July 3, 2024
Statement Regarding July 4th Highland Park Parade Mass Shooting Anniversary and Plea Deal Court Hearing Last Week
Keely Roberts, 2022 Highland Park Fourth of July parade shooting victim, mother to Luke and Cooper Roberts, parade shooting victims
July 3, 2024 -- On July 4th, 2022, our lives were shattered forever. For us, 2024 July 4th represents not the 2nd anniversary of one of the worst mass shootings in our country … where seven people were brutally killed, and 48 others viciously and violently shot in an act of extreme cruelty … a horrifically evil event that left my 8-year-old son, Cooper, fighting for his life, then paralyzed from the waist down. For my family, this 4th of July is the 730th anniversary of the total annihilation of our lives.
It has been 730 days since Cooper was able to walk. Seven hundred and thirty days since he was able to run and chase his brother in the backyard, climb the playground equipment at the park or school, play on his soccer team, run the bases at the ballpark or jump on his bed, the living room couches or play at a trampoline park. It has been 730 days since Cooper was able to wake up, jump out of bed and run downstairs ready for his favorite breakfast or sleepily walk upstairs at the end of the day, ready to crawl into his bed, exhausted from playing outside or in a soccer tournament. It has been 730 days since Cooper and Luke raced each other to the car in the morning on the way to school and it has been 730 days since they chased one another out of the school building at the end of the day to go home. It has been 730 days since I was able to walk hand-in-hand with my sweet, sweet Cooper.
This past week I, like dozens of victims of the Highland Park 4th of July mass shooting, attended a court hearing where we were told the shooter would change his plea to guilty and before official sentencing took place, we would have the opportunity to address the court and provide victim impact statements. Unfortunately, that is not what happened. Rather, what played out was yet another example of the re-victimization of victims; the continued infliction of suffering on innocent people who continue to suffer in unthinkable ways.
I almost didn’t go because it is literally impossible to describe what it is like to have a total stranger try to kill you and your family. Our sweet little twin boys had their lives destroyed in a blink of an eye; one dying on a sidewalk while the other one, injured himself, was left bleeding and traumatized beyond description -- believing he just witnessed the murder of his twin brother and watching his mother bleed, all while gunshots and screams filled the air.
Cooper, a happy, kind, athletic little boy is now paralyzed; his every-day for the rest of his life forever impacted by the horrific decisions the shooter, and all who directly or indirectly aided him in allowing this massacre to happen. I knew that I would not be able to properly explain the guilt and anguish that you experience as a parent when you cannot protect your children from harm. I knew I would fail at finding the right words to describe what the shooter has done to my four daughters who live every day with indescribable survivors’ guilt; their young adult lives forever changed by this. We can’t even live in our home -- it no longer meets Cooper’s needs – and I lost a career that I love which supported my family. Everything in our lives has changed. That family who walked to the parade that awful day are gone. They no longer exist.
As victims, we have already watched the father of the shooter accept a plea deal himself for the actions he engaged in that contributed to our hell on earth July 4th. I watched him walk into the courthouse wearing the white t-shirt he had customized with black letters that read, “I am a political pawn” across the front & “Laws, Facts, Reality” across the back. Really?
I was reminded of this type of cruel and continued pain and suffering last week when I gathered with fellow victims for what we all believed would be the entering of a guilty plea for the shooter. And, once again, along with all of you, I witnessed the continued destruction of good, caring, innocent people---people who have suffered more in a lifetime than anyone should have to. I witnessed brave victims and their loved ones show up to court, permanently transformed by the senseless acts of evil; carrying burdens that weigh us down, keep us up at night and break our hearts daily. And once again, I bore witness to the continued cruel abuse that we are forced to suffer – again and again and again.
