Geoff that is by far the best and most revealing post that you have written since I have been a member here and I mean this as a compliment... You should let that side of yourself come out more.. Orangebloods would be better for it.. Thanks for the post..!!
It wasn't until Monday morning that I think I fully understood it all.
Sitting in an elementary school cafeteria on Monday morning, watching my twin five-year olds eat Coco Puffs and Cinnamon Toast Crunch, I couldn't quite shake the profound sadness that had drenched my soul in the aftermath of learning that a helicopter carrying Kobe Bryant, his second-oldest daughter Gianna and seven others had crashed into a mountain the day before, killing everyone on board.
I just stared at my children and tried to soak in the innocence that exists in the hearts of kindergartners. Looking at Haven, I realized that her fingers were blue and a smudge of blue was on her cheek. Where the hell did it come from, I wondered to myself. It hadn't been there this morning when I woke her up. I don't even remember her having it on her face when we left for school. Was it toothpaste? No, that wouldn't explain why it was all over her hands.
While lost in about 10 seconds of blue smudge thought, I came out of my daze when Haven leaned into me and whispered, "I don't want you to go. I want to stay with you forever."
Right then, right there ... it all became obvious.
This wasn't about Kobe Bryant the basketball player. While I've always respected the hell out of Kobe's greatness as a player, I wouldn't ever say that I was a fan.
This wasn't about Kobe Bryant the person, which is a conversation that includes many complications, especially when trying to balance all of the positive stories that can sometimes make you forget that something happened in Colorado more than a decade ago that is quite complicated and every bit as much of his story as an NBA Finals MVP.
What this was about was a man and his daughter, lost together in almost unspeakable, horrifying fashion. When the news first hit social media on Sunday, the first image in my mind was that of a scene from last month when Bryant had been sitting courtside at a basketball game with Gianna, teaching her a lesson that must have been so unique and special to them.
Nothing can humanize a person quite like the sight of them engaging with their kids, as it's the most relatable thing we can share with another person. The fear. The devastation. The loss. The aftermath. Somewhere at the exact moment that the world learned of Bryant's death was a wife and three daughters that were in the midst of a change in their lives that won't ever be made right.
Before this horrifying moment could even sink in, a report emerged from ABC that all of Kobe's children had been on the helicopter with him, which was almost too much to take, as the little voice in my head screamed, "God, no!"
It was all so confusing and I didn't know anyone involved. Imagine what it must have been like for the family members of those involved in the crash, forced to learn about your world changing through social media or frantic text messages or some means none of us can comprehend.
Moments later, it was confirmed that 13-year old Gianna had perished with him and time just seemed to stop.
All I wanted in that moment was to hug my kids and never let go, but they weren't at home. Eventually, when they did return home from a trip to Barnes and Noble, I clutched on to them with an urgency that I don't ever remember. There's something that happens to you as a human being the moment that you have a child and that change seemingly lasts the rest of your life. All you want is to provide safety for your children at all times and nothing seems more haunting that the idea of not being able to pull it off.
That thought is the thing that I still can't shake this morning. A helicopter full of parents and children crashed into a mountain, and I'm haunted as a human being by the fear that must have existed in those waning moments, along with the helplessness. You dream about your kids playing sports, going to college, getting married and eventually having children of their own.
This moment in time is a reminder that none of those dreams can be taken for granted.
Ever.
As I walked my kids to their classroom ahead of the 7:45 a.m. bell, I hugged my kids again before they walked into their classroom. Just as they were about to disappear into a Monday or learning to read and write, Hendrix stopped in the doorway of his class room and turned around. Out of nowhere, he ran to me and jumped into my arms, telling me that he loved me and would miss me while he was in school.
It was everything I needed. It was everything I wanted. It'll stay with me all day.
While I count my blessings, my heart aches for those that won't have those hugs this morning or this afternoon or ever again. None of this will ever make sense. None of it will ever go away. None of it can ever be overturned.
The lasting memory of one of the greatest basketball players that ever lived is of him as a father, unable to control life at the end after seemingly spending the majority of his 41 years on this earth doing exactly that with a dedication that those who knew him best often mentioned was incomparable.
