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Goodbye, Kobe and Gigi.
It’s March 10, 2026. It’s been more than six years since it happened. But, for me, it often feels like it was yesterday. It still feels so real and so raw to me. Sometimes, I still feel like I’ve lost everything.
I was stationed on the US military base in the Kingdom of Bahrain when it happened. It was January 26, 2020. I had just finished briefing my troops for our daily 12-hour shift. After dismissing them, I went to my office to make some coffee and respond to emails from my superiors. The only thing on the internet that interests me is sports, so my default web browser is always set to open on the ESPN website.
There it was. Breaking: Kobe Bryant, daughter Gianna die in helicopter crash. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t blink. I couldn’t do anything but stare at the screen being blurred by my own freshly formed tears.
The thing is, I used to loathe Kobe Bryant. Kobe took Shaq from me; from us. That isn’t actually true. Kobe didn’t have anything to do with Shaq’s exit from Orlando. But that’s how I saw it. It was supposed to be Shaq and Penny winning championships, not Shaq and Kobe. I saw Kobe as an arrogant, albeit extremely talented, young kid who didn’t play the game for the right reasons. That’s what I believed back then. Looking back, I realized that was simply the jilted perspective of an Orlando Magic fan. Even post-Shaq, Kobe would continue to torment my favorite team. Kobe and the Lakers would go on to easily defeat my Magic in the 2009 NBA Finals.
The year before, in the 2008 NBA Finals, the Boston Celtics defeated Kobe’s Lakers. The Lakers got crushed in the penultimate game seven. Kobe did not play well and was largely ineffective. Or maybe Boston was just a team of destiny. Either way, I remember the cameras showing Kobe on the bench, crying on national television, as the final minute withered away. I’m ashamed to say that brought me joy. I have no love for the Celtics. But seeing Kobe lose—to be humiliated—was victory enough for me at the time. Sometimes, it’s just easier to root for greatness’ downfall than it is to embrace it.
But Kobe couldn’t be crushed under the weight of hate. He would ultimately win five championships. He was MVP of the NBA Finals twice. He won two scoring titles. He was an 18x All-Star and four-time MVP of the All-Star game. His only being named league MVP once is criminal. It doesn’t matter who you believe is the greatest basketball player of all time. If you love basketball, you probably love Kobe Bryant. If you don’t love him, you at least respect him. Personally, I think Michael Jordan was the greatest basketball player to ever grace the hardwood court. Jordan was pure fire. He was rage and resentment, personified. A fear of failure pushed Jordan to the greatest heights of dominance. Winning was his quest.
Kobe’s quest was that of love. He loved basketball. His passion was always evident. He was a student and a teacher of the game. For 20 years, his entire playing career, Kobe’s narrative always included Jordan. It was a commonly held belief that Kobe was chasing Jordan. Watching Kobe play, it very often felt like he was, in fact, chasing a ghost. But he wasn’t. He was just following his heart.
It wasn’t until Kobe ruptured his Achilles tendon and missed an entire season that I realized just how much he meant to the game—and to me. I remember when he went down and clutched at the heel of his shoe. I remember him looking up at a young Harrison Barnes, his face twisted in confusion and pain, and asking if he had kicked his foot. Kobe couldn’t fathom not being able to play the game he loved. That injury changed the way I saw Kobe. I missed him when he was gone. From villain to hero in my mind; from apathy to love in my heart.
Kobe’s love for the game fueled an incredible rehabilitation that took only eight months. That type of healing is not common for a ruptured Achilles tendon. But, then, Kobe was far from common. Even with no injuries, Kobe spent his summer off-seasons preparing his body and mind. He used to go to Germany to have these procedures where his own blood/plasma is extracted, spun in a centrifuge, and replaced back into his knees.
That love for the game brought him to the gym each day before any of his teammates or trainers. He was the last to leave after practice, too. His dedication to his craft was borderline-maniacal. He would come back to say goodbye properly. In the final game of the 2016 NBA season, Kobe’s last, he scored 60 on the Utah Jazz. Trailing in the final minutes of his final game, in the arena he’d called home for 20 years, Kobe went to work. He willed the Lakers to victory in a vintage, masterful performance. I remember how happy I was for him; how happy I was for the game of basketball. After the game, he addressed the crowd with an emotional thank you. “Mamba out,” and he dropped the mic on the court. It was a surreal moment, both believable and not.
But Kobe wasn’t done with basketball. His love for the game never diminished. He would go on to produce Dear Basketball, one of the most beautiful sports documentaries ever made. He was courtside at games. One night you’d see him at a Lakers game; the next, he’d be cheering Sabrina Ionescu at a women’s college basketball game in Eugene, Oregon.
And, there was Gigi. Jesus Christ, she was only thirteen years old. You’d see Kobe with Gigi, playing basketball together, and you just knew she was special.
