The
Bitter Taste of Anguish
When
Our President Died
November
22, 1963
The life of
President John F. Kennedy was first on today’s gratitude list in my journal.
The rest of today’s entry follows:
It’s hard to believe
I was once the little girl—preteen—sitting in my classroom crying because our
president was killed. Yesterday, a friend and I spoke about the “past,” and how
we don’t have to relive it. We don’t, but remembering—memory—is important.
Memories can shape who we are today if we use them to fuel the positive aspects
of life we have gained from our experiences. And what was/is positive about
November 22, 1963? We mourned together—as we now also do on September 11. That
time—fifty years ago—shaped who we are today.
Did
Fears of Nuclear Annihilation
Armor
Our Psyches?
I remember being so
fearful during the months preceding the assassination. I was afraid of war, of
nuclear attack, of bombs dropping from the sky. None of those things happened.
However, I now wonder if at some deep level of our collective psyches we
weren’t prepared, maybe not prepared, but holding our personal armor in front
of us to brace for the disaster we perceived was imminent. However, the
disaster through which we lived was light years away from what we feared. Perhaps
it was because I was numb after the horror of our president’s murder, but my
memories of duck-and-cover drills and practice evacuation walks to the railroad
tracks fade after that November day.
What never faded was
our collective grief and dismay that the president so loved was cut down in
such a cruel manner as he smiled and waved to the people of Dallas on a day
that the sky was clear and blue.
A
Bitter Taste of Anguish
Those of us who were
young enough to not yet be wounded by life and uncertainty and the random chaos that
breaks hearts, had our first bitter taste of anguish that day. We were changed and
continue to be changed by those dark clouds that crept across the blue and
blocked the light of the world.
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