When I decided to do the year-long legacy writing project, writing about memories inspired by photos, I knew many dates and occasions would lend themselves to specific recollections: my parents’ anniversary, certain birthdays, events related to friends. As I once said to Rhonda and Lindsey, I consider these posts love letters to the people from all places and times of my life, a way to share what they meant or mean to me. In regard to my nephew Aaron, I’d already anticipated posts related to his graduation from high school next month, memories of the first time I met him, special moments we shared with my mother before her death in June of 2008, and his nineteenth birthday on December 19.
Aaron died on April 25. As I went through the painful process of sharing this news with friends, so many of them said things that will be part of my coping and healing. One such thing stands out. My friend Carreme wrote, “Please do write what you had planned for Aaron for this year. What better way to honor him.” I know she’s right. I wrote a letter to Aaron that was buried with him, and in it I said, “And I will write to you and about you many more times, as I’m sure you could have guessed.” Aaron loved hearing and reading our family stories. We all looked forward to the many he would add to our collection.
I can’t thank everyone enough for the memories or words you’ve shared with me. And I want to give any of you who wish a space and opportunity also to share your thoughts with Aaron’s parents, Lisa and my brother David, as well as Aaron’s other family and friends. Please feel free to express your condolences or to describe memories of Aaron or special moments with him in comments to this post. I will make sure your words are received by them.
Aaron was preceded in death by the two grandmothers he loved, Dorothy Baggett Cochrane and Gaylene Rogers Brown. He is survived by his mother Lisa, his father David, his sister Heather, and his brothers Daniel and Alex. He will be missed by his girlfriend Rachel; aunts Debby, Becky, Laura, Louise, Linda, Anne; his uncles Danne, Owen, and Tom; his nephews Dave and Steven; his many cousins Josh and Dalyn, Sarah and Mark, Gina and Eric, Maddison, Lexi Lee, Jamison, Matthew, Jacob, and Jennie; and Cochrane family special connections Geri, Terri, Aimee, Tim, and Lynne. (If I’ve missed, mis-remembered, or misspelled anyone’s name, please comment to let me know and I’ll add or correct.) Aaron will also be missed and remembered by many friends from school, church, taekwondo, work, and the places he volunteered his time.
Some of you have asked if there are specific organizations to which you might donate in honor of Aaron’s memory.
- Among the things Aaron’s younger brother Alex spoke of in his eulogy was Aaron’s involvement with the Miracle League, an organization that gives special needs kids a chance to play baseball. Their donation address is Miracle League at Town & Country, P.O. Box 200277, Austin, TX 78720-0277.
- From the time they were young boys, Aaron and Alex volunteered at animal shelters to walk dogs. They adopted rescued dogs, including Aaron’s chihuahua. Aaron supported Ay Chihuahua Rescue. Their address for donations is Ay Chihuahua Rescue, P.O. Box 201625, Austin, TX 78720-1625.
- If you want to give to either of those organizations or to one that’s local to you, and you’d like the family to know, you can give my notification address, and I’ll make sure Aaron’s parents know. You are also welcome to send cards or letters to this address for me to pass on: Becky Cochrane, [updated as of 2015] P.O. Box 924104, Houston, TX 77292.
In closing, I’d like to share the remarks my brother gave at Aaron’s funeral. Thank you to everyone who will take the time to read about this young man who means so much to our family. As I expressed to my friend David P when we talked about the special bond between children and their aunts and uncles, Aaron was the gift I didn’t know I wanted until he came. And as his cousin Gina said, “My heart will ache forever.”
From David Cochrane: This is the text of remarks I delivered at Aaron’s memorial service on May 1, 2012, at the Cedar Park, Texas, ward house of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Although under the pall of sadness, I may have made slight deviations, this is as I intended my remarks.
Aaron Buchanan Cochrane, I was in the room with your mother at LDS Hospital in Salt Lake City when you came into this world.
Aaron Buchanan Cochrane, now, all too soon, we find ourselves in another room with your mother after you have left this world. Would that it were not so!
Aaron Buchanan Cochrane, Lisa and I chose the name you carried so as to remind you of both of your families.
Aaron Buchanan Cochrane, friend, cousin, nephew, uncle, brother, son, born in Utah, you lived most of your life in Texas, and you were keenly interested in your roots in the South.
