For ten straight years, I'd worked an NBA game on opening night. I wanted to make that happen this year, even though I wouldn't be assigned a game by my company, as I had grown accustomed to. So I planned to be at Madison Square Garden last week, for the season opener between the Knicks and the Boston Celtics. My angle, was to cover New York City native, and NBA All-Star Kemba Walker's first game as a member of his hometown Knicks.
This has been a trend among NBA Stars, choosing to go back home to play their sport. Close to the people who saw them grew up, the people who said they would never make it, and the culture that shaped them.
This got me thinking a lot about that word; Home.
In 2021, after the insanity of the last 2 years, is home still a city or place? Or is it a feeling that you create with the people around you, wherever your journey takes you?
When I was going to write this piece on Walker, I would've said, "Home is still a place. The city that shaped you is the only place one can call home."
Well, a lot happened since my original plan to cover that NBA game.
A night before the game, I received the news that a great friend of mine had passed away. He was sick with Covid, and fought in the hospital for over two months. We've been following his progress throughout that time, with plenty of ups and down. His wife, Angelica, is carrying their unborn child. Heartbreaking is an understatement.
Edward Ramcharran was someone who lit up the room, someone who always enjoyed life and made everyone feel welcome, feel like family, feel like home.
This entire situation made me reevaluate that word again; Home.
I flew back to my original home of Miami, Florida to lay our friend to rest. Due to the pandemic and a host of other reasons, I had not visited my hometown in over a year.
Despite the incredible and indescribable pain and suffering, I did witness something beautiful.
Friends flew in from all corners of the country. We held ceremonies, and had a massive dinner in celebration of our fallen friend. There were many tears, many open wounds, and plenty of pain. Nothing was more gut-wrenching than hearing Angelica's eulogy, but it also set off a sense of responsibility among many of us to help and protect her and her future child as much as possible. That is what brotherhood is about.
Ed and I met in college and have been very close friends for over 15 years. We were part of the Sigma Phi Epsilon fraternity. The three main principles in our creed are Virtue, Diligence and Brotherly Love. That last one, Brotherly Love, was on display in a way that I had never seen since joining the fraternity as a freshman in 2004.
The support for Angelica was evident from the very start. Weeks before his passing, many fraternity brothers went over to his house, to help clean up the backyard, empty a shed, and other chores that Ed had comically procrastinated on. (Husbands everywhere can relate)
So many of us have vowed to be there for Angelica, and be there for the baby throughout his life. This child is going to have so many uncles and aunts that he or she will either feel suffocated with love, or annoyed because he or she will never be able to get away with anything mischievous. The love and support that was shown was really a beautiful thing, despite the tragedy we were all experiencing. But all we were doing is living and loving like Ed would've. He touched so many people, and in his death, all of those people gave him that same love right back.
Back we go to that word; Home. I've lived in South Florida just 2 out of the last 10 years. It is where I was born and raised, where the majority of my loved ones are. I've missed that version of "home" dearly, and exponentially during the pandemic. But my other job is based here in the NYC metro area. I have a family and providing as much as possible for them is my main priority. This is where I need to be right now.
But from a personal standpoint, I still really wanted to be home.
After this past week, I realized that home isn't a place at all. It is a feeling. A feeling of love, support and peace. A sense of happiness with the ones you surround yourself with, whether they are close or far. I rediscovered what my home is, while not being home at all; while being away from my wife and two beautiful children. I thank Ed for that.
Now more than ever, hug your loved ones tighter. Book that trip that you're on the fence about. Call that friend or family member that you've been at odds with. The past two years have altered the lives of so many, and I believe many people are still searching for their new meaning of life, love and home. Ed taught everyone, that loving deeply and living life to the fullest, is the best way to find your new meaning of the word home in this new normal that we are all experiencing.
Kemba Walker may have come home to the New York Knicks. I still may not be in my hometown, but even in his death, Ed helped me realize that home is what the depth of your heart makes it out to be.
RIP Brother.
