Remembering Cooper with peace, not anger

Photo provided by Matt Gillis, Deseret News

Quinn and Jana Lynn Kofford hold photos of Cooper on "Cooper's bench," made in honor of their son who died last July when he was run over in their driveway.

OREM — There's a warm summer breeze blowing as two brothers play catch outside their Orem home. Nearby, another blond boy teases a bee buzzing around his swing set. If Cooper were here, he'd be gathering sticks or slurping down a blue Otter Pop, growing more tan by the minute. But today, his brothers play without him. Saturday marks one year since 4-year-old Cooper Kofford was run over in his driveway — a poignant day that has transformed the Kofford family, they say.

"I think (a tragedy like this) can ruin you or define you," says dad Quinn Kofford. "We've chosen to have it define us."

The Koffords were a close family before, but now, their hugs are more frequent.

They quarrel less and have a better appreciation of their LDS faith, which they say has provided immense comfort. Cooper's five siblings, ages 3 to 14, have matured in ways most children don't, says their mother, Jana Lynn Kofford.

"I'm not happy (Cooper's) gone," she says with tears in her eyes. "But there's a very strong feeling that the Lord was so much more in charge than we were. That doesn't heal my aching heart, but it helps me to know there is a bigger plan. And every day helps us understand more."

This year, July 31 needs to be filled with laughter and happiness in celebration of Cooper's life.

Wanting help staying cheerful, the Koffords organized a run in Cooper's honor with proceeds going to provide preschool scholarships for under-privileged children — the same preschool where Cooper learned to write his name. So far more than 500 people have registered, a bigger turnout than the family ever imagined.

The choice of a run is ironic, Quinn points out with a smile, because they're not runners. As in, "I-only-run-from-the-bed-to-the-refrigerator" non-runners.

So, they welcome everyone — runners, walkers, bikers or scooter-riders because it's not really about the race. It's about remembering Cooper and thanking Orem police, firefighters and emergency medical services, Quinn says.

What could have been a horrific, scarring event for the Koffords instead became a peaceful, teaching moment, thanks to emergency responders' sensitivity, kindness and even reverence, Jana Lynn says.

"We always try to be respectful, no matter the instance," says Sgt. Craig Martinez, one of the Orem officers who responded that day. "That particular incident ... hit home for so many. You don't ever want to go on (a call) like that."

Last July was like a million other summer days before, as swimsuit-clad Cooper ran out to get warm by lying on the driveway. But that day was the first time he fell asleep there. Cooper's maternal aunt, Wendy, who works with Jana Lynn in their home-based flower business, had gone out to move Jana's SUV. She never saw him lying there.

Police responded instantly, but there was nothing they could do.

After those first few horrible moments, Jana Lynn says a feeling of calm and peace washed over her and stayed the entire day, even when she called Quinn at work.

"She calmly said, 'Cooper is gone,' and at that moment, the same clarity hit me, and I knew everything was going to be OK," Quinn says, two tears sliding down his face. "My role was to process this event, help my wife and kids process it and have this event make us better people."

There's no anger or bitterness, they say. Not toward God, Wendy or anyone else. Just an increased desire to be better. To be a stronger family, to show more love. To live so they can be with Cooper again someday.

Wendy also relies on her Latter-day Saint faith and is doing well, says Jana Lynn, but there are still many hard days. The sisters, 13 years apart, have always shared a special bond, which helps them now as they carry their respective burdens together.

"There are no ill feelings between Wendy and I," Jana Lynn says. "We love and adore each other. She is my dearest and best friend as well as my sister." The Koffords' love even extends beyond their family. Soon after the accident, they asked to attend the debriefing at the Orem Department of Public Safety. They needed to share pictures of the vibrant Cooper they knew and loved, not the lifeless body responders saw.

"To hear a family that just lost a 4-year-old to a really tragic accident, to hear them come in and thank us for doing our jobs ... is pretty rare," Martinez said. "We get thanks for little things here and there, mostly it's 'thanks for opening my car door 'cause I locked my keys in,' not 'thanks for investigating this accident where we lost our son.' The Koffords are a special family."

Cooper's Run on Saturday is one way to keep his name alive, the family says. Forgetting him would be far worse than death.

So they speak openly about "Coop" as though he could fly down the stairs at any minute.

"He would snuggle with me in my bed," says 14-year-old Hunter, the oldest in the family. Cooper had his own bed, but preferred squirming in beside Hunter or Duncan to soak up their body heat.

"I miss his laugh," says Duncan, 8. "The day before he died, I remember sleeping on the couch with him."

"We used to play house," adds 10-year-old Kennedy. The day Cooper died, he had yellow nail polish on his fingers, courtesy of Kennedy. It was Hunter and her budding photography skills that captured so many pictures of Cooper that now grace the kitchen, dining room and bedroom walls.

The framed photo in the entry way bears numerous smudges where family members have kissed his picture as they walk by.

Other pictures show Cooper as a pirate with a marker mustache, or running back up the hill for another chance at the slip-'n'-slide. In each picture, it's impossible to miss his trademark dimples and deep blue eyes.

Upstairs his bed is always made and a long shelf holds T-shirts, more framed pictures, shoes and even his last tube of toothpaste.

Maybe someday they'll be able to get rid of a few things, Jana Lynn says, but not yet.

From their front porch, the Koffords can see the hill at East Lawn Cemetery where Cooper is buried.

And from Cooper's peaceful spot, the family can see their house. Just keeping an eye on each other, they say.

The Koffords visit Cooper's grave for each holiday, leaving behind shamrocks, Easter eggs or a mini Christmas tree.

"I miss Coop," Quinn says. "We call them Cooper moments. But I have no doubt that this was part of a bigger plan." Back home, neighbors and ward members raised money for a tree in Cooper's honor, which blossoms just outside the kitchen window. There's also a metal bench, which looks like it was made from the sticks Cooper loved to gather. Perched atop the bench is a pair of Cooper's flip-flops, now bronzed, though the little adventurer rarely wore shoes.

As a smaller reminder, the entire family, even Cooper, now wears CTR rings. They're not to remind them to "Choose the Right," although the family believes that too.

To the Koffords, they're "Cooper Think Rings."

"I wish I had him back," Jana Lynn says, "But I don't wish to go back to where I was a year ago."

Not that it was bad, she adds, but she was too caught up with surviving in the crazy, hectic world.

"I now appreciate simple moments that I was allowing to pass by before," she said. "I thought I would have many more days with Cooper, lots more days to wrap my arms around him. Now I'm much more aware of those simple, tender moments that I spend with my children. I express far more love for them."

The family also has a new appreciation for God's plan in their lives, which they see now, more than ever, is all about love.

"My relationship with Jana is better, my relationship with the kids is better, and they were great to begin with," Quinn says as he looks over at his children munching on Fritos and popsicles. "Life has become sweeter amongst the bitter."

Cooper's Run

For more information about Cooper's Run, or to register, visit www.coopersrun.org/.