We're all mortal, even those that sometimes seem to be made of something quite the opposite. With that knowledge reaffirmed over the weekend, here's to vowing to make the most of the moments we all have left - whether it's a day, a month, years or decades.
Once gone, it's gone forever and can never be replaced.
So, go hug your kids. Call your parents. Tell a long lost friend that you love them and miss them. Seize the moment today.
Now!
Don't wait for a day or time that isn't guaranteed.
Rest in peace, Kobe, Rest in peace, Gianna, Rest in peace, John. Rest in peace, Keri. Rest in peace, Alyssa. Rest in peace, Christina. Rest in peace, Sara. Rest in peace, Payton. Rest in peace, Ara.
Ketch's 10 Thoughts From the Weekend (There's only one thought this morning...)
- Thread starter Ketchum
- Start date
It wasn't until Monday morning that I think I fully understood it all.
Sitting in an elementary school cafeteria on Monday morning, watching my twin five-year olds eat Coco Puffs and Cinnamon Toast Crunch, I couldn't quite shake the profound sadness that had drenched my soul in the aftermath of learning that a helicopter carrying Kobe Bryant, his second-oldest daughter Gianna and seven others had crashed into a mountain the day before, killing everyone on board.
I just stared at my children and tried to soak in the innocence that exists in the hearts of kindergartners. Looking at Haven, I realized that her fingers were blue and a smudge of blue was on her cheek. Where the hell did it come from, I wondered to myself. It hadn't been there this morning when I woke her up. I don't even remember her having it on her face when we left for school. Was it toothpaste? No, that wouldn't explain why it was all over her hands.
While lost in about 10 seconds of blue smudge thought, I came out of my daze when Haven leaned into me and whispered, "I don't want you to go. I want to stay with you forever."
Right then, right there ... it all became obvious.
This wasn't about Kobe Bryant the basketball player. While I've always respected the hell out of Kobe's greatness as a player, I wouldn't ever say that I was a fan.
This wasn't about Kobe Bryant the person, which is a conversation that includes many complications, especially when trying to balance all of the positive stories that can sometimes make you forget that something happened in Colorado more than a decade ago that is quite complicated and every bit as much of his story as an NBA Finals MVP.
What this was about was a man and his daughter, lost together in almost unspeakable, horrifying fashion. When the news first hit social media on Sunday, the first image in my mind was that of a scene from last month when Bryant had been sitting courtside at a basketball game with Gianna, teaching her a lesson that must have been so unique and special to them.
Nothing can humanize a person quite like the sight of them engaging with their kids, as it's the most relatable thing we can share with another person. The fear. The devastation. The loss. The aftermath. Somewhere at the exact moment that the world learned of Bryant's death was a wife and three daughters that were in the midst of a change in their lives that won't ever be made right.
Before this horrifying moment could even sink in, a report emerged from ABC that all of Kobe's children had been on the helicopter with him, which was almost too much to take, as the little voice in my head screamed, "God, no!"
It was all so confusing and I didn't know anyone involved. Imagine what it must have been like for the family members of those involved in the crash, forced to learn about your world changing through social media or frantic text messages or some means none of us can comprehend.
Moments later, it was confirmed that 13-year old Gianna had perished with him and time just seemed to stop.
All I wanted in that moment was to hug my kids and never let go, but they weren't at home. Eventually, when they did return home from a trip to Barnes and Noble, I clutched on to them with an urgency that I don't ever remember. There's something that happens to you as a human being the moment that you have a child and that change seemingly lasts the rest of your life. All you want is to provide safety for your children at all times and nothing seems more haunting that the idea of not being able to pull it off.
That thought is the thing that I still can't shake this morning. A helicopter full of parents and children crashed into a mountain, and I'm haunted as a human being by the fear that must have existed in those waning moments, along with the helplessness. You dream about your kids playing sports, going to college, getting married and eventually having children of their own.
This moment in time is a reminder that none of those dreams can be taken for granted.
Ever.
