Thanks Kobe - A Decade, and a Lifetime, Too Late

I did not think I would be writing this story tonight.
It begins a decade ago.
It starts in Kansas City, winds its way to Haiti via Miami and Santa Domingo, and then searches to make its way back.
And it involves a thank you that I will never be able to give, because the man who deserves it is no longer here: Kobe Bryant.

The story that follows is not one that will make any of Kobe’s highlight reels. You will not be able to find it in a box score or scrolling on the ESPN ticker. It will not be among the lengthy list of accomplishments and accolades that will forever attach themselves to Kobe Bryant:

5x NBA Champion.
2x NBA Finals MVP.
2008 NBA MVP.
18x NBA All-Star.
12x NBA All-Defensive Team.
81 points in a game in 2006, 55 of them coming in the second half.
60 points in his final game in the NBA.
He once made two free throws on a torn achilles.
He also won an Oscar.

This story about Kobe does not come with a trophy, but it is worth sharing nonetheless.
I think it is worth the world knowing.
There will be ongoing conversation in the days ahead about Kobe's heart — the will and drive that made him a legend on the basketball court.
My one personal experience with the man displays more about that heart than a stat line ever will.

---

January 26, 2020.
I am seated in a McAlister’s Deli in Grandview, MO when the news hits my phone: Kobe Bryant, along with his 13 year old daughter and seven others, has died in a helicopter crash in Calabasas, CA.

41 years old. Far too young.
His daughter just 13 years old. Tragically young.
The others on the helicopter also gone too soon.

Tears roll down my cheeks. I am hoping no one in the restaurant is looking at me, eating alone, crying.
I have never been so impacted by a celebrity death.
This one feels personal, though.
I sit in shock. Suddenly, I am not interested in my Spud Max and sweet tea.

Instead, I am transported to another time and another place.
Literally ten years earlier, in a different country.

---

January 12, 2010.
An earthquake of remarkable force shakes the ocean floor just off the coast of Haiti.
The devastation is unlike anything the world has seen.
The destruction in Port au Prince is sweeping, complete.
The number of people dead, missing, or injured is incalculable.

I get a phone call a few days later. To this day, I do not know how they got my number or why they called me of all people. A group of medical professionals was headed down to do emergency medical work in Haiti. They heard that I could speak French and wanted to know if I was willing to go and help them. Mind you, Creole and French are similar, but different. No one, including myself, was sure how much help I could actually be. Answer: not very much.

After a quick conversation with my my wife, I was in. On a plane the next day.

The details were fuzzy, but the general plan was to fly to Miami, then to Santa Domingo in the Dominican Republic — the airport in Port au Prince was not open yet, so this was our best option. From there we would get on a bus and drive across the island of Hispaniola and into Haiti, at which point we would make our way to Port au Prince. We would find a way to make ourselves useful without adding to the strain on meager food and water resources in the country. It was not entirely clear exactly how long we would be there or how, precisely, we would get home. But we would go, serve as best we could, and then come back.

Dust still hung in the air.
The city was largely unlivable.
The tremor of aftershocks still rumbled.
Tent villages were scattered all around.
The living conditions were deplorable.
People were injured. People were dying.

I could tell a thousand stories about our time in the country, but I really want to tell you about how we got home and the man who quietly, graciously, compassionately made it possible from some 3,000 miles away in Los Angeles.

---

We were spent.
It did not take long to find yourself physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually exhausted in Haiti’s post-earthquake atmosphere. After some time in and around Port au Prince, we headed south to another town to help those who had fled Haiti’s capital city. We worked for a number of days. Eventually, we were worn out. At a certain point, we began searching for options to return to the US. This posed a larger challenge than we thought it would be when we left America.

I will be honest, at this point, I do not remember how or exactly when we connected with this person. But one day, we bumped into an American man who had been living and working in Haiti for quite some time. He was incredibly well connected. Most clearly, I remember that he had a satellite phone and he could get things done. You needed water or food, he could help. You needed a person in the country with specific medical knowledge, he knew where to find it. It felt like there was not a single answer that this man did not possess the ability to get. None of it was in a shady, black market kind of way, either. It was all on the up-and-up. I keep telling myself that, at least. While discussing our predicament in unsuccessfully trying to find a way home he said, “I know a guy who can help you. You need to be at ________ airport at __________ time tomorrow morning. A plane will be there to pick you up.”

Mind you, none of us actually knew this guy. A total stranger told us to show up to a completely unknown (and tiny) airport, to catch a plane flown by a person none of us knew, that would supposedly get us back to Ft. Lauderdale.

I cannot explain it. It sounds crazy to even type at this point, but in a chaotic, crisis situation like the one in Haiti at the time, the whole thing seemed perfectly normal and legitimate.

Seem idyllic from this angle, but I can promise you the actual airport situation was a far cry from what you, me, or anyone would be comfortable with in most situations.

We showed up at the airport shortly before the agreed upon time. Single building. Small tarmac. Grass runway. No plane. As crazy as it is to type this and as it sounds while you are reading it, it honestly did not dawn on me until this exact moment that maaaaaybe the random guy did not know what he was talking about?

