, to see for himself that Cooper is ok.

We are also seeking opportunities for Cooper to learn adaptive ski and snowboard—with Luke---now that winter is almost here. They are so excited whenever there is a chance for them to do a sport together. We also are excited to find opportunities for Cooper to play wheelchair basketball; he loves watching the Chicago Bulls and Milwaukee Bucks play, and we are working to find the right wheelchair basketball team for him to join.

Luke continues to love to draw. He finds such refuge in art, like I do in music, I guess. I know that when he is at his desk, drawing, he feels settled. We are committed to trying to find Luke as many opportunities as possible to experience and explore art; he is interested in all mediums and continues to be excited about any chance he can get to engage in “doing art”. He also loves all things related to plants; he is a natural botanist! He is so fascinated by plant types, crossbreeding, and growing plants. I wish I had a greenhouse for him to spend his days in so he could care for his plants and have a light-filled space to draw.

This Thanksgiving, the boys joined their youngest sisters in the Highland Park Turkey Trot. I am so proud of this. This felt like a big step in “taking back” what Evil stole from us. PTSD is hell; there is no other way I can describe it. The physical and emotional toll it takes on you is just awful – including feeling like control of all aspects of your life has been stripped from you. The damage Evil did to my sweet little boys is so much more than just physical. The Turkey Trot was about taking control back. They accomplished more than racing three miles, Luke running beside Cooper on his hand cycle. This was about facing their fears and finishing the race, despite scary-large crowds, abrupt and loud sounds, huge amounts of unpredictability, being willing to expose themselves to something new and unknown. Those medals at the end didn’t represent what they had just finished, they represented surviving.

As I think about gift-giving this season, what Cooper really wants, I cannot give him. I cannot fix this spinal cord injury and give him back his ability to walk. What Luke really wants, a sense of true peace, and for Cooper to walk again, I do not know how to give him. I can only tell them that I want those things, too, with all my heart. I would do literally anything for Cooper and Luke to have some respite from their suffering. I know that there are days they are tired, too. And frustrated. And just plain ‘ol sad. They are just little boys and they do not deserve this burden, this suffering. The impact of the mass shooting lives with us every single second of our lives.

I want to wish you all a very happy, healthy and blessed holiday season. Whatever it is that you may be surviving, please know that I wish you strength and courage on your journey. When you face obstacles, my wish for you is that you remember that you are not alone in your efforts to overcome them. I have learned so much this past year and half, lessons I wish I had not had to learn in this way. Yet, I am immensely grateful for the lessons I have learned; including how the world is filled with wonderful, amazing people. That isn’t just flowery language; it is truth. When we are willing to take a scary step forward and open ourselves and our hearts to others, I have come to learn that you become open to seeing the goodness that is everywhere; people truly are incredible, caring and kind. I have learned first-hand that love is so much stronger than hate; the Light is so much brighter than the blackness of the Dark. I head into these holidays believing our best days are still ahead: my family’s best days, our country’s best days…the best days for all of us. I believe in the power of hope. I believe in Cooper and Luke. I believe in this family. I believe – I know it like truth - that one day, somehow, someway, Cooper will walk again.

All of you have been a blessing in my life. Thank you for your continued love, prayers, support, and generous donations. I cannot possibly put into words how much all of your kindness means to me. The love and care you all give to me and my family is what has allowed us to keep on going on this journey. I am so grateful to all of you for being so dedicated to ensuring that my boys and my family can heal. I am sending you all my best wishes and love this holiday season.

With Lots of Love and Appreciation,

Keely

October 5, 2023

1 Year Later…

I keep thinking that writing these updates will get easier with time, but they don’t. I have tried countless times throughout the summer to post messages and photos, but every time I wrote something I just could not bring myself to share it. Sharing these very raw posts feels incredibly counter-intuitive to what your mind & body’s natural response is to being hurt, which is that you want to tightly close up & protect yourself. Sharing anything at all, good or bad, leaves you feeling incredibly vulnerable and that feels especially scary as a victim; it feels like the exact thing to be working to avoid. I am coming to understand, a little bit more & more each day, just how difficult of a fight this battle called “Surviving” really is. It is a battle that you have to fight 24/7/365. It encompasses absolutely every single aspect of your life; there is no tapping out for even a second. This “New Normal” of survivorship is hard. Really hard.

