As always, my alarm went off at 610am. As always, I reached over and grabbed my iphone to do the day’s first FB check. The first post I see on my feed: Laker legend Kobe Bryant, dead at the age of 41. At first my mind didn’t comprehend what I had just read. I saw the words but they didn’t register. As my mind became clearer I thought it was one of those terrible celebrity-death hoaxes. Then I scanned down to find the source of the story. Oh no, it was a legitimate news outlet. I frantically searched other credible news pages. ESPN, LA Times, New York Times, Bleacher Report…”Laker legend Kobe Bryant, dead at the age of 41.”
I was devastated. I felt like I had been sucker punched. And then I read on: “Gianna Bryant also died in the crash”. The air was sucked out of the room. Yes, I was saddened when I heard about the passing of other celebrities such as Michael Jackson, Anthony Bourdain, Robin Williams, but this was different. This felt different.
Why did I feel this way? I obviously didn’t know Kobe Bryant on any sort of personal level. I never met him. I never watched him play. I never even had the chance to see him in person during one of his many trips to the Philippines. Yes, I’m a lifelong Laker fan and I was always a big Kobe fan so of course news of his passing would make me sad, but the gut-wrenching feeling I had didn’t make sense. It seemed too extreme. I didn’t know Kobe.
As Kobe posts, tributes, stories, and reflections poured in and dominated my feed, one shared post caught my attention, and it started with:
“Can you imagine how difficult it was for him in that moment? The moment he knew that not only his own life was about to end, but that of his daughter…a life he helped to create.”
And that was it. That was what was eating at me. I wasn’t mourning the passing of Kobe Bryant the Laker legend, the basketball icon, the Oscar-winner, the successful entrepreneur-philanthropist. I was sad that that Kobe Bryant was gone, but what I was truly mourning was the death of Kobe Bryant the loving father to Natalia, Gianna, Bianka, and Capri. Those other personas were personas I respected and admired from afar, but personas I had nothing in common with and could not relate to. But Kobe Bryant the father – now that was someone I could relate to on the most intimate of levels. The dad of four beautiful daughters was gone. That hit me hard.
The devastating image that still comes to my mind, no matter how much I try to push it away, is the image of those last few moments as their helicopter dropped from the sky. I can imagine a terrified Gigi clinging to Kobe, tears streaming down her face. I can imagine a grief-stricken Kobe, enveloping his daughter in his arms, using everything he had to tell her, “Don’t worry Gigi, Daddy’s here. Daddy’s got you. I love you.” That image still haunts me.
I have always been affectionate with my daughters. Every chance I get, I sweep them up into my arms for a big hug, while planting kisses all over them, only stopping because they say “OK Daddy, enough!” But now, I find myself hugging them just a little tighter and just a little longer. “Don’t worry, Daddy’s here. Daddy’s got you. I love you.”
Kobe and Gigi. Mamba and Mambacita. Father and Daughter. Together in life. Together in death. Together for eternity.
Rest in peace Kobe. Rest in peace Gigi. Soar high and enjoy your two-on-twos with the saints and angels above!