Hey, God? Yes, Charles. is a rare narrative of the beauty of life and the endlessness of love, all told from the perspective of intimate, humorous and poignant conversations between Charles Cooper and God. An "accidental masterpiece" taken from author Rebecca Cooper's notes, each conversation between Charles and God is full of joy, empathy, and the revelation that while we may not live forever, our memory and love are eternal.
Sunday, November 11, 2007, Becky Cooper watched her husband Charles drive out of sight, heading from their Nashville condo to his office and apartment in Atlanta. She never saw him conscious again.
Monday, November 12, was his 58th birthday. Since he would be out of town, their granddaughters and Becky had made him a cake and celebrated before he left on that Sunday.
Wednesday, November 14, Charles caught Becky at her desk, calling just to let her know that he'd had some pain radiating down his back. He was sure it was nothing, but the company nurse, who just happened to be in the office that day, heard what happened and insisted on calling 911 as a precaution. They swapped love yous. She didn't even get out of her chair.
Twelve days later, despite hundreds, maybe thousands, of prayers, Charles died. Emergency open heart surgery was followed by complications, including acute respiratory distress syndrome, pneumonia, and various lung infections. He and Becky had been married almost 39 years.
In the following year, Becky learned that the connection with someone you love doesn't cease with death. Charles was always bigger than life, and his presence, his love, his humor, and these conversations were just as real after his death.
For better, for worse, Becky started scribbling down what she was overhearing in heaven.
She was done talking to God. Charles, as it turned out, was not.
Sunday, November 11, 2007, Becky Cooper watched her husband Charles drive out of sight, heading from their Nashville condo to his office and apartment in Atlanta. She never saw him conscious again.
Monday, November 12, was his 58th birthday. Since he would be out of town, their granddaughters and Becky had made him a cake and celebrated before he left on that Sunday.
Wednesday, November 14, Charles caught Becky at her desk, calling just to let her know that he'd had some pain radiating down his back. He was sure it was nothing, but the company nurse, who just happened to be in the office that day, heard what happened and insisted on calling 911 as a precaution. They swapped love yous. She didn't even get out of her chair.
Twelve days later, despite hundreds, maybe thousands, of prayers, Charles died. Emergency open heart surgery was followed by complications, including acute respiratory distress syndrome, pneumonia, and various lung infections. He and Becky had been married almost 39 years.
In the following year, Becky learned that the connection with someone you love doesn't cease with death. Charles was always bigger than life, and his presence, his love, his humor, and these conversations were just as real after his death.
For better, for worse, Becky started scribbling down what she was overhearing in heaven.
She was done talking to God. Charles, as it turned out, was not.
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