As I walked my kids to their classroom ahead of the 7:45 a.m. bell, I hugged my kids again before they walked into their classroom. Just as they were about to disappear into a Monday or learning to read and write, Hendrix stopped in the doorway of his class room and turned around. Out of nowhere, he ran to me and jumped into my arms, telling me that he loved me and would miss me while he was in school.
It was everything I needed. It was everything I wanted. It'll stay with me all day.
While I count my blessings, my heart aches for those that won't have those hugs this morning or this afternoon or ever again. None of this will ever make sense. None of it will ever go away. None of it can ever be overturned.
The lasting memory of one of the greatest basketball players that ever lived is of him as a father, unable to control life at the end after seemingly spending the majority of his 41 years on this earth doing exactly that with a dedication that those who knew him best often mentioned was incomparable.
We're all mortal, even those that sometimes seem to be made of something quite the opposite. With that knowledge reaffirmed over the weekend, here's to vowing to make the most of the moments we all have left - whether it's a day, a month, years or decades.
Once gone, it's gone forever and can never be replaced.
So, go hug your kids. Call your parents. Tell a long lost friend that you love them and miss them. Seize the moment today.
Now!
Don't wait for a day or time that isn't guaranteed.
Rest in peace, Kobe, Rest in peace, Gianna, Rest in peace, John. Rest in peace, Keri. Rest in peace, Alyssa. Rest in peace, Christina. Rest in peace, Sara. Rest in peace, Payton. Rest in peace, Ara.
Wow, Thank you for that. As I usually do, I distance myself from these "Celebrity Tragedies" as a coping mechanism, I guess. Like you, I never was really a fan but of course respected his ability as an athlete. I too couldn't shake the thought of him being with his daughter. Because, then I think of me and my daughter given those circumstances. Damn. Stay grateful and try to appreciate every sandwich.
It wasn't until Monday morning that I think I fully understood it all.
Sitting in an elementary school cafeteria on Monday morning, watching my twin five-year olds eat Coco Puffs and Cinnamon Toast Crunch, I couldn't quite shake the profound sadness that had drenched my soul in the aftermath of learning that a helicopter carrying Kobe Bryant, his second-oldest daughter Gianna and seven others had crashed into a mountain the day before, killing everyone on board.
I just stared at my children and tried to soak in the innocence that exists in the hearts of kindergartners. Looking at Haven, I realized that her fingers were blue and a smudge of blue was on her cheek. Where the hell did it come from, I wondered to myself. It hadn't been there this morning when I woke her up. I don't even remember her having it on her face when we left for school. Was it toothpaste? No, that wouldn't explain why it was all over her hands.
While lost in about 10 seconds of blue smudge thought, I came out of my daze when Haven leaned into me and whispered, "I don't want you to go. I want to stay with you forever."
Right then, right there ... it all became obvious.
This wasn't about Kobe Bryant the basketball player. While I've always respected the hell out of Kobe's greatness as a player, I wouldn't ever say that I was a fan.
This wasn't about Kobe Bryant the person, which is a conversation that includes many complications, especially when trying to balance all of the positive stories that can sometimes make you forget that something happened in Colorado more than a decade ago that is quite complicated and every bit as much of his story as an NBA Finals MVP.
What this was about was a man and his daughter, lost together in almost unspeakable, horrifying fashion. When the news first hit social media on Sunday, the first image in my mind was that of a scene from last month when Bryant had been sitting courtside at a basketball game with Gianna, teaching her a lesson that must have been so unique and special to them.
Nothing can humanize a person quite like the sight of them engaging with their kids, as it's the most relatable thing we can share with another person. The fear. The devastation. The loss. The aftermath. Somewhere at the exact moment that the world learned of Bryant's death was a wife and three daughters that were in the midst of a change in their lives that won't ever be made right.
Before this horrifying moment could even sink in, a report emerged from ABC that all of Kobe's children had been on the helicopter with him, which was almost too much to take, as the little voice in my head screamed, "God, no!"
It was all so confusing and I didn't know anyone involved. Imagine what it must have been like for the family members of those involved in the crash, forced to learn about your world changing through social media or frantic text messages or some means none of us can comprehend.