When you would visit my mother Dorothy, you would pore over her decades of photos, ask many questions, hang on her stories, share her memories. Your aunts Debby and Becky have similar memories of your visits with them. Always the questions.
After my mother passed, you were able, due to the graciousness of Becky and her husband Tom, to join us at her memorial service. You stood by my side as her remains were placed with those of your Grandfather Bill at Fort McClellan in eastern Alabama.
When Cochranes gather in times of sadness, we tell stories; we always have. And always those stories become more and more outrageous. You sat with us — cousins, your aunts, your brother Daniel, your nephew David (your nephew Steven too young to make the trip), family friends, me — that night and listened to stories and laughed long and loud with us, mostly about people you’d not known, nor, in some cases, heard of.
That night, when you and I returned to our room, you began to ask questions about the people of whom we’d spoken. Thus we decided to make a pilgrimage to visit the resting places of other of your forebears. That next day we traveled to northwest Alabama to pay respects to your paternal great-grandfather and great-grandmother. We continued on to visit your second- and third-great-grandfathers. We drove to Tupelo, Mississippi, where Dorothy’s parents, the Baggetts, rest. We visited old homesteads, small towns, country cross-roads churches. You heard stories of long-gone antecedents who fought to establish this country, others who fought to rend it asunder, and still others who fought to defend it, of slave-holders and activists for equal rights. You took it all in and let it become a part of you.
And yet, of that day, what I took was the memory of you and I… a cemetery, Center Methodist Church… deep in the Alabama hills, the foot of the Appalachian Mountains far back in the piney woods… a downpour like can only happen in the Gulf coastal states began to fall. As you and I ran back toward the car, a small, soggy-sodden, bedraggled kitten was suddenly running alongside you. Somehow it knew you were its salvation. Without breaking stride, you picked it up, and into the car it went. As we sat there, the wet cat shivering, you unbuttoned your shirt, and put it inside that shirt next to you. Then you matter-of-factly announced that you were going to take it on the plane back to Texas; it could go in your carry-on. Me: “Uh, maybe we’d better call your mother.” No answer. You were determined in your plan.
Off the lone paved road, there was a dirt road down which we spied a single house. We drove to it. No one was there, but on the front porch was a small box with towels in it, a saucer of milk, and some food. You knew the kitten was home, and you were, then, willing to let go of it. For myself, I knew what you were made of, and I was proud.
On a recent visit with your Aunt Becky and Tom in Houston, you seemed happy. They noted that even though you still asked questions, you’d begun to develop your own way to tell the stories.
Only a few weeks ago, my partner Geri Mendoza and a colleague visited Austin on business. You, your mother, Geri, her colleague and her sister, all had lunch together. When you discovered that the sister was a photographer, you asked questions, then fell into a long, involved discussion on cameras and the art of photography.
As I’ve spoken with people over the last couple of days, the one theme that kept emerging is that Aaron showed none of the signs one might expect of one who took the action he did. To the contrary, he brimmed with thoughts of the future, was interested in the world around him, and displayed a sense of humor that ranged from subtle to slapstick. In short, his was not a story of a descent into hopelessness and despair, but that of a young person with all the attributes — intelligence, curiosity, interest in others — that would have allowed him to successfully go wherever he wished with his life.
That leaves us with the question, then, of why, with so much yet to do, did he choose the path he did? As we know, there is no answer, only more questions. If there is no answer, then the word “inexplicable” remains. If there is no answer, then words like “fault” or “blame” cannot apply. There is no guilt to be had, only sadness, only our shared deep sense of loss.
Aaron Buchanan Cochrane made one bad decision all too quickly, and, thus, the inexplicable and the irreversible become one. Time does not heal all wounds, but it may lessen the pain. Aaron may no longer be with us, but we’ll always have Aaron. And we will always honor and love him, just as we will continue to love and support Lisa, the mother who gave him to us.
I didn’t know Aaron, but he went to school with my daughter. I am so sorry for this tragic loss.
Thank you so much. My heart goes out to all those young people who lost Aaron. They have given Lisa and Alex a tremendous amount of support, and our entire family is grateful.
So sorry for your loss. My daughter is also buried at Our Lady of the Rosary. She was just a year older than your nephew. My thoughts and prayers are with you and your family.