I watched the shooter wheeled into court in a wheelchair which felt like a knife to my heart; it took my breath away … just one more injustice inflicted. We were told that the shooter requested a wheelchair because he was “nervous.” Do you know how “nervous” Cooper is every day of his life? Can you imagine the emotions Cooper continues to feel as a little 8-year-old who was shot and almost killed and was left paralyzed? Can you imagine the feelings he deals with every day as he deals with constant pain, physically and emotionally, as he is forced to live his life as a paraplegic? Cooper never gets to decide if he wants to use a wheelchair or not. No, Cooper’s choices were stolen – violently – from him. I sat in the courtroom for the rest of that hearing, fighting back tears of pain, with my fellow victims, all watching in horror as it quickly became apparent that there would be no guilty plea entered. Once again, the shooter calls the shots, literally.
The timing of last week’s awful, painful court hearing came on the heels of the 2nd anniversary of the mass shooting and the reinstatement of Highland Park’s 4th of July parade. My family and I will not be attending the parade this year. Truthfully, I do not know if my family will ever be able to attend another parade again.
When the very worst things happen to people, I think that there is a natural desire to want to believe that – eventually – they recover; that healing and restoration will occur. I used to be a person who wanted to believe that; I think I probably did believe it. I thought that eventually, enough time could elapse for someone’s pain to diminish and for them to have their “before-the-hurt” lives restored. I know now that this is not true. That horrific day will live in us forever, Cooper’s life especially and irrevocably shattered.
Hurt and suffering are not political issues; they are human ones. I am disinterested in politics as I believe it is everyday people, not politics or politicians, who have the power to transform our lives and society. That said, I have always been emotionally drawn to and impacted by Robert F. Kennedy’s remarks to the Cleveland Club on April 5th, 1968; the day after the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr. Here is an excerpt:
Why? What has violence ever accomplished? What has it ever created? No martyr's cause has ever been stilled by his assassin's bullet.
No wrongs have ever been righted by riots and civil disorders. A sniper is only a coward, not a hero; and an uncontrolled, uncontrollable mob is only the voice of madness, not the voice of the people.
Whenever any American's life is taken by another American unnecessarily - whether it is done in the name of the law or in the defiance of law, by one man or a gang, in cold blood or in passion, in an attack of violence or in response to violence - whenever we tear at the fabric of life which another man has painfully and clumsily woven for himself and his children, the whole nation is degraded.
I believe these words to be true. It was not just Cooper’s life, or Luke’s, or mine, or that of my entire family who were destroyed in that mass shooting. It was not the lives of only the named victims of this crime. Every one of our lives were damaged by this shooter and this act of senseless violence. This was a murderous attack on all of us -- no American life went unscathed that day.
Last week was also filled with another important benchmark event, Luke and Cooper’s 10th birthday. I spent it both celebrating their lives and reflecting upon the awe and humility I have when considering their strength, courage, resiliency and the love they have for others; despite the horrible pain that has been inflicted upon them. They continue to love wholly and completely; still putting others before themselves. Our family celebrated their birthday filled with gratitude for their arrival and survival. We welcomed their 10th birthday with joy and the absolute deepest levels of appreciation for all who played critical roles in saving Cooper’s life and for those whose selflessness and bravery that day helped Luke do what no 8-year-old should ever have to. And for all who have so graciously and lovingly prayed for Cooper to live despite all of the odds---your prayers were heard and felt.
The boys’ birthday falling in the middle of these difficult experiences; the plea hearing that unraveled and the impending 2nd anniversary of the mass shooting felt like it was exactly as it should be; a day to remember that we have so much to be grateful for and to celebrate in our lives as we keep fighting onward in this forever journey of survivorship.
# # #
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
June 30, 2023
COOPER ROBERTS FAMILY UPDATE June 30, 2023
NEAR THE ONE-YEAR ANNIVERSARY OF THE HIGHLAND PARK 4TH OF JULY SHOOTING
From his mom, Keely Roberts
Cooper and Luke just celebrated their birthday this week. They had just turned 8-years-old at the time of the Highland Park mass shooting last July 4. Some of the most painful cruelties that come with surviving often show up in the most ordinary of places. It is almost impossible to not look back on such milestone days and compare—what did we do last year at this time and what are we doing now? This year, those comparisons break my heart-- reminding me of how much their lives, our lives have been completely and utterly changed. The decimation of childhood innocence is just gut-wrenching, amidst the other many losses they endure.