I can feel something changing. Maybe it is because we are in that predictable time of year in the Midwest where summer & fall seem to wrestle one another for control. This time of year reminds me of what life has been like; with summer being my Before-the-mass shooting life & fall being my After-the-mass shooting life. Summer fighting to hold on for as long as it can even though it knows it is fighting a losing battle. Fall will inevitably win; it will take over & summer will fade out completely, soon to become only a distant memory.

If I am being honest, sometimes - most of the time, I cannot let myself enjoy my “Before” memories for too long. The pain hurts too much. I think as Survivors you build armor to equip yourself to go into battle, a fight for your life & the life of your family. Losing is not an option; the stakes are too high – so it feels like there is little to no room to allow yourself to be exposed & vulnerable. For me, at least right now, allowing myself to see, remember, feel & consider all that has been truly lost & to really let myself “go there” … it is absolutely soul-crushing. Whenever I allow myself to enjoy those happy, sweet, and wonderful “Before” memories; especially of the boys, I feel myself start to collapse with grief. If I stay in that space for any amount of time, I fear it would destroy me; that I might just drown in sadness & I am not sure I could “armor back up” to continue this battle of “One Day at a Time”.

Yet, it is so important to me that I don’t forget, either. So, on many nights I will force myself to remember everything I possibly can about the “Before”; especially about Luke & Cooper before the mass shooting on July 4th…everything. Every. Single. Itsy. Bitsy. Thing. Tiny. Little. Memory. I try to grab onto every single possible memory I can; almost trying to go “back to the beginning” when they were born & walking through it all in my head again; trying to as much as possible. It is ridiculous, I know. I am sure this sounds crazy, but it is pure desperation. I am so afraid of losing a single memory, of letting any of this Horror cast a shadow on even the smallest, most insignificant of past moments. I want to remember mundane things about Cooper walking, not just the time he scored his first soccer goal or the first time he rode his bike by himself. I want to have memories of him just walking to the refrigerator to get a juice box or of him & Luke running out the front door to see me when I came home from work. I want to lock up memories of the boys together doing things as simple as jumping on the couch or getting into the car to go grocery shopping. I want to remember them goofing around in the clothing racks at stores when we would go shopping; giggling & laughing as they played hide & seek. I want to burn into my memory the sight of Cooper walking up the stairs to bed at bedtime. I would do anything right now for Cooper to be able to just walk upstairs on his own to go to bed or to be able to walk to the refrigerator to get a juice box. I am terrified of losing the regular ol’ boring memories that we don’t normally worry about holding onto like they are gold. On many sleepless nights I have forced myself to go through this exercise in my head of trying to remember everything; like some sort of repetitive card cataloging process. I try to remember all of it. Anything. Everything. The pain of this is indescribable. But the thought of ever losing any of those memories is also excruciating…so I try my best to juggle between fighting to hold onto all these precious memories no matter how much it breaks my heart right now & still trying to keep my armor battle-ready for these long, hard days of Survivorship.

Whatever the reason, it feels as though, all of a sudden, I have become aware that something is a little different. Something has changed, just like the trees whose leaves are beginning to change color ever so slightly; a sign that a new season is about to be ushered in. Maybe it is because anyone who works in education can attest to the fact that we educators seem to have adjusted our internal clocks to live by school year calendars & therefore this time of year, the start of the school year, has always felt like a time of renewal and new beginnings.

It was inevitable that the 1-year anniversary of the Highland Park 4th of July Mass Shooting was going to arrive. All summer I was watching that date get closer & closer; wishing it would never actually arrive. “That Day” was when my life & my family’s life changed forever. “That Day” Evil took so much from Cooper --- almost his life --- as well as his ability to walk, run & jump. It was the last day he could play at the park – for hours & hours – with his brother Luke, chasing & laughing the entire time. It was the last time he could climb the monkey bars on the playground with his friends, slide down the giant water slide at the pool, run around with his puppy, George, in the backyard, race into the waves at the beach with his sisters, practice riding a scooter, run to catch a pass from his dad or speed around the bases of a ball diamond. That day was the last time I walked side-by-side & hand-in-hand with Cooper; and this year the 4th of July was a day I dreaded.