I’m very sorry to hear about your daughter. Thank you for your kind words. Our Lady of the Rosary is a beautiful, peaceful place to reflect on their lives and how much we love them.
deepest sympathies
Thank you, Loukie.
I know how you cherish all your nieces and nephews. More than anything I wish there were some magic words that could right this situation, or ease the pain that your family is dealing with. Know I am thinking of you and especially of Lisa today.
You’ve been so supportive, Marika. Thank you for always being thoughtful.
Becky, I am so very sorry for this tragic loss. My thoughts are with you and your family.
Thank you, Dawn. Your kindness means a lot to us.
Such beautiful words for a memorable young man, who will live in our hearts.
I don’t know what we would all do without you, Geri. Thank you for so many things.
you’re stuck with me, so you don’t have to worry (no wringing your hands)!
But I’m REALLY good at hand wringing. I can do that and run the chuck wagon, too!
My heart is broken for Lisa, David, Daniel, Becky, Debby, Tom and everyone else that knew and loved Aaron. My heart is broken for the loss. I pray Aaron has found peace and is with his gramdmothers listening to stories.
Thank you for the mill bricks, Aaron and Daniel. Your stories will live on.
Thank you, Lynne. He loved the Mill Brick Caper. We talked about it every time we were together and laughed.
I am a friend of both David and Geri. Though I had only met Aaron a couple of times in Baker, I found him to be a dear young man, quiet, soft spoken, yet interesting to get to know once he relaxed with my 2 grandsons, Jazz and Justice out at Home Farm. Aaron provided us with cherished family photos that he took of our “tribe” sharing his photographer’s eye and timing, We too were shocked at the news, but had to ultimately realize once again, “ours is not to reason why…”.
I admire the sensitivity and thought -full -ness that Becky has shown here as aunt and sister. What a tribute! And David’s poetic eulogy once again reflects his quiet yet acute awareness of the “innards” of an individual, so tenderly speaking of Aaron. Thank you both for sharing such courage and strength and reminding us of the One-ness we all share at times like these. Healing thoughts to Lisa and family too. Love, love, love.
He loved kids and he loved photography–what an opportunity you gave him! Thank you so much for your kind words. They are as healing as your thoughts.
Aaron,
I only met you once but you left an impression on me. Such a gentle spirit. So creative and talented. I hope that you know now and knew then how much you are loved and will be deeply missed. Blessings to d.c. and all of his family…
Nomi–I’m so glad you got to know him. Your kindness means so much.
My deepest sympathy to you and your family. Aaron sounds like a wonderful young man and will continue to live on in your wonderful words. All my love. Lynn
Thank you so very much, Lynn.
very lovely remarks…. my thoughts are always with you.
Thanks, Jim. I feel your support even at this distance.
Becky,
I have always felt honored to get to know your family through your writings.
My heart is filled with sadness at your family’s loss…
<3
Thank you so much, Debbie.
Everytime I think of him I see his little half smile so like his father’s.
Rachel has his senior pictures up now. She really did a wonderful job.
<3 you.
Great pictures.
Sent you a message on FB.
I’m so sorry to read of this and send lots of love to you and your family. I’m sure Aaron will be greatly missed. xx
Thank you so very much.
I am an old friend of Geri (from back East.) I am so sorry for the family’s tremendous loss. I read Becky and David’s words — so strong and so heartfelt. Glad you have such strong bonds with family & friends to help through this time.
Thank you so much. As much as she hurts, too, Geri has been a great comfort to us all.
A eulogy must be one of the most difficult pieces one can come to write, but your brother’s tribute to his son is very touching.
As he wisely observes, ‘Aaron may no longer be with us, but we’ll always have Aaron.’
Thank you on his behalf. I still don’t know how he was able to find the strength to do that.
For hearts that are heavy – no words and/or person can lighten the load.
But I would. If I could.
I am terribly sorry to read of your loss of Aaron.
I hold you, Aaron’s parents and all of those who loved Aaron in my thoughts.
*hugs*
Thank you, Cari. I know with two boys of your own, you understand the depth of David’s and Lisa’s love for their child. Every kind word and thought extended to them is a blessing.
This is exactly how I feel about my own brother’s children. I can only imagine the shock, the sorrow, the everlasting questions. I’m so sorry, Becky. Much much love for you and your family.