The closer we have been inching toward the anniversary of the 4th of July mass shooting, the more I feel overwhelming grief for what has been taken from my children.
Earlier this month, Cooper and Luke finished third grade. This year was not about academic prowess, it was about honoring that both of our boys were alive to even be third graders. Watching them come out the front doors on that last day of school with their classmates, laughing and smiling, proudly celebrating the end of the school year with their friends, felt absolutely enormous. Even though we had to pick Cooper up to put him atop the school sign, so he could sit next to Luke and his friends for the end of the school year picture– something Cooper so very much wanted to still be able to do -- seeing him there, happy in the moment, felt like climbing Mount Everest, an enormous feat.
I could not help but remember back to Cooper and Luke’s first day of third grade. For the first time ever in their lives, they did not start school together on the same day, the official first day of school. This year, the impact of the mass shooting caused each to have to start their school year on different days and without the other—and to do so during a time when they needed each other the most.
Cooper and Luke have had so much stolen from them -- so much of the joyful, carefree innocence that makes childhood so special. Like so many children impacted by violence and trauma, their childhood has been obliterated by a mass shooting. Last year, their birthday was filled with pure joy as the boys loved being at the ballpark, cheering on their favorite baseball team, eating hotdogs, and having fun. We never could have imagined what was coming just around the corner. We were determined to make this year’s birthday as happy and celebratory as possible, to provide a temporary reprieve from the hardships and emotional weight that comes with being so little and trying to survive something so big and unthinkable. This year, we celebrated their lives—both the day they were born and the day they survived.
And yet, their lives now are filled with such challenges and loss. Cooper can’t run, play like he used to, or even walk. He can’t be on the soccer team, bounce on the couch or wrestle with his brother. When he should be going to sports practice, he is attending physical therapy. Yet, amidst the sadness, we are astonished by his resilience and hope as Cooper has started participating in Adaptive Swim Meets and is learning wheelchair tennis. We are figuring out new ways to participate in the world.
We’ve also been completely, physically uprooted for nearly a year now. At first, we weren’t even sure Cooper would survive. It was miraculous, truly, that Jason and the first responders at the scene were even able to get Cooper to the hospital, alive, and then it was a miracle that the ER and surgical teams at Highland Park hospital were able to save his life and ready him for a medevac flight to Comer Children's Hospital. Jason and I lived in that PICU for weeks—always at Cooper’s bedside and praying with a relentless desperation that I have never felt before. One of us always stayed with him when he transferred to inpatient rehab (even his sisters were able to have some sleepovers in his room—the reunion among siblings so emotional), and his daily physical and occupational therapy, and significant daily needs became the focus of our family’s life. All else is scheduled around Cooper’s needs.
When Cooper was finally ready to transition to day therapy and allowed to come home, nearly three months after being shot, now in a wheelchair, we were fortunate enough to move into a borrowed ranch home for a few months that allowed for greater accessibility opportunities for Cooper than he would have in our almost 100-year-old two-story home. Unfortunately, our family home is inaccessible – lots of stairs, narrow hallways that can’t accommodate a wheelchair, kitchen counters too high. So, at enormous expense, we are building a home so that Cooper can be wherever the family is, rather than relegated to just a couple rooms on the first floor and then carried upstairs to bed.
We are immensely grateful for the many, many kindnesses and donations that have been made to support Cooper and our family. But we have a lifetime of significant hurdles to go: ongoing medical care, social-emotional support, physical therapy, accessible transportation, accessible homes and accommodations for a lifetime, equitable education opportunities and much, much more. It keeps me up at night more nights than I can possibly count.
In one sense, it feels like every single thing in our lives changed on July 4th, 2022. On the other hand, I have become even more grateful and aware of all the things that will never change—our love for the boys, our commitment to always try to do right by them, our deep hope that they live lives filled with great joy and purpose, surrounded by those who truly love them. In a world that has proven to be filled with shocking circumstances and unbearable situations, this remains and will always be true.
