A Fallen King

A few days after the celebration of the legacy of Martin Luther King, Jr., another king fell. NBA legend Kobe Bryant was killed in a helicopter crash in Calabasas, California. He died along with his teenage daughter, Gianna, and several others. Initially, I did not believe the reports about Bryant’s death. Then I could not believe them.

Regardless of how hard I tried to deny it, feelings of loss surfaced. Kobe meant something to me. He was audacious, flawed, and beautiful. His pursuit of glory was unapologetic. When I think about the last seconds of his life, I wonder if he knew that the helicopter crash would be fatal? A father’s love is a powerful force. I would gladly give my life for any of my children, and to know that even that would not be enough to protect them from harm is a kind of hell.

Bryant’s unexpected death reminded me that life is fragile. Death chooses the time and place, and it does not care about fame, wealth, or status. It is an indiscriminate thief. It does not care who is deserving. It only steals. And so with every passing moment, every present moment becomes more precious. Death also demands reflection. Maybe a tragedy is the most sincere path to gratitude. I often worry about forgetting how easily a life can vanish, and what form the next reminder will come in. Many sports fans argue over which basketball player is the greatest of all time. Kobe Bryant’s name is usually in the discussion. For me, it was never a debate.