January 26, 2020—It wasn’t just another Sunday morning. This one felt different from the minute I opened my eyes to my two-month old bundle of joy crying for her routine 6 a.m. bottle of milk. It was the weekend, which meant I was on baby duty to give my wife a break from a full week of minimal sleep.
I opened one eye reluctantly, hoping to sneak in a couple more minutes before the whimpering turned into scream-crying.
If I only knew how the day was going to unfold, I would have jumped out of bed immediately and cherished every minute with my sweet baby girl, who had given me my deepest connection to Kobe Bean Bryant.
Just 10 hours prior, I was intensely watching the Los Angeles Lakers battle the Philadelphia 76ers on a night when LeBron James would pass the great Kobe Bryant on the all-time NBA scoring list. In addition to trying to adjust to my new reality of becoming a dad, the morning felt even more exhausting because I had spent Saturday night trying to reconcile the fact that I was now cheering for a player who I had not been a huge fan of prior to joining the Lakers, as he passed my idol while wearing the same jersey my idol wore for 20 years, in my idol’s hometown. Did you get that? Now, you probably understand why my Sunday was already off to an exhausting start.
Sunday morning continued like every given Sunday. I knocked back a couple of biscuits, watched soccer, put on my Sunday best and headed to church with my wife and daughter.
We met my dad at Saltgrass steakhouse in Oklahoma City after church. Lunch was a blur. I barely said a word. I basically swallowed the steak whole either because it wasn’t very good or because I was ready to just go home.
My dad signed the check while I buckled baby girl into her car seat. As we all walked out of the restaurant towards our cars, I noticed my phone was buzzing in quick succession. I could also tell my wife was receiving messages simultaneously.
Because I was buckling my daughter in the backseat, I was not able to check why my phone was buzzing uncontrollably. My wife was now in the driver’s seat with her phone in her left hand while pushing the start button to ignite the engine. My dad was peeking over my shoulder to get one more glimpse of his granddaughter before getting into his car.
“Wait, what?” my wife yelled out her signature phrase when she can’t comprehend something. I immediately connected her reaction with the non-stop buzzing of incoming text messages. I was just waiting to hear bad news.
“Kobe died.”
My entire body went numb after my wife uttered those words. It’s a moment and feeling I will never forget. The world immediately became silent, but I heard my dad yell in disbelief as I stepped into the passenger seat of my car and pulled my phone out of my skinny jeans. I don’t even think I said goodbye to him.
The first thing I saw on my phone was a push notification from Bleacher Report which read “Breaking: Kobe Bryant has died in a helicopter crash, officials confirm.”
How could this be? Kobe Bryant? He can’t die. He’s a superhero. He definitely survived. We’re good.
I guess this was my phase of denial.
I swiped up to unlock my iPhone with face recognition and was successful despite the look of horror on my face. I had 28 text messages, none of which I opened in that moment. I think we sat in the parking lot for at least 20 minutes. The car was silent.
The notifications kept coming. The text messages kept coming. It was getting very real. The tension in the car was palpable. Even my two-month old was unusually quiet. My wife broke the silence with a nurturing rub of my back. Her voice cracked as she tried her best to say the right words. “Are you okay?” I don’t think she expected a response, but she got one. She saw me completely lose it. I don’t think I stopped crying the rest of the day. I didn’t say a single word.
I’m the biggest Kobe fan in the world. If you know me, you know this is an understatement. If you don’t know me, I truly don’t believe I can make you imagine how big of a fan I am with words. You just have to take my word for it. Ha!
I grew up in Ghana watching a young Kobe Bryant light up the NBA. I didn’t get to watch much of Michael Jordan because we didn’t have access to games on television during peak Jordan years. Kobe was my MJ. My dad, who lived in the U.S. most of my childhood, had sent me an authentic Kobe Bryant XL jersey which came down to my ankles, but that didn’t stop me from tucking it into my jeans. Authentic Nike jerseys with NBA tags on them were not a thing in Ghana at the time. If you had one like I did, you were in a league of your own. To give you some context, any time I went out wearing the Kobe jersey, you would have thought I was a celebrity. And when I wasn’t wearing the jersey, girls would always approach me and ask if it was true that I had Kobe Bryant jersey with NBA tags on it.