There is no way to accurately summarize all of the pain and losses; physically, mentally, and emotionally. Evil may not have succeeded in killing my family, but it succeeded in decimating our lives. As the 1-year anniversary has now become a hurdle we have managed to get over; albeit maybe just barely, it has been a time of great reflection. Today, as I write this update, I write it as a mother who is feeling broken-hearted, but who is not totally broken.

“And so rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I built my life.” - JK Rowling

I love this quote from author JK Rowling. It reminds me that even when we have hit what feels like our lowest point, maybe the best perspective to have in that moment is that rock bottom makes for one heck of a strong foundation for which to rebuild your life upon. So, this is building season.

To all of my amazing fellow Survivors out there; survivors of trauma inflicted upon them by Evil, Survivors who have been climbing for longer than I have & for those just beginning their climb out of this Hellish hole and rock bottom, I wish you peace, strength, courage & love on your journey. Although each of our rock bottoms may be unique, each of them comes at the bottom of a hole that is similarly dark, frightening & familiar in its loneliness. To every Survivor out there – you are not alone. We walk together in spirit & we walk proudly; maybe bruised, maybe battered & maybe broken-hearted---- but not broken. I wish there was a way for me to link up our “rock bottoms”, to connect an intercom system across all of our private Hells so that as we are fighting for our lives to get out, to get our babies out, to save ourselves & our loved ones that we could hear one another’s words of encouragement and support. I wish that when the darkness gets overwhelming (and it will), we could at least console each other as we cry & encourage each other during the climb. Since I cannot do that, please know that I am doing so in spirit, sending every Survivor everywhere, my love and prayers. Climb on! Here is my song for you…

We have been shown so much love, generosity, kindness, support & feel blessed to have so many people praying for Cooper, Luke and our family. We know that the power of prayer has transformed the trajectory of Cooper’s life; he is truly a living miracle & we believe that he still has a few more miracles left in him. Please, please continue to pray for Cooper and for Luke. There is no handbook for how to Survive; you learn from those who are surviving themselves & you rely on the network of support around you to help you pick up the pieces of your life. Thank you will never be enough, but please know how grateful I am to all of you who have cared for & prayed for my boys and continue to do so.

Fight Song by Rachel Platten

Like a small boat

On the ocean

Sending big waves

Into motion

Like how a single word

Can make a heart open

I might only have one match

But I can make an explosion

And all those things I didn't say

Wrecking balls inside my brain

I will scream them loud tonight

Can you hear my voice this time?

This is my fight song

Take back my life song

Prove I'm alright song

My power's turned on

Starting right now I'll be strong

I'll play my fight song

And I don't really care if nobody else believes

'Cause I've still got a lot of fight left in me

Losing friends and I'm chasing sleep

Everybody's worried about me

In too deep

Say I'm in too deep (in too deep)

And it's been two years I miss my home

But there's a fire burning in my bones

Still believe

Yeah, I still believe

And all those things I didn't say

Wrecking balls inside my brain

I will scream them loud tonight

Can you hear my voice this time?

This is my fight song

Take back my life song

Prove I'm alright song

My power's turned on

Starting right now I'll be strong

I'll play my fight song

And I don't really care if nobody else believes

'Cause I've still got a lot of fight left in me

As we continue down this path of survivorship, I want to instill in the boys a sense of agency; I want them to know they are truly some of the strongest human beings I know & that they do not have to feel as if they are powerless. We might not have been able to control this happening to us, but we can control how we respond to it. We are all learning how to rebuild our lives. We are trying to collect the shattered pieces; even if it means that once we put those pieces back together again it will mean our lives look & feel different than before. Yet, I want the boys to know they can take back the pieces of their lives that Evil shattered that day. One example of that is how Cooper has re-learned how to swim & how to ride a bike. It is not the same as before & it is not how he wished he could be swimming or biking. But, Cooper deserves to be able to continue to do the activities he loved to do before he was shot and paralyzed; Evil has no right to steal that from him. So it is a major victory that we celebrate every time anyone “takes back” something that was stolen.

