Kobe Bryant was killed today (why do news reports call it “passed away” as though it was a peaceful end?) when the helicopter he was riding in crashed. Everyone, including three with ties to Massachusetts, on board was killed. One of the children was his 13-year-old daughter Gianna.
I don’t follow pro basketball, but everyone knows who Kobe was. I remember watching an interview with his mom a long while ago. She confirmed that he was, in fact, named after the beef.
Libby texted me earlier about the news “My friend reminded me about Kobe Bryant being accused of rape and getting off because he named his victim in court repeatedly and then she was threatened so much she wouldn’t testify. And that while he was in court he took his private plane to play games at night and the media applauded his work ethic. And I’m thinking about that today. Thinking we can admire his skills and feel bad about his death and his daughters death and I can still feel rage that all that happened. Because nothing is so black and white.”
It’s absolutely true. Both can be the case. We can be shocked at the loss of a revered basketball star, and we can be mad as hell at what he did to that victim.
What I find myself thinking about most is not whether he was a good or bad person. What I am thinking about was how he and the others died. Knowing it was coming. And knowing there was nothing they could do to stop it.
I can think of nothing worse than plummeting to the Earth and realizing you will soon no longer exist.
Except maybe realizing that the same will be true for your child.