The Art of Grieving an Icon: My Reflections on Kobe

I’ve been known to have a go-to question when I’m feeling someone out for the first time. We’ve established your name. Check. Now, we’ve discussed where you’re from. Check. Next, we’ve determined that you, too, watch basketball. Check. Finally, and most importantly, are you a Laker fan?

I’m an L.A. girl by design. I’ve had my same 323 number since I got my first Nokia in sixth grade. I’ll never turn down a bag of mango, coconut, pineapple, watermelon, and cucumbers with lime and Tajin. I thrive off sunny, 78 degree weather with a slight breeze. And I will only take the 405 on a weekday if it involves money or someone I REALLY love.

By nature, I was born into the heart of Laker nation. Post Magic and pre-Kobe during a four year championship drought. We hadn’t won a title since 1988 and we wouldn’t win another until 2000. When we did finally bring it back to L.A., my mom took me to watch the Purple & Gold ride down Figueroa towards the Staples Center. It was just me and her, as usual, and my mom made sure I had the perfect spot right in front to see my two favorite players for a brief second as they rolled by. I loved the duo that kind of reminded me of pinky and the brain. One was smaller, with a mini fro who always seemed like the mastermind behind the whole operation and the other was the muscle who always made us laugh.

As I grew older and the team started to change, I still found the Lakers at the center of my life. One, because I loved how excited my, usually very mellow, mom would get when the star shooting guard who now had three rings scored. And two, because whenever I’d get a long distance call every few months from my #girldad, basketball was one of the only things we had in common. When I was about five, my dad realized that my tall frame was better suited for basketball instead of gymnastics which I was testing out in kindergarten.

Fast forward to high school, after playing for years, I found that I just loved watching those players on TV better than I liked playing myself. It wasn’t as rewarding when I found my own body unable to hit last minute threes, score 81 points or hit a reverse dunk through two opponents. I figured if I couldn’t do that, basketball wasn’t really the sport for me.

Anyway, as I’m reflecting on the events from last Sunday I’ve struggled with my own grief. I’ve never met Kobe Bryant. I don’t own a jersey. I didn’t even attend my first Laker game until last year, years after Kobe retired. I kept asking myself “why are you so upset over this?” I felt selfish for being quiet at work, not having the drive to even complete my daily tasks and not wanting to engage in regular conversation. I didn’t even watch basketball following the accident. There were families, friends, teammates, and children who had lost someone. If I felt like this, how could they possibly feel?

But, as I was watching Friday’s game versus the Trailblazers, the first game the Lakers have played since Kobe’s death, I was back on my couch yelling at my TV. I was right back to my childhood home with my mom furious that the Lakers’ opponent was hitting back to back threes with zero defense. I was analyzing the fact that they were playing a zone when maybe they should be double-teaming that player who scored 50 points against them. I was furiously texting my husband just like I used to share with my dad on those phone calls.

It was heartbreaking to know that something that was so prevalent in my life and inadvertently drew me closer to people I loved was gone. Not only was he gone, but he was gone suddenly in a way that no one saw coming. I’m writing all of this to say that when we lose a celebrity or public figure, we owe it to ourselves to grieve because we have to address the parts of us that person impacted. So, cry if you need to. Take some space to yourself and be alone. Log off Instagram. Do what you have to do to appreciate this precious life that you’ve been given to eventually make an impact on others.