The Worst Nightmare

A few years ago, a country song came out by an artist named Cam that was called “Burning House.” The opening verse went like this:

I had a dream about a burning house,

You were stuck inside,

I couldn’t get you out,

I lay beside you and pulled you close,

And the two of us went up in smoke.

When that song came out, I listened to it once. From then on, when the opening notes of that song hit, the station was immediately turned. I couldn’t handle it. That mental picture was too much. All I could think about was either my wife, my daughter, or my son in that situation. As a father and a husband, you are supposed to be the protector. But those lyrics presented the absolute worst nightmare. Knowing the horror that’s coming but being powerless. Just knowing the end is here and there’s nothing you can do to protect the ones you love. Far too real. And way too close to home.

When the initial reports hit yesterday afternoon about Kobe Bryant, my reflection was simply on him. I thought back to the summer after my senior year of high school. June 26, 1996. A few days before my 18th birthday, I remembered watching Kobe get drafted to the NBA right out of high school. Kobe had also just graduated high school and was also not yet 18. I remember thinking how cool it was that he was my age and was about to play ball with and against my (or better yet, our) idols – Jordan, Barkley, Kemp, Shaq. I had those dudes basketball cards. He was about to suit up next to them.

I thought about following Kobe through the years. I was never really a fan of his as a player – I was Team Shaq during that squabble (LSU and all) and a Spurs fans during the Laker resurgence around 2009 – but followed him because we were the same age, give or take a month.

And then the news reports flashed the years on the TV. 1978-2020. Even at 41, seeing your birth year on the front end of an obituary is always a startling thing to see.

Losing celebrities is a weird thing for us non-famous folks. We don’t know them personally and, most of the time, only know the side of them they want us to know about. But when they die, we harken back to the feelings they gave us, whether it be the music, the movies, the sports moments. You name it. In the past few years, the ones that come to mind for me are Prince and George Michael. And for a few minutes, that’s how I was reflecting on Kobe. Kobe the basketball player and Kobe the celebrity.

But then the news got horribly worse. His 13-year-old daughter was with him. They were headed to her basketball game. And then more. First 3, but later, 7 other people were with them, including other parents with their children.

And that country song immediately came back.

All I could think about, as a dad and a husband, was Kobe and those other parents. Thinking about when they knew the helicopter was in trouble. When they knew it was actually going to crash. How the kids were reacting. And what Kobe and those other parents were going through as they no doubt tried to console their children all the while knowing they were powerless to do anything to protect them.

The thoughts are paralyzing. The worst nightmare.

No longer was this about Kobe the basketball player or Kobe the celebrity. He was now Kobe the parent. And you could put yourself right into his shoes.

That’s what makes this so much different. So much harder to comprehend. And so much closer to home.