May 4, 2023
Keely broke her interview silence this morning with a Mother’s Day-inspired story on The Today Show, exactly 10 months from when the horrific Highland Park shooting took place. Please take a few minutes to watch this moving piece … through her eyes, in her own words:
www.today.com
If you would like to support the Roberts Family:
You can make a tax-deductible gift via Help Hope Live to help the Roberts family support lifelong medical care for Cooper, significant ADA adaptations to a one-story home they need to move into in order to accommodate Cooper’s mobility needs, medical and rehabilitation equipment, and more:
Help Hope Live is ranked in the top 1% of all U.S. charities by Charity Navigator, also recommended by The Dana and Christopher Reeve Foundation)
You can make a credit card donation through this page.
Please send checks as follows:
Payable to: Help Hope Live
In memo line: For Cooper Roberts
Mail to: 2 Radnor Corporate Center, Suite 100 100 Matsonford Road, Radnor PA 19087
For stock or wire transfer information, please call Help Hope Live at 1.800.642.8399 (Monday through Friday, 9 am to 5 pm EST)
Please also consider sharing this page on your social media.
Any help you can provide is greatly needed and deeply appreciated. Please continue to keep the family in your thoughts and prayers. #BringCooperHome #BringLukeHome
April 4, 2023
Truck Drivers & Mountain Climbers
I honestly did not think that I was going to be able to post an update about last week’s mass shooting at Covenant School in Nashville that killed three adults & three 9-year-olds. I have tried countless times, but I haven’t been able to. All three children killed only 9-years old: just a year older than Cooper & Luke. That has impacted me in way that I was not expecting; ripped open some wounds I was really hoping could heal just a little bit.
My thoughts and prayers are with Nashville victims’ families and loved ones. I have such empathy for the pure misery you are experiencing right now. Whomever came up with the expression “Misery loves company” certainly wasn’t speaking for me. Nothing I say makes it better & I cannot understand the unique suffering each of you are experiencing right now. All I can say is that I am sorry that this happened to you. I am just so, so sorry.
As soon as the awful tragedy in Nashville occurred, I also thought of our fellow victims of the mass shooting at the 4th of July parade in Highland Park. I know that for me, what happened in Nashville has been especially upsetting for many reasons and I know that it might have been for some of you, too. I want to take this opportunity to tell all of you how sorry I am that the mass shooting happened at the 4th of July parade; it should not have. Period. I am so, so sorry that this happened. I know it doesn’t change anything, it doesn’t make it better, but it matters to me, and it matters to our entire family that we tell you how truly sorry we are that any of you have had to, and continue to, experience suffering and misery because of this mass shooting.
Today is the 9-month anniversary of the Highland Park mass shooting while yesterday marked the 1-week anniversary for the Nashville families. There is a song called, “Heart Like a Truck” by Lainey Wilson. Cooper and Luke crack up every time they hear just a tiny snippet of this song; it is used in a truck commercial and when it is on tv, Cooper always says, “I don’t get it, a heart is not like a truck” and then for some reason, almost on cue, Luke starts to belly laugh. I watch the two of them do this every single time that commercial comes on. It is one of the best things in life, watching Cooper and Luke just being twin brothers, laughing at their inside jokes. When this Lainey Wilson song was playing in my car, in just so happened that I was driving past the spot that we had been sitting at during the 4th of July parade... “I got a heart like a truck, It's been drug through the mud, Lord knows it's taken a hell of a beating”
Yes, I am pretty certain that it will surprise Cooper and Luke to know that just like their dad, they have hearts like a truck.
If you have not heard the entire song (and not just the commercial) you have to listen…it is amazing!
