Dear Dad… It’s Me.

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To: Anthony Mason

From: Antoine Mason

Charity: Cristian Rivera Foundation

Sponsor: Alan B. Brill & Associates

Dear Dad,

It has been almost exactly four years since you passed away and there is not a day, not a second, that I don’t miss you. More than anything I just want to tell you that I love you. I vividly remember the day I lost you. Mom and I were holding your hands when you passed. I literally felt my heart drop. I felt numb and I almost lost feeling in my legs. That was the worst feeling that could ever happen to anybody. It was really tough.

You told me weeks before you died that 2015 would be the hardest year of my life and if I could get through this I could get through anything, but I thought you were just talking about basketball. When you died, it felt like my life was over. I didn’t care about much of anything except taking care of mom and nana. I lost the love for the game, a love that I had had since I was a baby.

Mom always said I was basically born in Madison Square Garden. When I used to hear your name in the stands I would get excited. You and mom introduced me to every other sport before basketball but I always wanted to play ball. Whether it was AAU, Niagara or Auburn you were always watching, even if you weren’t there. After you died it felt weird to play ball and not have you there.

Anthony Mason played professional basketball from 1988-2003.

When we talked after games you always went to the bad first. You told me what I needed to work on, then you would go to cracking jokes and making stuff easy and funny again. There was never a dull moment with you! You were my best friend. I don’t even have a favorite memory of you. All of them mean so much to me. But I do remember the first time I scored 30 points. It was against Iona and we (Niagara) won in overtime. I was excited we won.

I figured you were going to be like “Yeah! Congrats!”

But instead you said, “Why the F did you shoot so many threes?”

I was like “Dang! I just scored my career high!”

Blah. Blah. Blah.

Antoine Mason played college basketball at Niagara and Auburn.

I think I am doing well and you said “You are just messing up your own percentage. If you are going to take threes, you got to take them at the right time.”

Even when I was at Auburn you still said I took too many threes. In my mind the challenge was I had to make the threes. So, I had just played against Kentucky and I think I hit five out of six, a very high shooting percentage from the three and then my coach, Bruce Pearl, told me that I was leading the SEC in three-point percentage. Right after the game I flew out to see you. At this point you were in the hospital and had a tube in your throat, so you couldn’t talk.

I told you, “For someone that you say can’t shoot threes I am leading the SEC in three-point shooting percentage.”

You just looked at me and shrugged your shoulders like “so what?” and we just started smiling.

It’s just things like that, memories like that, that always make me miss you because it was just always fun.

When you died I asked myself, “Do I really want to do this? Do I really want to play ball?

I don’t even have a favorite memory of you. All of them mean so much to me.

I was home for a while and I knew you wanted me to finish my season at Auburn but I was taking my time sulking and everything. Mom, who has really stepped up since you’ve been gone, finally said it’s time for you to go back to Auburn. She pushed me but deep down I knew all along I would play basketball again.

There have been some tough days, but any time I have a bad day I just think about you and you cheer me up. Any story about you makes me smile. It could be as simple as thinking about you coming into the house or me coming into the house and you just saying something outrageous and making me laugh. Basketball fans saw you as a tough, hard-nosed player but off the court you were one of the most heartwarming people you could ever meet. You were honest. You always wanted to make people laugh and you never wanted to disappoint anyone.

There are times you come in my dreams and you talk to me. I can hear your voice. Sometimes when I workout I can see you talking to me just like how it was, like you are here. People probably think I have lost my mind but we were that close, so you are going to appear in my life regardless of the separation.

Anthony Mason passed away February 28, 2015.

Dad, in the last four years without you I have definitely matured and grown up. As a man I am making sure mom is OK. Before Nana passed away I took care of her, too, just like you would have wanted. In basketball I have become a better shooter (still shooting threes). I have learned the game more, studied it more and I have focused on having a good pace. I have played in Cyprus, Canada, China and now I am about to head overseas again but I haven’t made a decision as to where yet.

In your process of making it to the NBA, you proved everybody wrong. You didn’t take a direct route to the NBA. You played in the CBA and overseas as well. You were somebody that defeated a lot of odds and I think in a weird way that is similar to path that I am going through. I want to make it to the NBA. I want to carry on your name and still have it out there.

Although, to be honest Dad, what makes me most proud to be your son is not even the fact that you played in the NBA. It is that I got to spend my whole life with you in the house, dropping knowledge to me as I grew up. The time you spent with me is what mattered most.

