And he remembers he wouldn’t get out of the pool. Today, his mom laughs at the mere mention of it. Cooper remembers a volleyball net and a snorkel he used to see the bottom of the pool. Just him and his mom.
The trip was meant for his dad, a reward from his company for hitting his goals as an insurance salesman. The flight was paid for. The hotel was booked. Cooper remembers playing in the pool with one of his dad’s business partners.
His dad was at home undergoing chemotherapy.
Wanting to be in the water
When Cooper Burt returned from vacation, the 6-year-old told his mom he wanted to swim.
He asked if there were swim teams. Then, he asked if he could join one. At the time, he didn’t know the difference between a backstroke and a breaststroke. He didn’t know the butterfly stroke was the most physically painful of all of them. He didn’t even know who Michael Phelps was.
His mom said no.
She was a former swimmer, too. And she knew it was a difficult sport. She also knew it would mean a lot of driving because of where they lived. She looked up options, and the closest pool was in a country club.
With her husband’s chemo, this was not an option.
In Okeana, where Cooper’s family lives, the Ross School District does not have a pool. In this small town near the Indiana border, Cooper’s graduating class will have less than 200 students. One day, Cooper and his mom were driving in Oxford when they passed a pool. He pointed it out to his mom, and even though it was 25 minutes away from their house, she eventually relented.
At the beginning of his first practice, Cooper dove into the water and swam two laps. His mom’s life almost flashed before her eyes.
“Oh crap,” she said to her other son. “We are going to be in this for a lot of years.”
At his second practice, Cooper swam with the older kids.
‘He loved watching me swim’
Cooper, now 16 and a junior at Ross High School, never forgot that trip to Aruba. Not because he loved the country. Not even because it was the beginning of the end for his dad. He remembers Aruba because of a hotel pool that gave him motivation to try a sport that would help him survive the aftermath of his dad’s death.
“He loved watching me swim,” Cooper said.
Credit: Provided
Credit: Provided
Doctors diagnosed Joe Burt with appendix cancer in 2012. He was 35, and Cooper was 5. Cooper remembers his dad was sitting on the couch when he said his stomach hurt. He doesn’t remember much else.
Back then, he remembers his dad getting better. He remembers his dad running up and down the side of the pool, cheering him on. He doesn’t remember the hospital visits, at least he tries not to. Instead, Cooper remembers spending more time with his grandparents. He remembers family teasing his dad about breaking phones and how he once dropped one in the toilet.
He remembers he was 8 when his dad died. Or at least, he remembers being told.
Cooper has now been alive longer without his dad than with him. He tries to remember him, a man whose obituary said he made incredible sand sculptures on the beach, but Cooper is not always sure if what he remembers are his own memories or just what people have told him.
Remembering that day
In October of 2015, Cooper remembers waking up to his mom crying. He remembers his mom performing CPR on his dad after someone called 911. He remembers waving paramedics into his mother’s bedroom.
He remembers watching them carry his dad out of the house.
He points to a window in their living room. He remembers standing there with a police officer while his mom went to the hospital. He remembers that officer telling him it would be OK. He remembers his grandparents picking him up and taking him to their house.
It was there where he remembers his mom telling him everything would not be ok.
He didn’t cry right away, but he remembers sleeping in the same bed as his mom and brother that night. He dreamed his dad was there, standing in his grandparents’ foyer. He remembers didn’t want to sleep by himself.
And for six months, he didn’t.
His mom remembers Cooper didn’t grieve, not in the way she did. Not in the way her other son did. Cooper pushed it down, buried it. His dad died on a Friday. Cooper wanted to go back to school on Monday. He remembers his mom didn’t let him.
He returned on Tuesday.
And a few days after his dad’s death, Cooper was back in the pool.
Swimming gave him family
By his own admission, Cooper doesn’t have a life outside swimming. He swims all year. In the summer, he swims twice a day for six days a week. He swims 9,000 meters every one of those days.
Cooper says he doesn’t have a lot of friends at Ross High School. But after his father’s death, swimming gave him something he needed: A team, and a family.
Credit: Provided
Credit: Provided
This fall, Cooper is waiting to hear from colleges about recruitment. He says he has his heart set on Ohio State. It’s probably not a coincidence that many of the pictures he still has of his dad include an OSU hat. His mom says Cooper looks a lot like him, especially in a hat.
Sitting on their living room couch, Cooper jabs his hands into his hair to mess it up. It’s something his dad used to do. His mom tears up talking about how proud his dad would be.
Shawn Burt, Cooper’s mom, coaches middle school swimming at Ross. She said her son is the only male swimmer from the school district to ever qualify for the state tournament at the end of the year. He did so as a freshman and sophomore. In December, Cooper is participating in an event with some of the best swimmers in the country.
He is anxious, he says holding up his phone, waiting for a potential offer.
After Cooper’s dad died, his mom told him their tragedy would not define them. It was a part of their story, she said, not the whole story. After a chapter with lots of ups and downs, Cooper is determined to write the rest of it. And he is determined for swimming to be a part of it.
That way his dad always will be, too.
Keith BieryGolick is a reporter for the Journal-News. Email him at keith.bierygolick@coxinc.com.
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