Shot Clock Winds Down.

It was not how my Sunday was supposed to go.

It wasn’t how anyone’s Sunday was supposed to go but at around 11am, the world received the tragic news anyway.

At first, it was unbelievable. Surely it’s a hoax. A joke. An article oozing with fake news. But a quick search on Google confirmed the worst: basketball legend Kobe Bryant was dead.

A helicopter crash in Calabasas just two hours earlier had killed the 41 year old icon, along with his 13 year old daughter Gianna and seven other passengers.

Yet still, I couldn’t believe it.

I could not believe it.

Thoughts and feelings were coursing their way through my body. I felt like I had been punched in the gut, and as it slowly sunk in that what I was reading was, in fact, tragically true, the tears began to make their way out.

Not two minutes after I was shown that (still) unbelievable headline, texts and calls started coming my way from friends and family alike, for everyone who knows me knows that I am a born & raised Los Angeles Lakers fan.

But the one I wanted to share this with first was my dad. Racing across the parking lot like I had but mere seconds left on the shot clock, I immediately went in for a hug, both of us standing there at a loss for words as to what the world had just lost.

And I knew Dad would understand best because it all started with him.

It all kicked off with a six-year old me at a Lakers game, one of the few memories (if not the only one) I have as a young one. Kobe was playing, of course (this would be a year the Lakers won a title), and I was there watching with my dad, propped up in the nose bleeds but excited as all get out to be in such a splendid space.

And thus began a tradition between father and daughter, of watching the great game of basketball together, as Laker fans, always.

I grew up playing basketball, briefly (I was always too nice and not aggressive enough!), playing scrimmage with my dad outside, working on that Kareem hook shot that I still haven’t perfected. And even when I stopped playing, I never stopped watching.

Viewing games with my dad was our thing, and even though there were periods in my life in which we didn’t watch games together for years on end, it remained part of our bond.

To this day, it remains one of my favorite activities, one of the most anticipated parts of my day, watching ball with him, yelling at the screen with him, rewinding and cheering whenever we made an epic score. I cherish it.

So hearing about Kobe, hearing about his very own daughter who often went to games with him and was mentored by him dying in the most unexpected ways imaginable, it hurt. It hurt a lot. And it also hurt a lot of other people.

People from all walks of life shared in the grief, still share in the grief, coming together and mourning the loss of not only one of the greatest basketball players of all time, but a good dad, husband, friend, and inspiration.

For me, I lost a little part of my childhood, someone that grew up with me. Even though we never met and he didn’t know me, I knew him. He was a part of the tradition I still enjoy with my dad, and having Kobe pass reminded me of how damn precious life is.

Anyone, from anywhere, at anytime, can depart this world. We don’t know when or where or how, but we can show love every day, everywhere, and to everyone.

My heart, along with millions of others, mourn for the loss of all passengers aboard that helicopter, and I thank Kobe with all my heart for introducing me to the love of the game and making spending time with my dad so special.

Life is short, too short to miss out on opportunities to spend time with the people you love. You just never know when it could be the last time.