So, there I am, on a literal desert island, on the opposite side of the world, crying at my desk. I couldn’t get it out of my head. I kept wondering what his final thoughts were. What did he say to Gigi? How much time did he even have to say it? How tight did he hold her? Did he know what was happening? Did she? I was crushed under the weight of my own thoughts.
The news caught me completely off guard. I felt an immediate void. I felt alone in the world.
My husband was back in the states. He didn’t care for sports, but he knew who Kobe Bryant was. I called him but he didn’t answer. I texted and got no response. I was in pain and needed him. But he wasn’t talking to me because he was in pain too. Separated by 7500 miles, our marriage was disintegrating.
I wanted to transition and live the remainder of my life as Tracy, not Ryan. However, my husband married, and was in love, with Ryan. He proved unable or unwilling, or both, to love me as Tracy. We would officially divorce in the summer of 2021, but our marriage was essentially over already.
I’d lost my husband, the only person I’d ever loved to that point. As my peers began learning about my desire to transition, they started treating me differently. I would lose many of them, too. As more people in my life found out, the more I lost.
And, then, I lost Kobe. It felt like losing an immediate family member. Some will say this is ridiculous, but Kobe Bryant was a real part of my life. I never met him. I was fortunate to see him play once, a pre-season exhibition game against the Clippers that took place in San Diego. Kobe was the only player who seemed locked in for what was essentially a meaningless game. Kobe was only two years older than me. I was starting high school when he was drafted. I grew up with him. I knew more about Kobe than I did some of my closest friends. Whether he knew it or not, he very much existed in my life.
Having previously obtained my degree in psychology from a box of crackerjacks, it is my professional opinion that I somehow conflated the loss of Kobe and Gigi with my own problems. In other words, despite my own problems and pain, had I not been such a fan of basketball, their tragic passing may have barely affected me, if at all. Since I was, that loss felt like the tipping point for me.
That was a period of great trauma for me. It was, far and away, the darkest time of my life. A lot more than I’m willing to write about (at least for now) happened. But I will say that there came a day when I thought I couldn’t take any more pain. Loss had consumed me. Only the intervention of a single human being, whom I didn’t even get along with, saved me. If he hadn’t cared, I wouldn’t be writing this.
My heart burst into a thousand pieces on that desert island. It’s taken years for me to put it back together. But I have.
And, yet, there’s still a piece I’ve never been able to find. I think it’s Kobe. I think Kobe is the missing piece of my heart.
Time and time again, I’ve thought about Kobe and Gigi. As a basketball fan, it is impossible to think about the game and not include Kobe in those thoughts. Our favorite players of today still wear his shoes out of love and respect. His in-game highlights still dominate social media. Analysts and announcers regularly reference him during game broadcasts. Fans endlessly debate the merits of his case for Greatest Of All Time. The MVP of the All-Star game is now named in his honor. “Be Like Mike” evolved into “Mamba Mentality.” We don’t even play 21 anymore. Now, we play 24. His spirit is still very much enmeshed in the game in a way no other player before him is. He inspires us.
In August of 2023, it was announced that the Lakers were unveiling a statue to honor Kobe and Gigi Bryant. I cried from the beginning of the article until I had finished its final words. I immediately knew this would be my pilgrimage. I swore that if I wasn’t able to do any of the things in life I still dreamt of doing that I would at least do this. I had to say goodbye to Kobe. I had to say goodbye to a part of my life that had been forever lost.
The Los Angeles Lakers are arguably the most storied franchise in the history of professional basketball. Some of the biggest names in the history of the sport played for the Lakers: Jerry West, Gail Goodridge, Elgin Baylor, Wilt Chamberlain, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Magic Johnson, James Worthy, Shaquille O’Neal, LeBron James, Kobe Bryant, etc. The Lakers built statues for most of them. The statues are larger than life, just like the legends they honor. But none looms larger than Kobe’s. His statue is front and center, outside the arena that he sold out for 20 years.
The six-foot six-inch shooting guard is immortalized on a massive pedestal with his hand raised to the sky, forever declaring victory. He stands atop a list of his accolades. He’s wearing number 8, which he wore the first 10 years of his career.
This past weekend, I was in Los Angeles. I went to see the statues myself for the first time. It was noon on a Saturday. The Lakers weren’t playing that day. Still, I found throngs of people at the statues. They all gravitated to the bronze Kobe like moths to a flame. As I approached, the tears started rolling. I stood there with Kobe, just being present in the moment. People approached the statue and smiled while their picture was taken. A group of four foreigners took turns taking each other’s pictures. I offered to take pictures of them as a group. They, in turn, were kind enough to take my picture for me. I put my hand over my heart. I didn’t smile. I could taste my own tears on my lips and where they’d pooled in the corners of my mouth. I kept my sunglasses on, not because it was sunny and bright, but to hide the pain in my eyes.