Heart Like a Truck by Lainey Wilson
I never stay in one place too long
A dirt road's singing me a siren song
I gotta find a field
I need to spin my wheels
I got a hankering for four wide tires
And I can't help it it's the way I'm wired
'Fore you get too close
Boy you need to know
I got a heart like a truck
It's been drug through the mud
Runs on dreams and gasoline
And that ole highway holds the key
It's got a lead foot down when it's leaving
Lord knows it's taken a hell of a beating
A little bit of love is all that it's needing
But it's good as it is tough
I got a heart like a truck
There ain't no breaking when I throw it in drive
Don't always keep it in between the lines
If you're ready for a ride pedal down state of mind
Boy I tell you what
You better buckle up
I got a heart like a truck
It's been drug through the mud
Runs on dreams and gasoline
And that ole highway holds the key
It's got a lead foot down when it's leaving
Lord knows it's taken a hell of a beating
A little bit of love is all that it's needing
But it's good as it is tough
I got a heart like a truck
Go on and see if you can knock off the dust yea
Shine it up revv it up and let it run yea
It gets a high riding off into the sun yea
I got a heart like a truck
It's been drug through the mud
Runs on dreams and gasoline
And that ole highway holds the key
It's got a lead foot down when it's leaving
Lord knows it's taken a hell of a beating
A little bit of love is all that it's needing
But it's good as it is tough
I got a heart like a truck
Go on and see if you can knock off the dust yea
Shine it up revv it up and let it run yea
It gets a high riding off into the sun yea
It gets a high riding off into the sun
I have thought about how the families in Nashville woke up that morning and unknowingly walked into the worst day of their entire lives. I know that walk. There are families from the mass shooting in Highland Park, like the families now in Nashville, who know that walk. Countless times I have tortured myself with millions of “what ifs” that change the outcome of that day. I have thought about how the Nashville families will run “what ifs” through their mind just as all of us impacted by the mass shooting at the parade have done so many times before. We all know that the “What If Game” is a game you cannot win. Ever. It is like playing the most self-punishing and completely unhealthy version of 6 Degrees of Separation from Kevin Bacon; asking myself over and over “How many decisions needed to have been made differently so that your family could have been separated, saved, from this situation?” Nevertheless, I play it. If I told you I didn’t I would be lying. I am guessing that others play, too. I know it isn’t helpful, but I still search for & play out in my mind incredibly plausible scenarios in which we never go to the Highland Park 4th of July Parade. It brings me to tears in just seconds thinking about how we could have so easily made different choices for that day and escaped this, Hell. Tears are filling up my eyes right now making it hard to even type. Knowing we could have been just a few decisions away from escaping this for horror for Cooper & avoiding him being shot and paralyzed, sparing the boys this emotional, physical, and mental agony altogether…I cannot explain to you how that makes me feel. It is suffocating. It makes me feel like I need to go throw up.
I cannot promise that I won’t “what if” ever again, but I am trying to do more leaning into gratitude, more “what for” instead or “now what” instead of “what if”. The “what if” just doesn’t get me anywhere except feeling like I am being totally unproductive and useless; has me feeling even worse----like I am going to throw up. That is about as honest and raw as it comes, my friends.
Yesterday, I went to Rosewood Beach. The beach and playground are family favorites. I actually could not return to the lakefront at all for a long time after the shooting, even though this was my favorite place with the kids. Probably because this was my favorite place with the kids. It was just way too hard. Relatively recently I have been able to start to go back. But the last time I went to Rosewood Beach it had been a warm day & families were everywhere. On prior occasions, I wasn’t cognizant that the weather wasn’t as nice & the lakefront not as crowded. I didn’t connect how lots of families and kids around may impact things for me.
This time, the playground was filled with kids the boys’ age playing. Families were all around doing the same types of activities we would normally be doing at the lakefront & it was an entirely different emotional experience. If we want to stick with the truck analogy, I put it in the ditch. Or the wall. I totally crashed. I could not handle it. I literally could not stop crying. I tried to be discreet, but it was becoming impossible and I had to leave. I couldn’t stay --- it was way too painful. It was too much of a reminder of exactly what was stolen from Cooper, ripped away from the boys, taken from our family. I was literally suffocating from my heartache and the fact that I couldn’t do anything to fix this situation; to make this right Cooper. As I got back into my car and drove away, bawling, I felt Iike I had just punked out on my boys; like I was letting them down and running away. Running away from our some of best days; leaving them behind at the beach. I felt like a coward, like the worst person in the world. My heart felt so heavy. I felt like I was leaving the life we loved; all our special, happy “us stuff” as a family in the rear-view mirror and dashing away from in. I hated myself for leaving all those happy families and smiling children at the beach. I hated myself for not being able to stay. I hated myself for being so sad when everyone else there was so happy and having so much fun. I hated myself for crashing my proverbial truck right into the wall. I felt destroyed.
