Carter Cooper (Vanderbilt) January 27, 1965 - July 22, 1988//death demolishes - it doesn't justchang
Cooper: 'My brother was a nice, cordial, sweet young man who wanted to be in control of his own life. He was always sick from allergies. He was always battling allergies. He was always on medication for his allergies. That same medication for allergies -- a new medication, ended up causing his death.
Circumstances take away control of one's life and some of one's plans for their own life. In the end, he simply wasn't in control at all -- None of us are in control, not really. We all dangle from a very delicate thread.'
Politics was one of Carter's passions, but he wasn't suited for the rough-and-tumble of the game. He felt things too deeply. "There's no wall between Carter's head and his heart," a friend of his once said. That was true. He was gentle. Which makes the violence of his death that much more incomprehensible. "He was the last person I'd imagine doing this" -- after his death, I heard that a lot.
In his current interview with People, Anderson Cooper (Vanderbilt) says of Carter; 'I think it's hard for me to imagine that he would be 50.
It's stunning for me to think of how long ago it was that he died,
that I've lived more of my life without him than I lived with him.
That's incomprehensible to me.
He's forever frozen in time."
'That moment reset the clock of our lives.
I think back to the person I was, the boy who had a mother, a father, a brother; the boy who was funny and not afraid to curl up in his father's lap and show affection and vulnerability,' said Cooper.
'I think back to that person and know I am a fraction of who I once was, who I was born to be -- meant to be.'
'Death doesn't just change you, it demolishes you. It demolishes -- and if its someone evil who has died, the demolishing FREES you.
The rest of your life is spent on another level - if its evil that has died, you feel, this is how i SHOULD have felt all along. What kind of screwy system do we have that we have to WAIT for an evil person to finally die, in order to feel free.
'When a good person dies, one that one is close to, does the pain ever lessen? No. It becomes different.
'The pain is there forever.'
Circumstances take away control of one's life and some of one's plans for their own life. In the end, he simply wasn't in control at all -- None of us are in control, not really. We all dangle from a very delicate thread.'
Politics was one of Carter's passions, but he wasn't suited for the rough-and-tumble of the game. He felt things too deeply. "There's no wall between Carter's head and his heart," a friend of his once said. That was true. He was gentle. Which makes the violence of his death that much more incomprehensible. "He was the last person I'd imagine doing this" -- after his death, I heard that a lot.
In his current interview with People, Anderson Cooper (Vanderbilt) says of Carter; 'I think it's hard for me to imagine that he would be 50.
It's stunning for me to think of how long ago it was that he died,
that I've lived more of my life without him than I lived with him.
That's incomprehensible to me.
He's forever frozen in time."
'That moment reset the clock of our lives.
I think back to the person I was, the boy who had a mother, a father, a brother; the boy who was funny and not afraid to curl up in his father's lap and show affection and vulnerability,' said Cooper.
'I think back to that person and know I am a fraction of who I once was, who I was born to be -- meant to be.'
'Death doesn't just change you, it demolishes you. It demolishes -- and if its someone evil who has died, the demolishing FREES you.
The rest of your life is spent on another level - if its evil that has died, you feel, this is how i SHOULD have felt all along. What kind of screwy system do we have that we have to WAIT for an evil person to finally die, in order to feel free.
'When a good person dies, one that one is close to, does the pain ever lessen? No. It becomes different.
'The pain is there forever.'
Replies
he was seeing pearson marx at the time this happened.
THERE WAS NO WAY DOGS WEREN\'T going to worm their way into the plot of On the Way to the Venus de Milo. First-time novelist Pearson Marx, 31, whose principal character has a dozen dogs, comes from a long line of canine collectors. Her grandfather Louis, founder of the Marx Toy Company (maker of the Rock \'Em, Sock \'Em Robots popular in the \'60s), had 20 dogs when he died. \"I think he made provisions for them in his will,\" says Marx, the eldest of four, whose parents currently house a quartet of dogs while she shares a one-bedroom apartment on New York City\'s Upper East Side with Josephine, a mastiff, Isabelle, a shih tzu, and Penny, a German shepherd mix. \"I have lots of bologna and bones in my apartment. It sometimes looks like a prehistoric landscape,\" says Marx, a graduate of Andover and Princeton who had a brief stint at Viking Publishers reading from the slush pile and working as an assistant at a literary agency before turning to writing full-time. \"I found it embarrassing to tell people I was writing a novel,\" she says. \"I felt so pathetic, like such a dilettante.\"
With the novel published and Marx at work on a new manuscript, such feelings have abated. Now to the real problem: improving the author\'s love life. \"Three dogs are a guarantee of chastity,\" says Marx. \"I have to say to my dates \'wait outside until I put the dogs in the bedroom.\' There\'s all this growling, and I have to coax the guy in. I put on some romantic music, and then the dogs start flinging themselves against the bedroom door. By this time the guy is ashen and covered in dog hair. I think I\'m going to have to go out with a veterinarian.\"
this is before she was published in 1994
Cooper: As kids, we were together all the time. He was fascinated with military history and always led our childhood campaigns.
Carter went to Princeton and seemed to thrive amid the ivy walls and green lawns. After graduation, he wrote book reviews and started editing a history magazine; he talked about writing a novel.
Politics was a passion, but he wasn\'t suited for the rough-and-tumble of the game. He felt things too deeply.
\"There\'s no wall between Carter\'s head and his heart,\" a friend of his once said. That was true.
He was gentle. Which makes the violence of his death that much more incomprehensible. \"He was the last person I\'d imagine doing this\" -- after his death, I heard that a lot.
Looking back, there was only one hint that something was wrong. He\'d broken up with his girlfriend, but having never been in love, I didn\'t understand how tough that can be.
It was the April after he graduated college. I\'d come back to New York for a weekend, and my mom told me he wasn\'t feeling well.
We spoke on the phone, and he seemed anxious, distracted, as if his thoughts were elsewhere.
That night he slept in my mom\'s apartment, and I remember going into his room and talking with him in the darkness. I can\'t recall what we talked about, but it was frightening to see him like that.
When he went back to work, back to normal, a few days later, I was glad to forget the episode.
I ran into him three months later on July Fourth weekend.
He was a little disheveled, but that was nothing new. He was vain enough to have nice clothes but not organized enough to take care of them.
\"The last time I saw you, I was like an animal,\" he said.
I knew he\'d started seeing a therapist, and I took it as a good sign that he could joke about things.
It was only later, after I met his therapist, that I learned Carter hadn\'t really confided much to him.
I can\'t remember if we hugged that day or not. He said he\'d see me later that weekend. I never saw him again.
It was July 22, 1988. Friday.
My brother returned home sometime in the morning. He had his own place but said he wanted to move back into my mom\'s penthouse apartment.
It was hot, a day made for air-conditioning, but he asked that the sliding glass door to the balcony be kept open while he napped.
My mom checked on him several times throughout the day.
In the early evening, he woke and went into my mom\'s room. \"He seemed disoriented,\" she would later tell me. Agitated.
He asked her, \"What\'s going on?\" \"Nothing,\" she assured him, but he moved quickly down the hall.
My mom followed as he passed into my room and through the sliding glass door.
Outside, he sat on the ledge of the balcony, his feet dangling over the edge.
I sooooo love Anderson Cooper. But I had no idea that he had lost a brother. ;-)
its very sad. that much worse because without the medication he can\'t live and with the medication - the medication killed him.
I know the feeling, I cannot take any anti-depression meds. They have such an adverse affect on me. The mind such a powerful thing.