On Sunday, it was 40 degrees out and I was waiting for a train in Cold Spring, New York. I was ill-prepared and freezing, wearing Jeffs lightweight Patagonia jacket and my own T-shirt underneath, clumsily tucking my icy fingers into the sleeves that stretch below my knuckles (as all his sleeves do). It was the end of a day following what had been our regular Sunday itinerary: a hike, a local beer, a walk down a little towns main drag before confronting the Sunday scaries awaiting us in the city.

With at least 15 minutes until the train would arrive to cart me and our dog back to Manhattan, I felt my phone vibrate in my back pocket. I took it out assuming my friend was texting about our evening plans, only to read a CBS Sports alert that the larger-than-life, invincible Kobe Bryant had died in a helicopter accident.

Im not much of a basketball fan, but Kobes legendary status wasnt lost on me, the sister of a devout NBA follower and the best friend of a Los Angeles native who wore Kobes number 24 jersey the day I met him and quite literally every day in college.

Oh my god, I said loudly to no one, shocked by what Id just learned.

But then I was shocked again ... to be shocked. Of all the people who understand how suddenly death can happen, Im the first in line.