But my update is that I wasn’t destroyed. I was struggling. That was a really hard situation for me. But I am a climber. I am a truck driver. I am a mama of little truck drivers, too. And Nashville, you are truck drivers & mountain climbers, too.
As I looked out into Lake Michigan yesterday morning, I thought about conquering mountains. I thought about the mountains I am trying to conquer& those that my husband and children are all trying to conquer, as well. I thought of Cooper who was the most injured and yet had already conquered one of his mountains. He was terrified to re-learn how to swim; petrified to drown yet has relearned through swim therapy. As I am parked at Rosewood Beach this morning, it strikes me that I may not be making much progress on my climb up Misery Mountain today, but I really needed to go back and face Rosewood Beach again. Today, I needed to show myself that I could look at it again. I could just “get back on the horse” after the fall. No victory lap, no mountain conquered…I just needed to get started on that climb again. That in and of itself felt like a win.
As I prepare to post this update this morning, another Lainey Wilson song plays in the background. We are currently doing one of the hardest things we have done as a family; we are moving back into our home…back to where we lived on the 4th of July. A two-story home filled with lots of memories of our Before life; of who we all were individually and as a family Before the shooting. It is filled with lots of stairs to carry our little boy up and down; a boy that used to bounce, fly, run, slide up and down those stairs like Superman. Moving the boys back into the bedroom they used to share. The song feels like a tribute to Cooper and Luke; two little boys who also have always shared a bedroom & have always been side-by-side; even on that horrible day. They are two of the toughest truck drivers and mountain climbers I have ever had the honor of knowing.
Sending love and prayers to all of the victims and loved ones of the Covenant School Mass Shooting in Nashville…you are not alone on your journey to heal,
Keely
February 28, 2023
The Season of Sprinter
The weather the last few weeks has been really weird. I guess that can be typical of Chicagoland this time of year; days of almost Spring-like sunshine and dare I say, warmth, and then the cold slushy rain-snow mix reminds you not to get your hopes up too high. But, like all good Midwesterners, we just persevere through it. Luke loves to call this time of year “Sprinter”. We think he heard that term on a weather report one time and really loved it…a little bit of spring, but a lot of winter. It just makes you feel better, though, if you lead with the spring part. J
We have tried to get outside lately when we can to enjoy the peaks of the sun when it decides to make an appearance. Looking outside the window most days I am reminded of how much this time of year reminds me of what I think we are experiencing and feeling as a family right now. Maybe it is just “The Royal We”, but one of the most powerful things I have come to learn over these past months is how unbelievably shared the human experience really is. So, maybe some of you are feeling this same way…feeling the internal push & pull of what Luke calls “Sprinter”.
You know you are in your “Season of Sprinter” when you start to feel how you need winter to come to an end. I think Sprinter is as much a state of mind as it is a season. We have all been there. You know you are there when you can truly feel, and I mean you can absolutely feel the ache of how you need to get back to sunnier days, yet when you look at the calendar and out your window, it is still very much winter. And that just breaks a piece of your heart. It is the back half of our Midwest winter that seems to, somehow, linger endlessly. It is that tough time of year (or that tough time in all of our lives) where you really need to lean in. Hard. Where the weather can tease us or our children; one day giving them a preview of the warmer spring days that are just around the corner; lulling my boys into desperately wanting to wear their spring jackets vs. heavy winter coats to school and the next day blanketing us with those incredibly inconvenient (but admittedly beautiful) super huge lake-effect snowfalls that quickly melt into slush; no time for snowmen to be built.