Because you ended up having so little time, just 48 years, I treat life differently now. I put more urgency in my life. I don’t procrastinate. If it’s time to do something, I just do it. Life is too short. If I believe I can do something then I am just going all out.

And Dad, I believe I can achieve ALL my goals in basketball. I am never going to quit and I am going to keep fighting until I can’t fight anymore. Losing you has made me hungrier to achieve the dreams that we envisioned together and when I do I am going to smile because I know you’ll be watching over me saying, “We did it!” I know more than anything you are proud that I found the love for the game again, but the truth is I did so because where there is basketball, there is also you.

Love your son,

Antoine Mason

 

Written with Lauren Brill

About the author:

I am a professional basketball player. Currently, I am playing in tournaments in New York City. My father was Anthony Mason. He played 13 years in the NBA. He is most well-known for his time on the New York Knicks from 1991-1996 .

About the sponsor and the charity:

Alan B. Brill & Associates, a personal injury law firm in New York, is empowering my voice. They will donate $50 dollars to the Cristian Rivera Foundation  in honor of the first 50 shares of my letter. The Cristian Rivera Foundation was close to my dad’s heart, as it is in honor of his friend’s son who passed away. The foundation is committed to finding a cure for Pontine Giloma through education and program funding. So please share my story, donate to a great cause and let’s make a difference!

