I woke up early this morning in a little bit of a daze. I thought about the helicopter crash that killed Kobe Bryant, his daughter, and seven others yesterday and my initial thought was, “Oh, it was just a bad dream.” Then a few more breaths and I realized, “Nope, not a bad dream, a sad reality.” My heart sank.
The fourth anniversary of my sister Lori’s passing was earlier this month, followed by what would have been her 50th birthday a few days later, so I have been thinking about life, death, loss, and the fragility of it all a lot in recent weeks and months (over the holidays).
It feels sad and scary to think about this for many reasons, but also important and liberating at the same time. I often think about and quote something that was said to me many years ago, “You’re living your life as though you’re trying to survive it…you have to remember, nobody ever has.” So true.
When people die – especially when it seems too soon and it doesn’t make sense – it’s often hard to process. Even when people are older and/or have been sick for a while, it still can feel wrong, unfair, and confusing. We live in a culture that is obsessed with results, action, youth, beauty, winning, progress, and more. While these things aren’t bad in and of themselves, our obsession with them, and our tendency to forget to focus on who and what matter most, can be incredibly damaging.
In moments of loss like this – whether the loss is personal or public – it serves as an intense reminder for each of us and all of us to stop, reflect, and take inventory of our priorities.
I didn’t know Kobe, his daughter Gigi, or any of the other people on that helicopter yesterday, but my heart breaks for all of them and everyone who knew and loved them. They are all in my thoughts and prayers.
And, as I sat on the couch last night watching the Grammys with my wife Michelle, our daughter Samantha (who is the same age as Gigi), and our younger daughter Rosie, I cried during a number of the songs, speeches, and tributes – thinking about Kobe and everyone touched by yesterday’s tragedy, and also thinking about my sister Lori, my parents, and everyone important who I’ve lost in my life…as well as all of the loss and grief we each experience as human beings.
Death can be so painful, and grief can be so hard. And yet, it is one of the most universal experiences of being human. It reminds us of the fragility and vulnerability of life in a body, forces us to put things in perspective, challenges us to expand our understanding of how things work, and connects us with one another in a profound way.
When something like this happens, it makes it clear to me that we’re all in this life thing together, doing the best we can, and that there are no guarantees. And, as scary as this can be, there’s also some real freedom in it if we’re willing to embrace it, be real about it, and lean on those around us and tap into our spiritual connection in an authentic and open way.
Let’s be gentle with ourselves today (and every day), do everything we can do focus on love, forgiveness, and the people and things that truly matter most.
Hi Mike – JayDee – we met at Rancho La Puerta
If you’ve ever lost someone you loved – take 90 seconds to read this poem my mom wrote:
September 2000 – 4 years before her passing…. WHERE DO BALLOONS GO? by Sally Audiss
Where do balloons go when they float loftily in the sky?
We watch them drift up, our eyes fixed on them as they float higher and higher
And then they are gone – we peer upward, but they are gone —
Where did they go so happily away from our frantic hands?
What is there about a balloon that delights us so?
Is it because they are symbols of happiness and joy?
They are always there at birthday parties, when one is sick,
Or a special occasion
And always at fairs
Where is young child squeals in anticipation as she sees the bouquet floating and
Waving from across the grounds.
It doesn’t matter how old we get, we never outgrow our infatuation with balloons.
When I was a child with my treasured balloon in my hand My mother would warn me “not to let go”
But I would forget sometimes to hang on tight
And my mother would be right
One little tug by the wind, and it would be gone I would watch it, and follow it
And then poof! It was gone
And I would wonder, where do balloons go?
Sometimes I would remember
And hang on tight
But that, I discovered, was worse
Balloons don’t look majestic when cramped into a car And I hate it when they popped
Or the air disappeared
That was much worse than letting go The majesty was gone
And in its wake was an ugly, wrinkled piece of latex With the silly string hanging onto it
No majesty, no grace, no beauty left
Maybe the balloon is like our soul when it flies away
It soars up, always looking upward, always shooting for the top of the sky Maybe our souls do that too.
They leave the hands that grab at them to reach a higher place.
When I die, I don’t want sad
I want happy
I want a 100 balloons in a huge bouquet at my funeral
All colors of the rainbow – red, green, yellow, purple, blue
And I want other colors too – melon, chartreuse, watermelon, violets No black please, black is sad
Just many bright colors so that people can see them and smile
In think happy thoughts, and warm thoughts, and laughing times
So when the words are said, the songs are sung Take a balloon
Hang on tight
And when you get outside
Let it go
Watch is soar
And think of my soul being that balloon And think of me is happy
And smile while he stare into the sky And wonder like I
Where do balloons go?
Thank you for your vulnerability in speaking of grief. It’s so helpful to feel the common connection to this experience and know that we are in it together.
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It’s very important to really FEEL emotions, not only talk about them