As a family, we took a trip this summer; the same family trip we had been set to take just weeks after the mass shooting last year. One of the most joyful moments of my life happened on that trip; watching Cooper & Luke swim together again in the ocean. I would describe the feeling of watching my two boys once again, together, swimming and playing in the waves, as an almost spiritual moment for me. I will never forget it. I was so proud of them…they took back something that was incredibly challenging to take back ; a lot of hard work, facing of fears, preparation & logistics went into making that moment happen. We feel so blessed to be able to have all sorts of types of loving, caring & supportive experiences, acts of generosity and support, as well as such kind interactions with individuals, families, organizations & the community – locally, nationally and globally as so many people have gone out of their way to continue support us in our survivorship journey. I cannot thank you all enough or stress how much the outpouring of kindness really does leave an impression on our hearts and minds. It is soul food on this journey. It is also proof that the world is filled with so much more good than bad and that Love Always Wins.

There is a Taylor Swift song that she wrote as a break up song, but when I listen to it now, it seems to apply so perfectly to this season I am in; this desperate internal push to move forward – this summing up all of the courage & power that I have in me to keep fighting each day against the sorrow and hurt. To fight bravely in the face of the unknown. The feelings that come with the ushering in of this new season are so mixed. I feel in some ways like I am watching the final glimpses of my “Before” life fade away, just like the summer seems to be right now. It was inevitable, summer had to leave so to that fall could be ushered in. And, like summer has now left, I have to let go of trying to hold onto a “Before” life that I know is already gone, too. Maybe this change I feel is about my recognizing that I truly need to find a way to say goodbye. Maybe this change I feel is about coming to terms, somehow, with the fact that I don’t know how to fix all the broken pieces. As a mama I do not have a way to make the pain stop for my children and I cannot make it all better & that is very hard to come to terms with.

There is a line in this Taylor Swift song called “Death by a Thousand Cuts” that says, “I ask the traffic lights if it’ll be alright and they say, I don’t know”. That line always makes me think of my driving and listening to music – trying to work through the sadness, the unknown, the grief, the anger, the heartbreak… and I am reminded of how I probably owe so many of my wonderful Highland Park neighbors an apology as they have seen me crying at a traffic light or two, asking God (or the traffic light?!?) if it will all be alright. If you have not heard this song by Taylor Swift, I highly recommend you Google and find her acoustic “Tiny Desk Concert” version.

I want to leave you all with another song (no surprise!). I listen to this one & it feels like a prayer, an anthem & a wish all rolled up in one. It makes me think of my boys & my family and it reminds me that I know better days are ahead. I wish you all bright days ahead, filled with love & light.

Brighter Days by Blessing Offor

I know there's gonna be some brighter days

I swear that love will find you in your pain

I feel it in me like the beating of life in my veins

I know there's gonna be some brighter days

I know there's gonna be some brighter days

Oh, ashes fall from burning dreams

Oh, never lived through times like these

Oh, if you're trying hard to breathe in the dark

In the dark

I know there's gonna be some brighter days (yes, I do)

I swear that love will find you in your pain (oh)

I feel it in me like the beating of life in my veins

I know there's gonna be some brighter days

I know there's gonna be some brighter days

Oh, if your screams don't make a sound (if your screams don't make a sound)

Oh, if your walls are crashing down (crashing down, crashing down)

Oh, if your heart just cries too loud all the time

All the time, whoa

I know there's gonna be some brighter days (some brighter days)

I swear that love will find you in your pain (love will find you)

I feel it in me like the beating of life in my veins

I know there's gonna be some brighter days (there's gonna)

I know there's gonna be some brighter days

Oh-oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh-oh

Brighter days

(I see brighter days, I see brighter days)

Oh-oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh-oh

(There's gonna be some brighter days)

Brighter days

I know there's gonna be some brighter days

I swear that love will find you in your pain

I feel it in me like the beating of life in my veins

Oh-oh-oh

I know there's gonna be some brighter days

Oh, I swear that love will find you in your pain (I swear, I swear, I swear, I swear)

I feel it in me like the beating of life in my veins

I know there's gonna be some brighter days (brighter days)

I know there's gonna be some brighter days (oh, I know)

I know there's gonna be some brighter days

Sending Love and Gratitude,

Keely

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Guestbook

December 10, 2023

Praying for your family.

Joanne Scott

November 4, 2023

The strength and courage of this family is inspirational. We pray for your continued recovery.

Todd Waldron

August 1, 2023

God Bless you and your family. You are in my prayers.

Joan Marotta