On January 26, 2020, my youngest daughter called and asked if I heard about Kobe Bryant's death. I called her back and told her it wasn't true. I had just seen him the night before when LeBron James passed him for third place on the NBA all-time scoring list. She told me to google Kobe Bryant. I didn't and still told her it wasn't true. She sent me a screenshot of a tweet. I still couldn't believe it. I started checking all the news channels, and there was nothing. I finally settled on the BBC News, and they were talking about the helicopter crash, and I was speechless. I said a prayer, "We are from God, and to Him, we will return."
I later learned about his daughter, the parents, coaches, teammates, and the pilot.
I cried. At that moment, my oldest daughter texted and asked how I was feeling about the Kobe Bryant death. I told her I was ok but sad about it.
You might be thinking, we all felt this, so why should yours be any different. Thirteen years before this helicopter crash, my husband was shot and killed in Chicago, trying to protect an employee from an armed robbery. My youngest doesn't know her dad but knows him from pictures and stories we share with her. My oldest was nine years old and was devastated. That was why they both reached out to check on me.
My cousin called and said during the conversation, she couldn't imagine how Vanessa Bryant and the children were feeling now. I told her she might be grieving, but she's strong for her girls and that is exactly what a mother who just lost a husband and a daughter would do. I can't speak for her loss of a daughter, but I could talk about the loss of a husband.
I cried and continue to cry, but I'm strong around my children. My best place to cry was and still is in the shower so that the children couldn't hear me. Sometimes I'll get out, and they would be sitting outside the bathroom door or on the vanity waiting for me. In my moment of grief, I didn't even hear them come in. They would ask if I was crying, and I would say no.
I still cry today when I can't reach the top shelf for something. My husband was 6'2 inches, and I didn't need a step ladder. When I see pictures of Kobe and Gigi, it reminds me of pictures of my husband and my oldest daughter. When I hear of the best "girl dad" he was, it reminds me of my husband whose work schedule revolved around school pick-up and drop-off of our oldest daughter as well as for my youngest and I. He made sure we had breakfast before he left out, and came home during lunchtime to get us lunch. If he was busy at work, he ordered us lunch and had it delivered. When I learn of Kobe's community engagement, it reminds me of my husband going to residential facilities to give residents haircuts and beard trim or wheeling them to the park for fresh air. He spent Christmas and Thanksgiving with women and children living in shelters and served them chef-prepared meals. He had a standing agreement with the local funeral home. Whenever someone died, he asked that they call him so that he could give them a haircut and beard trim before the viewing. Single parents in the neighborhood knew their children would be safe in the barbershop, and gang members knew to leave their feuds and foul language outside before stepping in his shop. They respected that and respected that sacred space built around family and community.
I grieve with Vanessa and her children. I grieve for what could have been. I grieve for the immense loss of lives with all the people involved and their families. I grieve with the children who were teammates with the young lives. I grieve with the sisters, brothers, athletes, moms, dads, uncles, aunts, friends, godparents, students, first responders, and everyone involved.
My heart goes out to Vanessa, her girls, and all the families. It's a long road of tears, heart-wrenching pain, anger, anguish, therapy, denial, heartbreak, shoulda, coulda, and everything in between but I know, and I hope that they find comfort in;
" Surely, there is ease after hardship" (HQ94:6).
Peace!