Kobe and Gianna

In a second that felt never-ending, my brow furrowed and my eyes blinked over and over as my head shook no, looking at the screen of my phone, trying to shake reality out of my consciousness. In utter disbelief I read and reread the headline that Kobe Bryant and his daughter, Gianna, were killed in a helicopter crash. This legend, this athlete, this handsome, smart, agile, kind, funny, universally loved phenom, in a moment, was taken from this earth, never to return again. At 41, a father of four, and with a 13 year old daughter…it hits just directly through my heart. You see, by this November, my husband will be 41 and our daughter, the first of our four, will be 13.

I feel this. So deeply. In my soul.

I feel for his wife that was left behind and who will have to bury her husband and daughter on the same day. Their other three daughters together that are left piecing this nightmare together. Gigi’s classmates and teammates. His parents. Their family and friends. The basketball world at large. And all of us, who never met either one of them, nor the other 7 people who were aboard the helicopter…. but who are left, reeling, reading tributes, touched in ways big and small. Whether you were a diehard Lakers fan or, from around here, a Sixers fan who watched him thrive at Lower Merion, or if you’ve never watched professional basketball in your life.

We all feel this.

The reason we feel, I think, is that it calls into question our own mortality. Much as Kobe existed in another stratosphere reserved exclusively for those garnering $350 million dollar net worth superhero status, he is, in his flesh and blood, just like us. He, in his mortal existence, excelled and failed and tore down and built up, just as we all do. I believe his death is a call to action, for us all, to open our eyes and our hearts to each minute we are gifted on this planet. We are guaranteed nothing in this life. It’s not known if we will return home from the grocery store, or if we will live long enough to cash out our 401Ks and Roth IRAs…. We may, if we are truly lucky, and bonus points if at that time, by the grace of God, we have our wits about us and our health within our grasp, but that’s not a given. So please, I implore you, in the wake of this massive loss, please…. Savor the chaotic dinner table filled with tiny humans and infinite (repeated, endless) reminders for them to ask to be excused and to sit not in a squat on their chairs but rather on their bottoms and to say please and thank you (with their mouths not full of food…just us?) #workingonit. Own your commute. Welcome the shrill beep of the alarm as it pierces the darkness #alsoworkingonit. Enjoy the shake in your arms during your umpteenth pushup as your muscles quiver with fatigue. Celebrate the burn of your lungs as you step out of your warm home in the early morning winter air as you take that first outdoor breath of the day before the sun comes up. Pour yourself into your children, your spouse, your friends, your work. Take the trip you’ve been pinching pennies for. Send the text to the friend who has been on your mind. Use the fancy plates. Wear the nice outfit. Try the chopsticks. (Or screw the chopsticks!). Say yes to the things that fill your cup…and say no to opt into a quiet evening at home by the fire if that will restore your energy. Appreciate your runs, even with creaky knees or aching backs. Honor your stresses and woes and traumas and hurts because…

We. Are. Alive.

Please. With every fiber of our beings, with as much presence of self as we can channel… Let us feel. See. Love. Laugh. Cry. Eat. Dance. Run. Reflect. Ache. Cheer. Apologize. Sleep…. fully…. deeply. Laugh HARD. Run…because we can. And let’s sleep our faces off to recharge for the morning we all hope to see again.

Thank you, Kobe and Gigi, for your skill on the courts and your kindness in life and the strength and effort and care you’ve shown the world just by your existing in it. And thank you, too, for the lessons you continue to teach us even in your passing. You are both gone far too soon. ?