With a heart full of Kobe, I examined the rest of the statues. They were all just statues, though. They didn’t feel alive, the way Kobe’s did. They simply felt like monuments erected to pay homage to heroes of sport, out of respect more so than love.
I couldn’t find the statue I’d come to see, though. It wasn’t there. I walked up to the arena entrance and asked the security guards where Kobe and Gigi were. They pointed the way and I followed.
Beyond that entrance, beyond all the statues, is the Kobe Bryant entrance. The statue is there, all by itself.
The statue is based on a candid photograph of the two of them taken at a Lakers game on December 29, 2019, only a month prior to their passing. They’re sitting together, courtside. Kobe is wearing street clothes, including a knit cap adorned with the logo of the Philadelphia Eagles, his hometown football team. Apparently, Gigi had given it to him at Christmas, just a few days earlier. He has his arm around Gigi’s shoulder. She’s turned slightly in towards him. It looks like he’s pulling her close. Her face is alit with a smile, as if she’d never been happier. He’s kissing her forehead.
Ornate butterflies made of precious stone, colored in the Lakers’ iconic purple and gold, are embedded in the concrete surrounding the statue. They glisten in the sun at your feet. Kobe had a butterfly tattoo design on his right arm. It always stood out to me that he had a butterfly tattoo and not something more menacing or masculine. I’ve since learned just how significant the symbolism of the butterfly is to the entire Bryant family. It represents hope and transformation.
The statue is planted in a raised, marble garden with bedded flowers that are also purple and gold. The immortalized version of the father daughter pair was given a set of angel wings that encircle and protect them. Gigi’s smile. Kobe’s eyes. Their embrace. The wings. The flowers and butterflies. It’s the most beautiful piece of art I’ve ever seen.
At their feet, amongst the flowers, a plaque with the Mambacita logo reads: “Gianna is a beast. She’s better than I was at her age. She’s got it. Girls are amazing. I would have five more girls if I could. I’m a girl dad.” It’s a quote from Kobe, talking about Gigi. The plaque awards him the title “Most Valuable Girl Dad.”
It’s not even a basketball statue. It’s a beacon for love and hope.
Concrete benches circle the outer perimeter of the area around the statue. There’s no place to sit whatsoever with the rest of the statues just 100 yards away. I think that’s because this is a place of peace and calm. You’re invited to sit and be with them. Be still and feel their presence.
I sat for thirty minutes. I cried for them. I cried for myself too. I wasn’t simply paying my respects; I was saying goodbye. I was letting go of loss. Letting go of pain. Letting go of feeling alone in the world. In all that time, not one person approached the statue. Two different security guards, each on foot patrol, stopped to check on me and see if I was ok. But that was it. I had Kobe and Gigi to myself. I was able to say everything I wanted to say to them.
I forgave Kobe for stealing Shaq, but not for beating and subsequently stealing Dwight. He understood. We had a laugh. I asked him if he would beat Mike one on one. I swear he just smiled, like he knew the answer but wouldn’t tell anyone.
I told Gigi that the moment I learned about her being the Mambacita I swore to feverishly hunt every one of her future WNBA rookie cards. That she was destined to be great. She would be my favorite player no matter what.
I forgave myself too. I forgave myself for a prolonged moment of weakness, for giving up, for accepting defeat, years ago, in the desert.
All of our sports heroes inevitably leave us. However, there’s always this feeling that the bigger the hero, the more likely it is they’ll return. Ali returned. Tiger returned. Jordan returned, twice. Tyson won’t stop returning. But Kobe will never return. That dream, that so many of us are united in, will never be realized. Even more heartbreaking, Gigi will never grow up. Both dreams, just gone.
Mortality, especially our own, is difficult to think about. If Kobe and Gigi can be lost, anyone can. I can. Those I love can. Just like that. It’s terrifying.
I made their loss about me. It was never my intention to appropriate their loss as my own. That would be disrespectful to their memory. Regardless, I felt it deeply because I associated it with the loss of love in my own life when it happened. I was almost lost, too. But I managed to find the one ray of light that burst through the darkness at just the right time. I’m not proud of the fact that it took such extreme circumstances to make me realize how precious the gift of life really is.
My husband and I divorced. I transitioned. I’ve since found new love. I even have my own Gigi now! Most days I think about all of this, including Kobe and Gigi, if for but a moment. I still cry, sometimes; I can’t help it. But I’m filled with hope. And there’s some tears of joy there too; for now, I’ve seen the beauty of the love Kobe and Gigi had.
Basketball lives on and so do I. We both lost, but will never forget, Kobe and Gigi Bryant.
Rest in peace, you two perfect angels.
XOXO
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