Sunnier days that are surely on the horizon if only you can hang on through a few more weeks of winter. But, when anyone is in their Season of Sprinter, it truly feels to them like it has been a very, very long time since the air around them has felt warm & since the sun has shone brightly. Whatever the actual calendar says, if you know someone who is in their Season of Sprinter, give them a little grace. Remind them that winter never lasts forever. If you are in your own Season of Sprinter, give yourself some grace. None of us were meant to live without the sun. We all need to see hope, we all need to believe better, happier, sunnier days are just around the corner. There have been days in our house where we really, really miss the warmer, kinder, gentler summer days. I don’t why it makes me cry to just type that sentence, but I can feel my eyes start to burn with tears just typing this. It is silly, I know, but I guess that is what I am talking about…Sprinter is tough. These are dig deep, lean in and hold on days. Sunnier days are sure to come…but I miss the sun. I miss the warm breeze. I miss seeing Luke and Cooper smiling and laughing and running on the beach and chasing each other in the park. I miss watching them play soccer. I miss their excited little faces as they counted down the days going into summer vacation or spring break.
I think what makes this “Sprinter” season so extra hard for us this year is that by its very nature, Sprinter is unpredictable. For us, and I think for most people who experience trauma, anything “unpredictable” is usually best avoided. We are trying so hard to figure out how to reassemble our lives. As always, I can only share my experience. I am learning to accept that there isn’t a blueprint for “getting through this” nor is there a blueprint for “fixing this”. No one has the answer for how we rebuild what Evil destroyed; for trying to reclaim what Evil had so cruelly and violently taken from us. I realize now that the answers for what we are looking for don’t lie outside our family. Whether it is the answer for how to hold on a little longer through Sprinter until sunnier days of Spring arriver or whether it is the more complex issues related to how we move forward after being victims of a mass shooting; how we help Luke and Cooper physically and emotionally, we need to remember to lean in to each other. There is a great line from the movie “Wizard of Oz” that reminds me of this lesson…
“You’ve always had the power, my dear, you just had to learn it for yourself.”
-The Wizard of Oz
Things are super messy. Imperfect. Hard. We are always wishing we could do more, do something different. Most days I feel like we are scrambling…I mean, this is really tough. Really emotionally challenging to say the very least. We are trying each day to fight as hard as we can. Cooper wants to walk again. Luke wants to be the best big brother he can be (I mean, he is 1 minute older!). These boys are such an inspiration to us. We are not perfect, we are all really struggling….but we are trying. Cooper has started pool therapy and has redefined bravery for us as a family. As scared as he was to get into a pool again knowing he could not use his legs, he did it without a hiccup of hesitation. It is the most amazing thing I have seen him do yet! He is like a fish in the water!! Luke went to tennis practice last time with Cooper and was playing with Cooper…it is so great to see both boys playing together; just being brothers playing sports together again. Each day as we watch Luke push Cooper up the wheelchair ramp to the front door at school, sometimes also accompanied by their wonderful friends, we are reminded that although morning drop off looks very different than it did in previous school years, it is also unbelievably beautiful. The authentic care for one another, effort put into helping each other heal and the true friendship extended amongst one another that is so evident amongst the children of the school----it has been something truly amazing to witness. Luke and Cooper are so grateful for their friends; as are we. I don’t have the right words to extend how appreciative I am for how loved Cooper and Luke feel in school; it is their home away from home.
So, even as we try to dig deep and get through Sprinter, we are trying to also lean into gratefulness. We have a lot to be grateful for…like the love and support of so many who care so much about our boys & who continue to pray for their healing. We ask that you please continue to pray for them. We believe that makes all of the difference. We feel so connected to all of you and appreciate all of the love you send to us…thank you will never be enough. We also feel so grateful to be so inspired by Cooper and Luke. They keep us strong. Thank you for believing in them and for helping us fight for them. I know in my heart that great things are in store for them. I believe it with everything I have.
This song is for you guys, today, Cooper and Luke! If you all don’t know this one, it's definitely worth listening to!