Moments later, it was confirmed that 13-year old Gianna had perished with him and time just seemed to stop.
All I wanted in that moment was to hug my kids and never let go, but they weren't at home. Eventually, when they did return home from a trip to Barnes and Noble, I clutched on to them with an urgency that I don't ever remember. There's something that happens to you as a human being the moment that you have a child and that change seemingly lasts the rest of your life. All you want is to provide safety for your children at all times and nothing seems more haunting that the idea of not being able to pull it off.
That thought is the thing that I still can't shake this morning. A helicopter full of parents and children crashed into a mountain, and I'm haunted as a human being by the fear that must have existed in those waning moments, along with the helplessness. You dream about your kids playing sports, going to college, getting married and eventually having children of their own.
This moment in time is a reminder that none of those dreams can be taken for granted.
Ever.
As I walked my kids to their classroom ahead of the 7:45 a.m. bell, I hugged my kids again before they walked into their classroom. Just as they were about to disappear into a Monday or learning to read and write, Hendrix stopped in the doorway of his class room and turned around. Out of nowhere, he ran to me and jumped into my arms, telling me that he loved me and would miss me while he was in school.
It was everything I needed. It was everything I wanted. It'll stay with me all day.
While I count my blessings, my heart aches for those that won't have those hugs this morning or this afternoon or ever again. None of this will ever make sense. None of it will ever go away. None of it can ever be overturned.
The lasting memory of one of the greatest basketball players that ever lived is of him as a father, unable to control life at the end after seemingly spending the majority of his 41 years on this earth doing exactly that with a dedication that those who knew him best often mentioned was incomparable.
We're all mortal, even those that sometimes seem to be made of something quite the opposite. With that knowledge reaffirmed over the weekend, here's to vowing to make the most of the moments we all have left - whether it's a day, a month, years or decades.
Once gone, it's gone forever and can never be replaced.
So, go hug your kids. Call your parents. Tell a long lost friend that you love them and miss them. Seize the moment today.
Now!
Don't wait for a day or time that isn't guaranteed.
Rest in peace, Kobe, Rest in peace, Gianna, Rest in peace, John. Rest in peace, Keri. Rest in peace, Alyssa. Rest in peace, Christina. Rest in peace, Sara. Rest in peace, Payton. Rest in peace, Ara.
So very true.... well said.....my son told me last night that Kobe and his daughter had died and it was a very sad moment....
Very well done, Geoff.
It wasn't until Monday morning that I think I fully understood it all.
Sitting in an elementary school cafeteria on Monday morning, watching my twin five-year olds eat Coco Puffs and Cinnamon Toast Crunch, I couldn't quite shake the profound sadness that had drenched my soul in the aftermath of learning that a helicopter carrying Kobe Bryant, his second-oldest daughter Gianna and seven others had crashed into a mountain the day before, killing everyone on board.
I just stared at my children and tried to soak in the innocence that exists in the hearts of kindergartners. Looking at Haven, I realized that her fingers were blue and a smudge of blue was on her cheek. Where the hell did it come from, I wondered to myself. It hadn't been there this morning when I woke her up. I don't even remember her having it on her face when we left for school. Was it toothpaste? No, that wouldn't explain why it was all over her hands.
While lost in about 10 seconds of blue smudge thought, I came out of my daze when Haven leaned into me and whispered, "I don't want you to go. I want to stay with you forever."
Right then, right there ... it all became obvious.
This wasn't about Kobe Bryant the basketball player. While I've always respected the hell out of Kobe's greatness as a player, I wouldn't ever say that I was a fan.
This wasn't about Kobe Bryant the person, which is a conversation that includes many complications, especially when trying to balance all of the positive stories that can sometimes make you forget that something happened in Colorado more than a decade ago that is quite complicated and every bit as much of his story as an NBA Finals MVP.
What this was about was a man and his daughter, lost together in almost unspeakable, horrifying fashion. When the news first hit social media on Sunday, the first image in my mind was that of a scene from last month when Bryant had been sitting courtside at a basketball game with Gianna, teaching her a lesson that must have been so unique and special to them.
