To the Friends of Vanessa Bryant
As soon as I heard the news about Kobe Bryant, his daughter Gigi, and the 7 others who died in the helicopter crash, I wanted to chaplain their families. Since I can't, I wrote this instead.
A Letter to the Friends of Vanessa Bryant,
My first thought, when I heard the terrible news, is that Vanessa needs a really good chaplain right now. I don't know if she's had access to that, though, so what I really hope is that you - her friends - are taking good care of her.
I hope you are surrounding your friend with love right now. She needs you, even if she can’t express it. She needs you to be sending her some caring vibes, whether that’s through prayer or loving thoughts. I don’t know exactly what kind of care Vanessa needs – that’s where you come in, you're the ones who know her well – but I can say, she definitely needs care.
I hope someone is organizing meals.
I hope someone is helping with the kids.
I hope someone is making sure the laundry is done, the house is cared for.
I hope someone is calling her.
I hope someone is texting her.
I hope someone is just sitting at her house with her.
I hope someone has offered to stay the night with her.
I hope someone has offered, or just done, all these things without waiting for her to ask. Because sometimes, when you're grieving, you don't even know what you need. You don't know what to ask for. It's just one more thing to do. So I hope someone is paying attention to what she needs.
I hope someone is combing through her photographs. I hope someone finds photographs of her with Kobe, of her with Gigi, of Kobe with Gigi. I hope someone finds photographs of Kobe with Natalia, with Bianka, with Capri, and of each sister with Gigi. I hope someone prints these pictures and puts them in frames so that they all can have these pictures in their rooms. It would bring a little bit of comfort in the midst of so much pain.
I hope that someone is being empathetic with Vanessa. I hope someone says all the right things. And the only right things to say are:
I’m here.
This is so sad.
I’m sorry.
I hope someone doesn’t say things like, “They’re in a better place.” While theologically that’s true (and eschatologically, I agree with that), to Vanessa, the best place they could be is with her. In her arms. Sleeping in their own beds. By her side.
I hope someone can be comfortable with silence.
I hope someone can be comfortable with tears.
And even if it's uncomfortable, I hope someone stays.
I hope someone reaches out and grabs her hand. I hope someone hugs her, and holds onto her until she lets go.
I hope that above all else, someone is simply there.
And I hope the same thing for Chris Chester’s friends. I hope they show up in the devastating loss of his wife Sarah and daughter Payton. I hope the same things for the friends of his sons, Hayden and Riley.
I hope the same thing for the friends of the Altobelli family – for friends of the families of John and Keri, and their daughter Alyssa, all who died in that horrific crash.
I hope the same for coach Christine Mauser’s friends, that they will care for her family after her tragic loss.
I hope the same for the friends of pilot Ara Zobayan. I pray his friends rally around his loved ones after the overwhelming shock of losing him.
And beloved, I hope for the same for the friends of anyone who has lost a loved one. If you have a friend whose partner or child or parents or sibling (or best friend) has died, I hope you will do these same things.
I hope you ask how you can help. Even better, I hope you offer specific ways to help (laundry, food, childcare…)
I hope you look for special photographs and frame them as a small-but-sweet gesture in the middle of their pain.
I hope you say the only three good things to say after unspeakable tragedy:
I’m sorry.
This sucks.
I’m here.
I hope you keep your theology to yourself, at least for a little while. And I hope you think about the implications of the theological statements you share before you share them.
I hope you can be there even in silence and tears, even when it’s uncomfortable.
I hope you remember the power of touch for a person who is grieving.
I hope you’ll be there.
And God forbid that I ever need to be that friend for you, but if that day comes, dear friends, know I love you. And I'll be there.