Eventually a plane landed — larger than a small, private jet, but definitely not your standard passenger aircraft. The pilot got out of the plane, came into the single-room building, took stock of the number of people and amount of luggage we had. At first, it sounded like we might be leaving some people behind. None of us are crazy about the idea, but a few of us volunteered to stay back, if need be. I do not know if he got a calculator out and started approximating weights and totals or what, but he decided we could all fit.

I was so glad to see this plane, mostly because I was not sure if it was actually going to show up or not. I had no idea how it had arrived to pick us up or the drama that would unfold inside it on the way home.

We loaded some of our baggage into a hold at the front of the plane. The rest of it went into the cabin with us. Everyone began boarding the plane. In the midst of all this, Mr. well-connected, get-things-done appeared again. Then, in the hubbub of getting everyone settled he said the words I will never forget:

“Welcome aboard. Kobe Bryant has been paying for these flights and this pilot to bring food, water, and medical supplies into the country and then to take emergency personnel like yourselves back home.”

The pilot nodded his head in agreement.

So there we were, flying out of Haiti thanks to Kobe Bryant. We were all bone-tired. The kind of tired you feel in every part of your body. The gratitude registered with me, but I did not have the mental or emotional energy to completely register the reality. One of the greatest basketball players in the history of NBA was flying us out of Haiti. He was also flying desperately needed supplies into Haiti. Incredible.

The flight home was full of its own drama. We almost ran out fuel due to a storm that prohibited the pilot from making a refueling stop in the Bahamas on the way down and then serious headwinds on the way back. I mean, literally almost ran out of fuel. At one point the pilot was walking us through the necessary procedures should we have to PUT THE PLANE DOWN IN THE OCEAN. All thoughts of Kobe are gone at this point. We were all focused on living. Ft. Lauderdale’s airport is near the coast. The pilot would have to make a gut decision as we approached about whether or not he thought we could make it to the airport or needed to attempt a water landing in the Atlantic. We were on jet-fuel fumes.

At this point, I do not know what is happening in my life.
I have just spent a chunk of days witnessing unheard of destruction, devastation and suffering.
At one point, I had no clue when or how I was going to get home.
Then there was a plane from Kobe.
Now the plane may not make it to the airport.
I am really tired. This all has to be a dream, right? Maybe it is a nightmare.
I mean, none of it can actually be happening.
This cannot be real life.
I just wanted a nap.
And to hug my wife.

This is my, “None of this can actually be happening to us, right?” face.

We made it to the airport. No water landing needed. We all booked flights back to our respective cities, went our separate ways. I believe there were eight of us in total. What I know for certain is that the eight people who landed back on the ground in Florida were drastically changed from the eight who had taken off a little over a week earlier.

---

A decade later.
A few hours after Kobe’s passing, the thought I keep having is this:

Life is delicate. Fragile. Precarious. Precious. Brief.

• A nation wakes up one morning and then gets rocked with an earthquake. Thousands lose their lives.

• A group of people are flying in a plane, then suddenly we become aware that it may not actually have the fuel required to get to its intended location. Thankfully, all works out okay.

• A dad gets into a helicopter with his daughter to go a basketball game. They crash into a hillside.

Intellectually, we all know understand the fragility of life. We murmur about it from time-to-time. Pay it lip-service when life forces us to. Then human nature causes us to push it to the side and live as if it is not the case. The thoughts resurface when something happens. A family member gets sick and passes. There is car accident. The brevity and delicacy of life is forced before our hearts and eyes and we have to reckon with the reality that we are not invincible. We are forced to square with the truth that we do not set the terms of our existence. We did not choose when it began and we will not choose when it ends. We do not get those options for ourselves. We do not get those options for the people we love, the people we know, or the people we look up to.

The Bible says it this way:

““...you do not know what tomorrow will bring — what your life will be! For you are like vapor that appears for a little while, then vanishes.” — James 4:14”

What is the takeaway?
Take advantage of every single day you wake up and have the privilege to live.
Make good on the opportunities in front of you.
Live with intentionality.
Love with your whole heart.
Tell the people you love that you love them. Wear those words out.
Hug them. Hold it for a little longer. Remember what it feels like.
Encourage people. Someone does something well, go ahead and tell them. Celebrate it. Do not wait.
Pour yourself into things that matter.
Laugh a bunch. Stop frowning. Smile.
Slow down and enjoy life.
Do not merely be a spectator of the world around you. Be a participant.
Put the phone away. Engage.
Forgive. For goodness sake, bury the hatchet.
Say thank you. Write a letter. Send a text. Make a phone call.

Do not wait until your own life’s brevity, delicacy, and/or fragility smacks you in the face and leaves you with no time, too little time, or completely out of time. There is no telling when your clock will run out for any and all of these things. You may find yourself a decade and a lifetime too late to say or do the thing you should have done when you had the chance.

Now here I am, ten years late, shouting into the void of the internet what I should have found a way to say to the man directly. And it is too late. But I will say it anyway:

Thank you, Kobe Bryant, for getting me home. I will always admire your talent on the court, but more than that, I will Forever appreciate and respect your kindness to a nameless and faceless group of tired folks who just wanted to be back with their families. You made that happen. For that, I am grateful.

The guy in the jeans? That is him. Super-well-connected, mystery man. I owe him a thank you, as well, but have no idea what his name is or how to find him.