Thank you very much. Your kindness, like that of so many others, really helps with the healing.
I am so shocked and so sad to hear about Aaron. My name is Sara [name redacted] and I babysat for Aaron and Alex about eight years ago when Lisa would attend night school. I met her though my dad when Lisa worked at [name redacted]. He told me today what he learned about Aaron. I remember the boys very fondly. I took them to soccer practices and games. I listened to Aaron practice his violin and Alex his piano. I would pick them up from Tae Kwan Do. They would make me laugh with their crazy antics. Lisa and her boys were like family to me, and I am so so sorry for your family’s loss. She took care of me as much as I took care of them, if not more. If you know how I can get in touch with her, I would sincerely appreciate it.
Sara–Thank you so much for your kind comment. I know how shocked you must be. Either Lisa or I will be in touch with you via email. I’m so glad you’ve shared some of your memories of the boys. We all miss Aaron so much.
I sympathize with you in your loss. It is a tragedy when these precious young men and women seek to end their lives. The statement about this action being such a permanent “fix” to a temporary problem seems so trite and it is no fix at all for the loved ones who they leave behind to grieve them. I, too, lost a son in April to this horrible epidemic unexpectedly and without explanation. I appreciate and agree with you that if there is no answer, then there can not be guilt. It has taken me awhile to reach this conclusion, but I firmly believe it. Psalm 139 speaks of the loving God being always present, even in times of darkness such as what our young men faced. “Even in the darkest times we all must carry on, ” as my son wrote in a song.
Karen–Thank you for your comments. I’m so very sorry to hear about your son. It’s a grief I wish no parent would ever have to endure. I hope you continue to find comfort and strength as you grieve.
Aaron and I were friends in middle school and part of high school. He was such a blessing to have as a friend and I don’t know how I would have survived middle school without him. Please tell his parents that they raised an amazing son and I’ll never forget how giving and loving his heart was for people. I’m so thankful that God allowed me to be apart of Aaron’s life.
Morgan, thank you for sharing your memories and feelings about Aaron and his impact on your life. I know his parents will be grateful, as well. We all miss him so much.
It feels like it was just yesterday that I found out Aaron was really gone. I was in Latin with our beloved teacher, Ms. McCormick (Mama McDawg) when I heard the news. I didn’t want to believe it. I know only from the calendar that it’s been almost three years, and for that I apologize for taking so long to try to get in contact with you, his family.
During difficult periods of my life or times of loss, I often revisit any piece of Aaron that I can find. I’m immensely blessed to have found this beautiful piece of him today.
I know that Aaron is mourning with me in the loss of our classmate, Daniel. Aaron, Daniel, and I were with each other since elementary school, all the way through our senior year together. Throughout those years, we had numerous classes together and shared countless memories. Daniel made the decision to take his own life this morning. It struck such a painful chord with me, and thus began my immediate search to find comfort in the memory of my beloved friend, Aaron.
Aaron was one of my first friends, and for many years I considered him one of my best friends. Although we grew apart over the years, every opportunity we had to be together was just as effortlessly joyous as when we were kids. Aaron will always be one of my nearest and dearest friends, and I will cherish him always.
I’m so very grateful to you for sharing this piece of Aaron with us all. I’d love to share with you my memories of Aaron. If that’s alright with you, please let me know. Hope to hear from you soon, and thank you again, from the bottom of my heart.
Oh, Ellen, I’m so very sorry that you have to endure yet another loss, especially one like this. It’s heartbreaking to hear about your friend–and Aaron’s–Daniel.
Please share any memories of Aaron you want to. You can do so here, where other members of Aaron’s family can read them, or you can email me privately if you’d prefer to: becky@beckycochrane.com.
I hope there are people in your life who will help you through this time, giving you strength and comfort. You’ve lost too much. Hold on to your good memories of Aaron and Daniel to help you heal.
I knew Aaron in high school, not anymore than classmates, but just enough.
I had a dream about him last night, out of the blue- though he does cross my mind every so often.
Even though I never knew him on a personal level, he taught me something wonderful…
To love people for who they are and never assume a situation or how a person is or feels.
I hope he was able to teach others this too. Years have passed, but he still- and will forever- continue to impact my life.
Thank you so much for sharing this. It means a lot to those who love him.