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I have learned over my Fifty-Eight years of life, and more specifically over the last 10 that FDR's words about fearing only fear itself ring true; to me, they do, anyway. And, at the same time, how the words of the 23rd Psalm comfort me and my abundant faith in G-d allows me to fear only fear, knowing full well that He is always with me. Growing up in a Non-Orthodox, yet Observant Jewish family nicely brings both together and not only makes me feel more protected but commands me to believe so. You see, I have lived a different kind of life, as we all have to some degree, but mine changes daily. Not that I am ANY BETTER than anyone else, in fact, probably less so... I stray from my stories often. I shouldn't, but since my Stroke in 2012, I have somehow developed some sort of ADD, so please bear with me, the end will justify the means and I will *try* to stick with my story; for you, my readers. I moved my family of the ex-wife and four children Cross-Country in 2002 to be closer to my dad who was turning 75 that year, and while I could not afford both financially as well as mentally to move back to Southern California (where he and my mother lived), I chose the Midbar (Hebrew for Desert) of Arizona. Within just a few short weeks of moving here, I woke up one day with some of the most severe abdominal pain I had ever experienced. I found a local doctor and made an appointment to see him that day. I arrived at the appointment and was ushered into an examination room by their PA (Physician's Assistant), who is supposed to be the same as a Doctor, but not really (?). I was examined and Prescriptions for a Pain Medication and an Antibiotic. They continued to treat me in a like manner for almost six months when I ended up in an Emergency Room, where a CT Scan was performed and Colonoscopy was scheduled. I was then diagnosed with a grapefruit-sized obstruction and abscess in my colon that would require surgical intervention. Surgery was scheduled for two days later, on a Friday in Mid-March 2003. I arrived at the hospital at the designated time, 5:45 am; was admitted to the hospital; told them about ALL my allergies (including a BIG ONE, an allergy to a particular anesthetic agent), and taken to a room where I was put into one of those awful gowns and told that they'd be "right back" to take me to surgery. They promptly came back at 10:30 in the morning and took me to yet another room... to wait some more. At 11:45 the Anesthesiologist came in to talk with me. He informed me that he was going to use Propofol for my induction and that he was planning on using the EXACT ANESTHESIA TO WHICH I AM ALLERGIC to maintain me through surgery! "NOT ON ME, YOU'RE NOT", I exclaimed! "I'M ALLERGIC!!!" On my wrist sat a red band that clearly said ALLERGIES: CEVOFLURAINE. I then proceeded to give him a list of anesthetic agents that I knew to be safe. He tapped me on the knee and said: Okay, Smart guy, put yourself to sleep and quickly left the room. I awoke from the anesthesia on the following Wednesday evening. In addition to the NINE small incisions from various attempts to perform the procedure of removing 18" of my diseased colon through a scope, I also had one 6" cut in my belly that began around my navel and continued to just above my groin. I also began experiencing severe shortness of breath. The staples were ripped out of my skin by the Butcher Surgeon two weeks later, but my breathing difficulties continued. After being examined by one doctor after another, I finally decided to be examined by The Mayo Clinic. Over a ten-day to 2 week period, I was examined by multiple physicians, underwent numerous tests and procedures and was finally ready for my Report Appointment. I would learn the results of all of the tests and procedures and hopefully have a clear diagnosis and prognosis. The verdict had come in. Diagnosis: Terminal COPD (Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease Causation: Bacterial Pneumonia due to Malignant Hyperthermia caused by induction of Detrimental Anesthesia Prognosis: 5% chance of Five-Year Survival I then took my report to a highly regarded Pulmonologist for Follow-Up Care, but not before enrolling in Rabbinical School in New York City. I had, (since age ten) always wanted to be a Rabbi. It was now or never. On the advice of the Pulmonologist, I began taking Prednisone (a Steroid) that would open up my Bronchioles and make it easier to breathe. The normal dosage for a man who is 5'9" and weighs 150 pounds (before I got sick, I weighed 174 pounds, all muscle, by the way) is <100mg per day. My STARTING dose was 100mg THREE TIMES a DAY. the dosage was increased every few months for the following THREE YEARS, when, on Sunday, September 9, 2007, at the weight of 340 Pounds (the Steroids had been increased to 250mg Four Times a day), I collapsed and at Mayo Hospital, was intubated where my organs began failing. Two nights later, on the First Night of Rosh haShana, the Jewish New Year, and while being mechanically ventilated, I went into Full Blown Total System Failure, and suffered a Cardiac Arrest for 14 minutes, followed by a Coma of several weeks duration. During my Coma, I felt as if I was in a box. The box had four dirt walls and smelled like the Morning Dew. In the upper right corner of the box sat a red square with a white X inside of it. "If only I could click on that X, I might stop this program", I thought to myself, but I could not move; I could not stand; could not reach, and could not scream for help. I lay in this place crying out in fear for what seemed like days and weeks and months. Suddenly, my cries were replaced by Psalms. I was reciting Psalms, some of which I had never even read before! And the Psalms turned into Prayers; The Kol Nidre, chanted at the beginning of our Day of Atonement, Yom Kippur; every other prayer recited on this Holy of all Holy Days; the Prayers for the Sukkot Holidays that follow the next week and the Readings for every single Torah Portion of the year. I somehow knew them all. By heart. Without hesitation of memory and obviously without any text to look at. I kept reading and chanting day and night; night and day and resting in between. Really resting. Sleeping... until one day, I opened up my eyes to see my beautiful son Zac sitting at my side on my bed. Covering the holes in my throat and on the side of my neck, I managed to spit out "C'était le rêve de dix minutes le plus étrange que j'aie jamais eu"! I told my son that was the weirdest ten-minute dream that I have ever had in FRENCH, my first language and native tongue. He then told me that it had been over two months, and I was in a Hospice Facility. The night before, I had begun to breathe on my own a minute or so after being disconnected from the machines that had sustained my organs since September. A few days later I was wheeled to an ambulance outside to be transported to the truly amazing HealthSouth Rehabilitation Hospital in Scottsdale. The sun kissed my face as I felt like I was pulled up into a body of love. It spoke. In Hebrew: Don't worry, it said. "You and I are going to be okay". I spent the next six weeks learning to do things like eating and holding a pencil; how to shower and dress. I learned how to return to life. Six weeks after leaving HealthSouth, my dad died. In July 2018, my mom joined him. I have had many trials and tribulations over these last twelve years. A Stroke in 2012 took my ability to project my voice loudly; I've been hospitalized many times and know how very precious time is. I do not live for today, rather, I live for tomorrow. I do everything I can do today to help others, and pray that I am again awakened tomorrow to do more good. And if so, great! And if not; if G-d decides to take me tonight, I will hang out with my parents and loved ones forever. I win either way. President Roosevelt was right to believe in only fearing fear. Psalm 23 is even more so, as Faith follows all of us.