Nothing can humanize a person quite like the sight of them engaging with their kids, as it's the most relatable thing we can share with another person. The fear. The devastation. The loss. The aftermath. Somewhere at the exact moment that the world learned of Bryant's death was a wife and three daughters that were in the midst of a change in their lives that won't ever be made right.
Before this horrifying moment could even sink in, a report emerged from ABC that all of Kobe's children had been on the helicopter with him, which was almost too much to take, as the little voice in my head screamed, "God, no!"
It was all so confusing and I didn't know anyone involved. Imagine what it must have been like for the family members of those involved in the crash, forced to learn about your world changing through social media or frantic text messages or some means none of us can comprehend.
Moments later, it was confirmed that 13-year old Gianna had perished with him and time just seemed to stop.
All I wanted in that moment was to hug my kids and never let go, but they weren't at home. Eventually, when they did return home from a trip to Barnes and Noble, I clutched on to them with an urgency that I don't ever remember. There's something that happens to you as a human being the moment that you have a child and that change seemingly lasts the rest of your life. All you want is to provide safety for your children at all times and nothing seems more haunting that the idea of not being able to pull it off.
That thought is the thing that I still can't shake this morning. A helicopter full of parents and children crashed into a mountain, and I'm haunted as a human being by the fear that must have existed in those waning moments, along with the helplessness. You dream about your kids playing sports, going to college, getting married and eventually having children of their own.
This moment in time is a reminder that none of those dreams can be taken for granted.
Ever.
As I walked my kids to their classroom ahead of the 7:45 a.m. bell, I hugged my kids again before they walked into their classroom. Just as they were about to disappear into a Monday or learning to read and write, Hendrix stopped in the doorway of his class room and turned around. Out of nowhere, he ran to me and jumped into my arms, telling me that he loved me and would miss me while he was in school.
It was everything I needed. It was everything I wanted. It'll stay with me all day.
While I count my blessings, my heart aches for those that won't have those hugs this morning or this afternoon or ever again. None of this will ever make sense. None of it will ever go away. None of it can ever be overturned.
The lasting memory of one of the greatest basketball players that ever lived is of him as a father, unable to control life at the end after seemingly spending the majority of his 41 years on this earth doing exactly that with a dedication that those who knew him best often mentioned was incomparable.
We're all mortal, even those that sometimes seem to be made of something quite the opposite. With that knowledge reaffirmed over the weekend, here's to vowing to make the most of the moments we all have left - whether it's a day, a month, years or decades.
Once gone, it's gone forever and can never be replaced.
So, go hug your kids. Call your parents. Tell a long lost friend that you love them and miss them. Seize the moment today.
Now!
Don't wait for a day or time that isn't guaranteed.
Rest in peace, Kobe, Rest in peace, Gianna, Rest in peace, John. Rest in peace, Keri. Rest in peace, Alyssa. Rest in peace, Christina. Rest in peace, Sara. Rest in peace, Payton. Rest in peace, Ara.
Love your write up. I have three daughters and all married and two granddaughters. Tell that 13 year old you love her everyday. We had difficulty with two of the three girls. The relationship with me helped pull them through. I told them every day I love them. And though they live in different parts of the US, they k ow that they are loved as tell me so. There something very special about being a dad of daughters. I’m crush by the news of Kobe. I talked my ex about our daughters. She too was moved by the news. We take advantage of every moment. They grow up fast.
Of all the articles I’ve read about Kobe, this one was the best.
It wasn't until Monday morning that I think I fully understood it all.
Sitting in an elementary school cafeteria on Monday morning, watching my twin five-year olds eat Coco Puffs and Cinnamon Toast Crunch, I couldn't quite shake the profound sadness that had drenched my soul in the aftermath of learning that a helicopter carrying Kobe Bryant, his second-oldest daughter Gianna and seven others had crashed into a mountain the day before, killing everyone on board.
