Speechless

First, you need to know this: they are twins.

JP and JD. Both live in Colorado Springs. Both dynamic. Both athletes. Both deeply loved.

This past week, JP passed away in his sleep. JP had Prader-Willi syndrome, but that diagnosis never defined him to those who knew him. Around Cheyenne Mountain, everyone knew John Paul.

For more than four years, you could count on one thing at a home basketball game: halftime would come, and JP would step out to take his half-court shot. That was his moment. His tradition. His joy. And everyone in the gym waited for it.

Just a week before he passed, JP played in the Unified game and scored 26 points.

Last night was supposed to be a normal varsity game.

It wasn’t.

It was an “Orange Out” for JP. The gym was filled with students and families wearing orange in his honor. And JD—James—was set to play his first game just days after losing his twin brother. Many in that community have their own stories of loss, but no one quite knew what the night would hold.

No one expected to leave speechless.

Before the varsity game, they played another Unified game. The stands were packed. Just like the week before, every basket was met with a standing ovation. The celebration of effort. Of joy. Of togetherness.

Only this time, JP wasn’t there.

His jersey rested on the varsity bench, surrounded by memorabilia. A visible reminder of who was missing—and who was still very much present in spirit.

James looked shaken before the game even began. You wondered how he could possibly play.

Then something remarkable happened.

The opposing team wore orange, too. On their warm-up shirts they had written: This game is for JP.

When it was time to tip off, James took off his own jersey and put on JP’s.

The opening tip went to the other team. They immediately passed the ball to JD and let him take a half-court shot.

It was beautiful.

At halftime, the moment everyone had been waiting for arrived. JP’s shot. JD stepped to the spot his brother had owned for years. One shot after another. And when the final one dropped through the net, the gym erupted—not in noise alone, but in something deeper.

The crowd flooded the court and wrapped James in a community embrace I will never forget.

Cheyenne Mountain won the game. But the game was an afterthought.

James scored 24 points—just two shy of JP’s 26 the week before. You could almost hear JP from heaven: “I got you, bro.”

The real winner wasn’t the scoreboard. It was the moment. The entire two-hour moment.

When the final horn sounded, no one moved. Not one person rushed for the exits. They stayed. Watching James. Watching the hugs. The tears. The love. No one wanted to break what had just happened.

I’ve been going to basketball games for over 50 years.

This one was different.

I walked to my car not wanting the night to end. I sat there with the engine running, unable to pull away.

JP hit the shot.

JD hit the shot.

And we were all left full… and speechless.