Part 2

In my last entry, I wrote about basketball, Kobe Bryant, and memories of my son playing basketball.  Nothing in the entry referenced the connection to my depression.  This entry explains my heartache and anxiety associated with the sport.

When I realized the seriousness of Elliott, my son, wanting to play professionally, my biggest fear was that it wouldn’t happen.  At 5’11, 180 lbs (all muscle), he was up for some pretty stiff competition.  Although he is fast on his feet, driven with the Mamba Mentality of Kobe Bryant and extremely dedicated, I worried that his height and also the fact that he did not make the high school or university basketball team would be the most significant obstacles on or lacking on his resume.

Elliott trained so hard, on and off the court, to make basketball a career.  His entire life has revolved around the game.  Yet, I knew he was at a bit of a disadvantage because of his height.  Height can significantly influence success in sports.  According to the Complete Idiots Guide to Basketball (Walt Frazier and Alex Sachare, 1998), all players are often thought to have an advantage because their shots have less distance to travel to the basket, they start closer to the rebound, and their ability to reach higher in the air yields a better chance of blocking shorter players.

The average height of an NBA player is 6’7”.  There is an 8-inch difference between this average and Elliott’s height.  I became obsessed with height when Elliott began investing a lot of time, money, and energy into fulfilling his dream after college.  I knew that mentally nothing was going to get in the way of Elliott’s success. Although there is nothing that I can do about his height, the only thing that was in my power was to give him 100% of my support.  My son never mentions anything about his height.  I have never heard him complain about it.  Never.  For me, it is a whole different scenario.  In my head, lack of height is what I know will prevent him from moving forward.  That really hurts my heart.  I want him to succeed as badly as he does.

Although he is fine with where he is currently, there is nothing that would make his life more complete than playing overseas (or in the U.S.) professionally. As mentioned in my previous blog, Elliott is on a semi-pro team in Flordia, and had the opportunity to compete in China and has had a few leads since China.  I want more for him.  I want bigger and better for him (no pun intended).

There is nothing worse than someone with depression worrying about their child’s success in something they are so passionate about.  It keeps me up at night. It makes me cry, each day, that he is not where he wants to be.  And I can’t do a thing about it!

On to something else that has hurt my heart is Kobe Bryant’s death.  I will never forget where I was when I heard about it.  When I first read the breaking news, I thought it was a joke.  I really thought TMZ was pulling a fast one.  Over the next few hours, I realized it there was nothing more real.

I have never cried about the death of someone I don’t personally know.  Celebrities have passed, and I felt terrible.  I may play their music or watch their movies a few times, but none has sent me into such a depression.  I saw all the mourners pouring onto the Staples Center, LA, and around the world, but I felt they didn’t admire him as much as I did.  I don’t even think my son felt as horrible as I did.  It put me into such a state of depression. I took time off from work.  I couldn’t stop watching specials and interviews regarding Kobe Bryant’s legacy on and off the court.  I bought every magazine with Kobe on the cover.  I’ve saved them all.  I cannot explain the severity of the mental anguish I went through.

It was just three days after Kobe’s death, that my son showed me that he understood what pain I may be going through.  He never helps me with the depression side of things.  Anxiety attacks, when he is around, he helps me get through, but I have never felt his compassion, empathy, or understanding of my diagnosis.  On this particular day, Elliott sent me a beautiful bouquet of flowers.  They were all purple and yellow.  He got me, finally! I don’t know why this is the only time in his life that he showed sympathy for my depression.  It has bothered me every day since he was made aware of my depression, that he refuses to acknowledge or help me through my depression.  He has no idea what that small gesture of sending flowers did for me.  It helped me through an extremely difficult time.  If I could feel that support from him more often, I think depression would be more bearable.

He has been aware of my diagnoses for at least twenty years and in those twenty years, I have been gifted his support once.  It is this one gesture that made me realize, even more, how much I would appreciate his support.  Granted, children are not supposed to take care of their Mom/Dad, but I know how much of a difference it made when I supported my Mom in her depressive episodes.  Through my setting this example, one would think he would do the same.  I have never asked him for help during a depressive crisis.  I shouldn’t have to.  I have asked him to educate himself on depression, but it seems he hasn’t.  That hurts my heart.  The flowers, although long gone, are my only source of his comfort as far as this disease is concerned.  Sad.  Am I expecting too much?

Why?  This question further made my depression worse.  Why was I reacting to Kobe’s death in such a way?  Why did I feel such a strong connection to him?  My life in the following months became hazed over in purple and yellow.

The unnecessary tragedy.  The loss of Kobe’s beautiful daughter.  The beautiful love story between Vanessa (his wife) and their children.  His dedication to helping others in need.  Although Kobe retired years earlier, basketball lost a legend.  The world lost a man who cared about the plight of others and made a difference in many people’s lives.

As I write this, more than six months after the passing of Kobe, his daughter, Gianna, and the other seven lives taken too soon, I cry.

This brings me to my final thought about basketball, Kobe, and my son.  I have terrible anxiety over flying and driving.  When my son told me about winning the U.S. tournament and would be competing in the China Jump 10 competition, my second thought is “He has to travel.  Travel internationally!”  I fretted over that prospect until the day he returned home – well over four months.  I experienced four months of non-stop anxiety.

And then Kobe dies, less than six months later, dying a mere 26 minutes after take-off!

My take away:  I want everything (and more) my son, Elliott, wants.   I always need him to be safe.  I idolized Kobe Bryant and didn’t even realize it until his death.  Sympathetic gestures go a long way.  I need emotional support from the one that matters most, my son.

God bless Elliott and Kobe, my basketball heroes.