An Open Letter to Vanessa Bryant and Her 3 Children

Every Kobe Bryant tribute thus far has addressed the obvious -- we lost a basketball legend and his 13-year-old daughter who aspired to be him...and more. I have nothing to add to those sentiments. Kobe Bean was a complicated figure who came to peace with who he had become, most prominently a mentor and a father. That's where he and Gigi's loss will be felt most -- to you four -- even as much as NBA fans mourn in a cocktail of sadness and pure, unadulterated nostalgia.

Kobe and Gianna leave behind four family members, Vanessa and her three children, Natalia (17), Blanka (3) and Capri (7 months). You will mourn appropriately, and publicly, because you have no choice. As much as we claim to respect your space and timing, healing the grief of a nation (and beyond) requires response and action. It's unfair and incredibly selfish, but it's the lift you, Vanessa, unknowingly signed up for when you first married Kobe at 19.

But believe it or not, you've already proven strong enough to lead the charge. We shouldn't be surprised.

This letter comes from a place of personal experience, although my story will never be your story.

I lost my father in a car accident when he was 43. I was 10. My brother was 5. My mom carried us, publicly remaining strong and gaining independence by the day, and privately letting us in, showing her children that it is was okay to grieve, to not be okay.

For you, Vanessa, it's entirely possible this dichotomy will be even more exaggerated. Your version of public life is essentially a statement to the entire NBA community of how to act. However you choose to deal with this, however you grieve, is the right choice. Do not let anyone, especially myself, tell you otherwise. Your story, and your children's stories, have yet to be written. And they will be strong, just like you and their father.

Kobe is an enormous figure in the basketball world. He will never be forgotten. Yet, in terms of day-to-day life, the news cycle will take hold. For you all, though, it isn't nearly as simple. When grieving someone so close to you, so infectious and instrumental in the lives of three rapidly-growing human beings plus a loving wife, each and every day removed from a tragedy is another 24 hours without a person who meant so much to you. In that sense, his now-retired number is a sick trick. As the general public moves onto another moment, you're left reminded of what used to be, and the hole inside you only grows with fading memory replaced by the black mass that is grief and its first cousin, depression.

The god's honest truth about this very moment, in the immediate aftermath, is that it's the most healthy. You have as much support as you could ever need (and then some), and everyone thinks they understand your situation. Embrace those who don't fade into the background, whisked away by another terrible event. They're the ones to lean on when things get tough somewhere down the line.

All of this sounds like a sad take on reality and, frankly, it is. This is only my story, pushed upon you like so many others are surely doing in the moment. Your story, I hope, brings with it the eventual optimism you all deserve.

Vanessa, you deserve to see your children grow into the example you and Kobe set for them, even without his overwhelming presence. That, in its simplest form, can provide some sort of joy in the interim. Your children, from what I can tell, are a tremendous representation of what you and Kobe were meant to build. They will need help, and I have no doubt you'll provide whatever necessary. You're a Bryant, which means you go above and beyond the expectation to achieve greatness. In your own way, you've been living out Kobe's inspiration all long.

I wrote this because I wanted to help. I doubt this story ever makes it into your loving home, but in the slim chance it inspires someone, anyone, to reach out, it will have done its job.

Mamba Mentality lives on forever, through all of you.