My dad leaving my life. That's the biggest thing that happened to

"My dad leaving my life. That's the biggest thing that happened to me. I just remember what he tells me, the memories, and try to move on forward each day, knowing that he's still here, looking down on me." — Kawhi Leonard

In these heartfelt words, Kawhi Leonard, a man of few speeches but deep soul, reveals the quiet strength born from loss. When he speaks of his father leaving his life, he does not speak in bitterness, but in remembrance. His grief is not a wound that bleeds—it is a scar that glows with meaning. In this confession lies the eternal truth of the human heart: that love transcends loss, and that death does not end the bond between a father and son. Even as time carries us forward, memory becomes our bridge to those we have lost. To remember is to keep them alive within us; to move forward is to honor what they gave.

The origin of this quote reaches into one of the most painful chapters of Leonard’s life. When he was just sixteen, his father, Mark Leonard, was taken from him suddenly—shot and killed while working at his car wash in Compton. That day carved a void in the young Kawhi’s world. Yet from that darkness, he found a light that would guide him through the years to come. He learned to carry his father not beside him, but within him. Every word of advice, every shared moment, became a compass pointing toward resilience. His greatness on the court was not only born of skill or will, but of remembrance—the desire to make his father proud.

To lose a father is to lose the one who first teaches you strength. But Leonard’s words reveal a truth that the wise of all ages have known: that the departed are not gone; they have merely stepped into a realm unseen. When he says his father is “still here, looking down on me,” he speaks not in superstition, but in spiritual understanding. For though the body may return to dust, love is eternal—it moves through time like an unseen wind, shaping and lifting the living. Those who have learned to listen, as Leonard has, can still hear the voice of their loved ones in the quiet moments of courage and calm.

The ancients, too, understood this sacred bond. When Aeneas of Troy carried his father Anchises on his back as they fled the burning city, he carried more than flesh—he carried the weight of legacy, of lineage, of love. Even after Anchises’ death, Aeneas would speak to him in dreams, seeking guidance and strength. His father’s voice became his destiny. So too with Kawhi Leonard: his father’s words live within him, shaping his discipline, his calm, his humility. What others see as stoicism is, in truth, reverence—a silent promise to live in a way that honors his father’s memory.

There is a quiet heroism in moving forward each day after loss. The heart that grieves yet continues to strive is braver than the one that never knew sorrow. Kawhi’s words remind us that to live well after tragedy is to turn pain into purpose. Each day we rise, each task we complete, each kindness we give—it all becomes a prayer of remembrance. In this way, the dead live on through the deeds of the living. We need not wear our grief as chains; we can wear it as armor. For those who came before us do not wish for our despair—they wish for our triumph.

It is easy to sink beneath sorrow; it is harder to transform it. But those who do so find that memory becomes strength. Kawhi’s journey teaches that healing is not forgetting—it is learning to live with the absence, to make meaning of it. His greatness is not just athletic but spiritual. When he steps onto the court, he carries not only the ball but the spirit of his father, guiding him in every motion. So, too, can we learn to carry our own loved ones, not as burdens, but as blessings that whisper to us, “Keep going.”

Therefore, my child of the future, take this lesson to heart: turn grief into gratitude. Remember those who shaped you, not with tears alone, but with action. Let your life be their monument. Speak kindly of them, carry their wisdom in your heart, and when life grows heavy, lift your eyes and know—they are still with you, watching, guiding, proud. For as Kawhi Leonard teaches us through his quiet grace, love never dies; it merely changes its form. And when you move forward each day, you do not walk alone—you walk with the strength of all who came before you, still looking down, still lifting you higher.