My Emotional Memory of the Day JFK Died

Nov. 22 marks the 47^th anniversary of the assassination of President John Fitzgerald Kennedy. He rode in a motorcade in Dallas, Texas, accompanied by his wife, Jackie. At 12:30 p.m., JFK was shot by Lee Harvey Oswald. While people around the world honor and pay a moment of respect in various ways to the 35^th president of the United States, they also share stories of that grave moment in history.

A memory frozen in time, I vividly recall what that day was like for me.

The Forever Moment

I begin to pen these words about what it was like the day John F. Kennedy was assassinated. I feel a distinct chill through my body. I was 8 year -old. Because I was not feeling well, I stayed home from school on Nov. 22, 1963. I was riding in my mother's car. She was on her way to grab her pay check at work.

The radio was on, but I cannot recall the song. In the middle of the song, though, a man broke in on the radio. He had an urgent announcement to make. Little did I know I was about to hear something that, from that moment forward, would become a critical chapter of the history of my country.

Choking on his own words, the man said President Kennedy had been shot in Dallas: "JFK is dead."

My mother pulled her car to the side of the road. She did not look at me. I looked straight ahead. Mom covered her face with her hands and started to cry in a reserved manner. I cried too.

The Pain of the Forever Moment

Sitting there in the car on that Massachusetts country road, the pain I felt in my 8-year-old heart at that moment was multi-layered. Part of the pain was for President Kennedy, and some of the emotion I experienced was for my mom.

It tore me apart to see her sobbing, albeit quietly, like that. I really wanted to help, but made no attempt to comfort her. She did not make a move to comfort me either. The silence in the car was deafening. The '60s were a different time, and emotions were kept in check in my family.

There was no offer of a hug to make things better. Back then, the reality of life and of death were faced head-on and dealt with in an appropriate manner. There was no need for mushy outpourings of emotion.

This odd piece of my memory is as fresh today as it was 47 years ago. As I sat there crying, not quite knowing what to do next, I wondered where Dallas was. Dallas had the ring of some place big. Like Hollywood or Washington D.C. Well, compared to the mundane name of the little country town where I lived in Massachusetts.

Funny the things you never forget when an event so overwhelming is seared into your brain. The very mention of the name JFK was so significant to me at that time, I just knew if he was in Dallas it must be a very important place.

American Version of the Royal Family

To fully comprehend the depth of John Kennedy's death that day, you have to realize how vital and deeply respected he was in the eyes of my family. John and Jacqueline were like the British Royal Family to my mother, my grandfather, and great aunts. These people filled scrapbooks with what they believed were noteworthy news clippings about the life of JFK and First Lady Jackie Kennedy.

Those scrapbooks are a journey of JFK's life before and after death. They are now a sacred part of my own remembrance of the horrific day my president died.

Sources:

Bonnie K. Goodman, "On this Day in History... Nov. 22, 1963 President John F. Kennedy was Assassinated in Dallas, Texas"