Stand by Rascal Flatts
You feel like a candle in a hurricane
Just like a picture with a broken frame
Alone and helpless, like you've lost your fight
But you'll be all right, you'll be all right
Cause when push comes to shove
You taste what you're made of
You might bend till you break
'Cause it's all you can take
On your knees, you look up
Decide you've had enough
You get mad, you get strong
Wipe your hands, shake it off
Then you stand, then you stand
Life's like a novel with the end ripped out
The edge of a canyon with only one way down
Take what you're given before it's gone
And start holdin' on, keep holdin' on
'Cause when push comes to shove
You taste what you're made of
You might bend till you break
'Cause it's all you can take
On your knees, you look up
Decide you've had enough
You get mad, you get strong
Wipe your hands, shake it off
Then you stand, yeah, then you stand
Every time you get up
And get back in the race
One more small piece of you
Starts to fall into place
Cause when push comes to shove
You taste what you're made of
You might bend till you break
'Cause it's all you can take
On your knees, you look up
Decide you've had enough
You get mad, you get strong
Wipe your hands, shake it off
Then you stand, then you stand
Yeah, then you stand, yeah
Yeah, baby
Woo hoo, woo hoo, woo hoo, woo hoo
Then you stand, yeah, yeah
With Love & Gratefulness,
Keely
February 14, 2023
Valentine’s Day Update
I wanted to send an update on this special day. Today is Valentine’s Day and although it is a hard day in many respects; a day to celebrate love…happiness, smiles, kisses and all things that used to make me think of hearts. This year, I don’t feel in the same celebratory mood. I think that I have written (and felt) the word heartbreak, heartache & brokenhearted more than I probably have in my entire lifetime. But, the truth is that since the shooting this summer, I have felt more pain than I have ever felt in my entire life. I have felt suffering; different than just pain. I watched, helplessly, as my babies suffered. I continue to do so as I write to you today. I have felt more heartbreak in this half year than I think I could ever feel I lived a thousand lifetimes. Few songs seem to capture the feeling better than this classic; a portion of the refrain is below:
Neil Young – Only Love Can Break Your Heart
I have a friend I've never seen
He hides his head inside a dream
Someone should call him and see
If he can come out
Try to lose the down that he's found
But only love can break your heart
Try to be sure right from the start
Yes, only love can break your heart
What if your world should fall apart?
I have a friend I've never seen
He hides his head inside a dream
Yes, only love can break your heart
Yes, only love can break your heart
Yes, only love can break your heart
Yes, only love can break your heart
Yes, only love can break your heart
But…today is Valentine’s Day…a day to celebrate love. And I (and my whole family) have also felt more loved than I have ever felt in my entire life. That is something worth celebrating.
I know that Valentine’s Day is a tough day for lots of people for many people for many reasons. We all have our own stories. Our own heartbreaks. Our own reasons to grieve. I cannot help but look at the pictures and videos that will pop up on your phone and see what Cooper and Luke were doing on days before the shooting. I cry, I weep; I don’t want to move the pain hurts so badly when I see how happy Cooper looks in those pictures as he plays soccer, rides his bike, chases his brother, swims in the waves, runs in the sand…they become like knives in my heart and no longer memories on film.
But then I look at the new pictures. And I am reminded that we have a lot of love to celebrate and I want to remind everyone else who is broken-hearted on this Valentine’s Day that there is love all around them. Straight talk, here. I have always said that the only reason to write updates at all was to be “real deal”. Even in the dark, there is light. Even if it is small; it is mighty… just like Cooper.
I am sharing one of the newest pictures today. I look at it and I see two beautiful boys. I see my babies. I see boys who are loved and who are loving. Who have been so incredibly hurt, but refuse to hurt anyone else in return. Who are so scared, but are trying so hard to be brave. I see boys who want to be safe and want others to be, too. I see boys who make me proud to be their mom. They are truly my heroes.
I want to thank all of you who have given Cooper, Luke, me & my entire family so much love and support throughout these past months. You have changed our lives. Please keep praying for Cooper and Luke; they have a long way to go in their recovery. We have experienced care, kindness, warmth, generosity, support and friendship like we have never known. So many people have done so much for us and have asked for absolutely nothing in return. I do not even know how to explain what this experience has been like other than to explain it as transformative. To have been blessed with your love, grace and care has changed us. Please know that we are in total and complete awe of the selfless acts of kindness that all of you have bestowed upon us. You have taught our children lessons of love in ways that we never could have. Thank you will never be enough; we could never express how deeply we appreciate the love you have shown us.
Happy Valentine’s Day…we love you all!
With Love,
Keely :-)
