Dale Earnhardt Sr.’s death left a scar on NASCAR that never really faded. And this week, after the sudden loss of Kyle Busch, Curtis Hook brought back a moment that no NASCAR fan can ever forget: Darrell Waltrip’s prayer at Rockingham in 2001. 

For longtime fans, it hit immediately because it sounded real. A grieving garage. A grieving friend. Somebody was trying to hold it together while the entire sport was falling apart around him.

“Our Dear Heavenly Father, Lord, our — our hearts are hurting. We’ve lost a great friend, and it all seems so unfair. Lord, we know you have a plan for every one of us, and it’s easy for us to deal with the triumphs, but today we have to deal with the tragedy.” Waltrip said that day.

You could hear it in his voice. NASCAR was stunned. Nobody knew what to say after Dale Earnhardt died on the final lap of the 1994 Daytona 500. Drivers still showed up the next weekend at Rockingham, but the garage felt hollow. Waltrip stood there and said out loud what everybody else was thinking.

Now, decades later, those words are being shared again because NASCAR is dealing with another loss that does not feel real yet.

Kyle Busch, 41, died Thursday following a sudden medical emergency during a Chevrolet simulator session. Reports later revealed Busch became unresponsive during a Chevrolet simulator session in Concord, North Carolina, one day earlier. Emergency dispatch details said he was struggling to breathe, overheating, and coughing up blood before he was rushed to a Charlotte hospital. By Thursday evening, NASCAR confirmed the news publicly.

That is why Waltrip’s prayer feels so current again. Back in 2001, Waltrip had experienced the emotional whiplash of celebrating his brother Michael’s first Daytona 500 win while fearing the worst for Earnhardt at the exact same time. Fans still remember him shouting, “I just hope Dale’s okay,” during the FOX broadcast as replays rolled.

 Hours later, NASCAR President Mike Helton announced: “We’ve lost Dale Earnhardt.”

A week after that, Waltrip stood at Rockingham trying to help NASCAR process something impossible. One part of that prayer still lands especially hard today:

“People ask us how can we go out and race today. We can do that first of all because we know that’s what Dale would want us to do.”

While there really may be no other parallels to these two personalities who filled the garage with their personalities, some similarities can be drawn. Like, Earnhardt won seven championships and became “The Intimidator.” Busch won 234 races across NASCAR’s top three series and turned “Rowdy” into a brand all by itself. The real similarity was the archetype they held.

You either loved them or hated them, but you watched every second they were on track. Both carried that larger-than-life energy where the entire race seemed to orbit around them.

There is also the Richard Childress connection. Earnhardt’s legacy was built driving the No. 3 for Richard Childress Racing. Busch joined RCR in 2023, looking for a fresh start after leaving Joe Gibbs Racing. He won almost immediately and became the centerpiece of the organization. Now Childress is mourning another superstar driver decades after losing Earnhardt.

And just like 2001, the garage now has to figure out how to race while grieving someone who felt woven into the sport itself.

Kyle Busch was Never Just the Guy Getting Booed

To a lot of fans outside NASCAR, Busch was the villain. The black hat. The guy who bowed sarcastically while crowds booed him during introductions. He leaned into it because he understood the role. NASCAR needs personalities people react to. But people inside the sport knew the public version of Kyle Busch was only part of the story.

The biggest example was the Bundle of Joy Fund he created with his wife, Samantha. That foundation came directly from their own infertility struggles. Years of IVF treatments. Miscarriages. Failed cycles. The kind of stuff most athletes never talk about publicly. Instead of hiding from it, they built a charity around it.

The fund eventually helped more than 100 families afford IVF treatments by covering costs that insurance usually refuses to touch. Busch did not just slap his name on it either. Couples who met him through the foundation often talked about how different he was away from the racetrack. The hard-edged “Rowdy” image dissolved fast when he started talking about family.

That softer side also showed up with younger drivers, too. Kyle Busch Motorsports became one of NASCAR’s biggest talent factories. Erik Jones and Christopher Bell both came through KBM before becoming Cup Series stars. Busch spotted Jones after getting beaten by him in a late-model race and signed him almost immediately. That was Kyle. If he respected your talent, he backed it.

Outside racing, Busch built businesses with the same intensity he raced with. Rowdy Energy, manufacturing companies, dirt racing programs, he kept expanding long after he had already made millions driving race cars. But in recent years, the biggest change in his life was obvious. Racing dad, became his favorite role.

Busch spent countless weekends helping his son, Brexton, race dirt cars around the country. He worked on the cars himself. Coached him corner by corner. Friends around the garage said Busch cared more about those weekends than almost anything else by the end.

That contrast always made him fascinating. On Sunday, he could dump somebody for a win and walk away grinning. By Tuesday, he was helping couples start families or teaching kids how to drive race cars.