Kobe was just my favorite NBA player until I immigrated to the United States. He then became someone I idolized because I began to understand how much work he put into his craft. I now had the ability to watch every game, watch highlights on YouTube, read every article and listen to every press conference.
You couldn’t tell me anything when I became a Basketball Communications Intern with the Thunder in 2010 and stood less than a foot from Kobe during interviews each time he played in Oklahoma City. Visiting Staples Center to watch Kobe also became an annual trip for me.
I remember the championships, the 81-point game, the buzzer beaters, the feeling of knowing Kobe wasn’t going to let you down, the shot against JR Smith and then the scowl which followed, the buzzer beater against the suns, the iconic image on the scorer’s table after his fifth championship against the Celtics, the free throws after tearing his Achilles, the 60-point finale.
Kobe’s approach to the game, his preparation, his undeniable desire to be the best and his unwavering dedication to his craft were qualities I identified with. I am Kobe Bryant in my own way. Every part of my approach to my craft is Kobe Bryant.
I listen to Kobe interviews for motivation. I’ve read his books. I know his quotes by heart.
When I fail, I remember Kobe failed, too—the missed shots, the losses, the finals against the Celtics in 2008 and even the troubles he faced as a result of mistakes he made in his personal life. When I fail, I remember Kobe’s quote saying we need to keep trying, because saying something cannot be done just means we are short-changing ourselves.
When I’m in pain because of my Sickle Cell disability, I channel this Kobe’s quote: “Pain is the little voice in your head that tries to hold you back because it knows if you continue you will change. Don't let it stop you from being who you can be.” I never use pain as a crutch to just do the bare minimum. No! Never.
When I think about what it takes to be a leader, I remember Kobe always insisting that leadership is lonely. If you’re going to be a leader, you’re not going to please everybody. You have to hold people and yourself accountable. Even if those moments are uncomfortable. I’ve channeled that quote especially recently with my move to accept the job as Director of Corporate Communications at The Children’s Center Rehabilitation Hospital.
When I think about my purpose in life, I remember Kobe saying “the most important thing is to try to inspire people so they can be great in whatever they want to do.” I always keep that in mind when I consider my desire to inspire others.
Kobe’s life outside of basketball was never something that interested me while he was still playing because I didn’t see too many parallels with my life. I wasn’t a husband or father yet, and he was a somewhat private man. I was solely a fan of Kobe Bryant the basketball player. But that changed when he retired.
When Kobe won an Oscar for his animated short film Dear Basketball, he inspired me to be versatile—to be great at more than just my job. I took on photography, taught myself and launched my Rich Honesty brand. I wanted a daughter because of how great Kobe was with Gigi and his other daughters.
January 26, 2020 will be a day I never forget. It took me a year to truly accept that he’s really gone. I had never imagined him not being here. That thought had never crossed my mind. I have learned a lot about myself and how I grieve. I haven’t been able to talk about Kobe’s death at all, and I usually find myself trying to change the topic or avoid conversations about it. I even caught myself trying to avoid Kobe videos on social media. I processed his death on my own, but I’m appreciative of all the messages, the flowers, the calls and the many ways my friends and family tried to help me through it.
I can’t avoid it anymore. I have finally accepted that he’s gone. God gave Kobe 41 years on earth, and he made the most of it. In some weird way, knowing he needed just 41 years to leave such a legacy and impact lives like mine, reminds me how great he was and still is. The peace I have finally found is mainly because I understand that even though he’s gone, he’s always with me. The long nights, the hard work, the perfection of my craft, the passion, the father I am to my daughter Kodi, and my son Kobe, and the legacy I want to leave on earth have all been impacted by Kobe in one way or another.
Thank you, Mamba! There’s not a day that passes that I don’t think about something you did on the court or said in an interview. I smile every time. Rest well. Take care of Gigi.