I just stared at my children and tried to soak in the innocence that exists in the hearts of kindergartners. Looking at Haven, I realized that her fingers were blue and a smudge of blue was on her cheek. Where the hell did it come from, I wondered to myself. It hadn't been there this morning when I woke her up. I don't even remember her having it on her face when we left for school. Was it toothpaste? No, that wouldn't explain why it was all over her hands.
While lost in about 10 seconds of blue smudge thought, I came out of my daze when Haven leaned into me and whispered, "I don't want you to go. I want to stay with you forever."
Right then, right there ... it all became obvious.
This wasn't about Kobe Bryant the basketball player. While I've always respected the hell out of Kobe's greatness as a player, I wouldn't ever say that I was a fan.
This wasn't about Kobe Bryant the person, which is a conversation that includes many complications, especially when trying to balance all of the positive stories that can sometimes make you forget that something happened in Colorado more than a decade ago that is quite complicated and every bit as much of his story as an NBA Finals MVP.
What this was about was a man and his daughter, lost together in almost unspeakable, horrifying fashion. When the news first hit social media on Sunday, the first image in my mind was that of a scene from last month when Bryant had been sitting courtside at a basketball game with Gianna, teaching her a lesson that must have been so unique and special to them.
Nothing can humanize a person quite like the sight of them engaging with their kids, as it's the most relatable thing we can share with another person. The fear. The devastation. The loss. The aftermath. Somewhere at the exact moment that the world learned of Bryant's death was a wife and three daughters that were in the midst of a change in their lives that won't ever be made right.
Before this horrifying moment could even sink in, a report emerged from ABC that all of Kobe's children had been on the helicopter with him, which was almost too much to take, as the little voice in my head screamed, "God, no!"
It was all so confusing and I didn't know anyone involved. Imagine what it must have been like for the family members of those involved in the crash, forced to learn about your world changing through social media or frantic text messages or some means none of us can comprehend.
Moments later, it was confirmed that 13-year old Gianna had perished with him and time just seemed to stop.
All I wanted in that moment was to hug my kids and never let go, but they weren't at home. Eventually, when they did return home from a trip to Barnes and Noble, I clutched on to them with an urgency that I don't ever remember. There's something that happens to you as a human being the moment that you have a child and that change seemingly lasts the rest of your life. All you want is to provide safety for your children at all times and nothing seems more haunting that the idea of not being able to pull it off.
That thought is the thing that I still can't shake this morning. A helicopter full of parents and children crashed into a mountain, and I'm haunted as a human being by the fear that must have existed in those waning moments, along with the helplessness. You dream about your kids playing sports, going to college, getting married and eventually having children of their own.
This moment in time is a reminder that none of those dreams can be taken for granted.
Ever.
As I walked my kids to their classroom ahead of the 7:45 a.m. bell, I hugged my kids again before they walked into their classroom. Just as they were about to disappear into a Monday or learning to read and write, Hendrix stopped in the doorway of his class room and turned around. Out of nowhere, he ran to me and jumped into my arms, telling me that he loved me and would miss me while he was in school.
It was everything I needed. It was everything I wanted. It'll stay with me all day.
While I count my blessings, my heart aches for those that won't have those hugs this morning or this afternoon or ever again. None of this will ever make sense. None of it will ever go away. None of it can ever be overturned.
The lasting memory of one of the greatest basketball players that ever lived is of him as a father, unable to control life at the end after seemingly spending the majority of his 41 years on this earth doing exactly that with a dedication that those who knew him best often mentioned was incomparable.
We're all mortal, even those that sometimes seem to be made of something quite the opposite. With that knowledge reaffirmed over the weekend, here's to vowing to make the most of the moments we all have left - whether it's a day, a month, years or decades.
Once gone, it's gone forever and can never be replaced.
So, go hug your kids. Call your parents. Tell a long lost friend that you love them and miss them. Seize the moment today.
Now!
Don't wait for a day or time that isn't guaranteed.
Rest in peace, Kobe, Rest in peace, Gianna, Rest in peace, John. Rest in peace, Keri. Rest in peace, Alyssa. Rest in peace, Christina. Rest in peace, Sara. Rest in peace, Payton. Rest in peace, Ara.