Funny my mom passed in 1991 as a 13 year old it was hard but she was much more then beauty. She was a fighter from the beginning and I will never be able to explain her impact. It shows you came from a strong famiy and I'm glad you had both a mom and dad because a lot of people don't. I pray your truth can make a difference

This is trying to scare us with more misinformation then actual information but thank you for giving us your reality. I like it a lot.and people just wash your hand like you should be doing anyway 😂

Great discussion, as well as some interesting numbers which I'm not sure are meant to calm us, or install even more fear. I have many of your same concerns. Just yesterday I scheduled a work trip to Miami for late next week, but am unsure if it will happen or not. And while i say or act like i'm not concerned, sub-consciously, i am quite sure it is weighing on my mind each time i cough, or sneeze, or feel "a little warm", or if someone around me does. One of the biggest fears i have is that with all of the media coverage and the additional testing becoming available, the numbers are sure to skyrocket, and this is going to really set some people off. Our country is going to go absolutely bonkers . We are all guilty of taking limited amounts of information and either talking about it like an expert, or completely overreacting. Here's hoping that the number stat to level out, and then drop. Lets hope that the American people can follow simple suggestions. Lets hope that countries from around the world can work together to come up with a viable plan to slow this train down. And last but not least, lets hope our politicians can come together to provide our country guidance as we all try to get through this. Lets hope they can forget about the presidential race for just a minute to remember what their job really is; to serve the American people. And now is their time to really step up and lead by example.

Lauren, like you I have to balance my fear and confusion. I work directly with the public and I have an immune system that is partially suppressed as a by product of treatment for Rheumatoid Arthritis. I fear for my Father the most as his body is much weaker than even mine. I visited the Cleveland Museum of Art on Sunday just to learn three people were positively diagnosed on Monday in Cuyahoga county. You aren't alone in that fear. I think that we must turn to hope to keep us in this trying time. We have to...

Terry, As a man who has lived and breathed baseball, your letter was an absolute joy for me to read. What young boy wouldn't want to be in the clubhouse with his Dad? During your time as manager I've been to quite a few games in Cleveland. None though were as special as July 12th 2014. That was the day I celebrated my 30th birthday. Though the day centered around my birthday it saw me doing something for someone else. It was the day I took my Father to the very first professional sports game in his 59 years of life at the time. It was so touching the certificate that he got from the wonderful folks at Guest Services. And although the home team lost to the White Sox that day, it will always remain one of the best days in my heart. Letters like yours only serve to renew my love for the game of baseball. Thanks for sharing it with the little boy still inside of me wanting to throw that 0-2 curveball to the best hitter in the league.

[…] enough, in the email was your letter to your late father, former NBA basketball star Anthony Mason, talking about your struggles after his death. You wrote […]

Sweet Lauren, I agree completely with the promise that Brian asked you to make. Frankly, it is the only way that I know to love; totally, completely, wholly and unconditionally. You deserve nothing less, nor does your future love.

Wow. What a truly moving and powerful story. We often take for granted the small gifts we give each other just by being present. I'm sad for the heartache. I'm glad you stayed and became. Who knows what little girl or boy will be attributing their life's purpose to some kindness you shared. Peace and Sunshine

You’re welcome Lauren looking forward to all the future stories :)

Thank you Tony. I appreciate all your support.

Thank you Tony. I appreciate all your support.

I’m sorry to hear about Brian but he was right you are too beautiful to not receive roses Lauren:)

[…] Here is why you need to stop being nice and start being loud […]

Thanks for this! So what movie set did you get on?

So nice Roger <3

Pat, Your letter touched me in a very profound way. It left me in tears in the middle of my work day. It made me want to share something with you. On a July morning in 2007 a police officer answered a 911 call I had made when my Mother went into cardiac arrest. Between that officer, my best friend and the fire fighters who showed up minutes later they were able to restart her heart, however at the hospital she passed away an hour later. At the end of his shift that officer stopped by my home to check on the situation and cried when I told him the unfortunate news I received only 4 hours prior. He tried to apologize to me. I looked at the anguish in his eyes and asked him directly what for? He described the ways he felt sorry. What I want to leave you with was my reply to him. I told him he had nothing to be sorry for because he answered the call in what was the darkest moment in my life. I told him that he was a hero regardless because it takes a special person to answer calls like that. You are a hero to people Pat. No one can ever take that away from you. I understand the process you're going through as I've been there myself and like you I still struggle with it when no one is looking. You aren't alone in this. I hope your healing process continues on and you can regain the happiness in this beautiful life. You'll always be a hero to those people, because you were there when the call came Best wishes Roger Chamberlain

Ruth, your letter moved me to tears. Once upon a time I was very closed off about the LGBT community but over a course of several years, I turned my fear into understanding and I actively stand with the community for their equal rights because it is the right thing to do.