Four days ago, on January 26, the World got news that the helicopter legendary basketball player Kobe Bryant owned and was flying in, along with 8 others, crashed in California, killing everyone on board. Also killed in the tragic accident was Bryant's 13 year old daughter, Gianna. All were traveling to a basketball tournament and opted to fly instead of drive due to crazy Los Angeles area traffic.
Of course, when anyone dies, it is traumatic to someone, regardless of the how or the why. Everything becomes magnified, for good or for bad, when someone famous dies and when that someone dies so young and in a completely unexpected way. This is what happened with Kobe: no one expected him to die at the age of 41. He seemed, by outward appearances, unshakable and immortal. Nothing could touch him, it seemed, not even death.
But death did.
And a wife, three daughters and the rest of the World is now cheated out of what could have been. So it is with grief. All of us, at one time or another, will taste its bitterness; maybe not as dramatic as a loved one dying unexpectedly in a helicopter crash, but it will come. Oh, it will come. And we, too, will feel cheated, left with the reality of what is and the fantasy of what could have been. If you have not been there, believe me, you will be, at some point.
Regardless of how, when, where or why, the pain of losing someone, whether through physical death, the death of a relationship or some other way, is devastating. But the effects on individuals left behind are as numerous as the ways in which one can die.
When I found out about Kobe, I was in my rental car, sitting at a stoplight in Louisville, KY. When I glanced down at my phone, I saw an email alert with Kobe's name in the subject line. I opened the email and was shocked at the news, almost disbelieving, as it was reported many others were as well. The first thing I did when I got back to my hotel was turn on the news to watch the coverage. That was about 3:30 PM EST; I didn't move from the couch until 10:30, glued to the endless coverage, not learning much more than the who and the how; the why would not be explained, as if that was a question each one of us would have to answer for ourselves.
Like millions of others, Kobe meant something to me personally. Years ago, when Kobe arrived on the scene, I was obsessed with him. I had always been a sports fan and loved basketball. He was unlike anyone else that had gone before him. Only 17, he was a born superstar and I was awestruck. I became a Lakers fan, watching many games and enjoying every minute. Clearly, I was not alone in my awe and admiration.
Of course, Kobe, like everyone else, had his flaws and things in his past that he, I'm sure, felt regret over. On Sunday, when I heard the news, all I wanted to remember was the fondness I had felt for Kobe years ago, all the moments I was mesmerized by his talent and his good looks. On this day, the negative faded, replaced instantly with only the positive. Isn't that the way grief also works: even though there may have been bad, we only remember the good. I suppose that is the way it should be.
A friend of mine, on the very same day, referring to a different type of loss she had recently experienced, said that she felt like there would always be two places in her heart for the person she lost: the part with all the good memories and the broken-heart part. Very profound, I must admit, and spot-on. I agreed with her, stating that this is how grief always works; when you love someone and lose them, there are always good and bad memories. If there were only the bad, perhaps it would be easier to move past the loss.
I spoke with someone else yesterday, someone who had many fond memories of watching the amazing Lakers in person. I sat down, feeling the need to ask this person how he felt about the loss of Kobe. Maybe I knew he needed to talk or maybe I just needed to listen. He was devastated by the death of Kobe, sadder, he said, then when he heard that Prince had died. He said the loss was something he would feel for a very long time, due to all of his memories of watching basketball in person in LA, seeing Kobe in all his brilliance on his home court. He kept referring back to the memories, over and over again, a distant look in his eyes.
Countless people, young and old, rich and poor, white and black, posted on social media, granted interviews on TV, cried and laughed when remembering Kobe. Even at the Grammys, held Sunday night, Alicia Keys and the rest of the music world wept tears of sadness regarding Kobe's passing while singing songs of tribute to him. The World, it seemed, for once, was in complete and total unison, grieving as one. Though the situation was tragic, it sure was nice to have a respite from all the backbiting and political nonsense taking place right now.
Many of us seemingly forgot about the others who perished that day. Some chose to point out on social media that Kobe wasn't the only one that died and that we needed to remember the families of those who also lost loved ones. And, of course, they are right: we do need to remember. At least four other families lost children, mothers, fathers, siblings, uncles, aunts, and cousins. People lost friends and co-workers. At least four other families would never, ever look at life in the same way as they did that early Winter Sunday morning when life was so full of promise, filled with the possibility of budding, talented basketball players ready to display their prowess to all who cared to watch.
Little did anyone know that morning, when Kobe chose to share his wealth and fly several other people to a basketball tournament, how the day would end. All of the passengers on that helicopter must have thought they won the lottery, flying in style in Kobe's private copter, instead of being stuck in nightmare LA traffic. Given the chance, who among us would not have jumped at the opportunity?
Sadly, for the families left behind, the nightmare is just beginning. Hopefully, Kobe's legacy and the legacies of all the others lost that day will live on in the lives of those left behind. And hopefully the rest of us will remember just how fleeting life is and learn to say I love you and I forgive you much more often and much more freely.