On that dreary November morning, I sat in my office chair, daydreaming about my upcoming wedding.  As I pondered the most important event to happen in my life, a customer entered the office.  “Have you heard,” she said, “they’ve shot the president.”

I felt like a character from the past – an insignificant piece of a massive puzzle – knowing somehow I was part of one of the most historical events of my lifetime.  President John Kennedy had fallen victim to an assassin’s bullet and lay dead on an operating table.  The story began to unfold as we watched the scenes repeated over and over on our television screens.

As the events of this current tale of terror exploded rapidly, we watched the victim’s wife reach for the secret service man behind the convertible.  We saw her covered with her husband’s blood – her pink suit forever stained with crimson.  We witnessed the pursuit of the assassin and his eventual arrest and confinement.  We were glued to the screen as he was moved to a different area only to be confronted by a night club owner with a gun. We saw the assassin shot to death in an instant.

We looked on as a new president was sworn into office, while the dead president’s wife stood stoically alongside him – a look of dismay and shock on her face.  We suffered with the young children who were now fatherless – the many brothers and sisters who would mourn their sibling’s demise – the parents who had to endure losing a child again  and a country that would go through the process of grieving along with them.  A parade of dignitaries from many nations wept.  The youngest president to ever govern in the United States was dead.

Conspiracy theories were a dime a dozen.  Everyone had an opinion on who this man was – was there a mob connection – was the assassin, a communist – and did he act alone or was he part of a greater plan?  A special commission was assigned to investigate.

We were on the spot witnesses, watching the rendezvous with death unfold. He was  vulnerable to death as we all are.  Death comes to everyone.

Alan Seeger was an American poet who fought as a French Foreign Legion soldier during World War One.  This poem was favored by John F. Kennedy and he shared it with his wife on the return from their honeymoon..

I have a rendezvous with Death
At some disputed barricade,
When Spring comes back with rustling shade
And apple-blossoms fill the air—
I have a rendezvous with Death
When Spring brings back blue days and fair.

It may be he shall take my hand
And lead me into his dark land
And close my eyes and quench my breath—
It may be I shall pass him still.
I have a rendezvous with Death
On some scarred slope of battered hill,
When Spring comes round again this year
And the first meadow-flowers appear.

God knows ’twere better to be deep
Pillowed in silk and scented down,
Where Love throbs out in blissful sleep,
Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath,
Where hushed awakenings are dear …
But I’ve a rendezvous with Death
At midnight in some flaming town,
When Spring trips north again this year,
And I to my pledged word am true,
I shall not fail that rendezvous.

His new wife, Jackie, later would memorize it and say it to her husband.  The poem proved to be prophetic in a way, but we all have a rendezvous with that final stage of life.  Like all stories forged in fantasy, their on again off again relationship could be described as a great love story.  It continued even after death.

Death is imminent.  We can’t escape that fact.  When we’re convinced that death isn’t final, we’ve achieved true communion with God.







As I reach the end of my years, I find I have a lot of good information stored up in this old decrepit mind of mine. If I don't write it all down, it may vanish and no one will have the advantage of my thoughts. This is why this blog exists. I love the Lord, Jesus with all my heart and soul. I know I'm undeserving of all He's done for me, but I also know that His love is beyond my comprehension. I've always wanted to write. I never kept diaries, but tucked my thoughts in my head for future reference. I use them now in creating stories, plays, poetry and my blog. I continue to learn every day. I believe the compilation of our time spent with God will have huge affect on the way we live. I know I'm a sinner and I need a Savior. I have One through Jesus, Christ. My book, "Stages - a memoir," is about the seven stages of life from the perspective of a woman. It addresses all the things girls and women go through in life as they travel it with Jesus, and it is available on
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  1. I was ten years old and in the fifth grade. At the end of the lunch period, with everyone back in the classroom and in our seats, the teacher told us that President Kennedy had been shot and killed.

    Later that afternoon, when I got off the school bus and ran into the house, I told my mother that President Kennedy had been killed. “No, that must be the president’s father who had died,” my mother said. “The president is young and healthy.” We did not have a television during those years, because my parents considered it sinful. So we did not have any news bulletins coming into our house. It wasn’t until my dad came home from work that my mother learned the truth. In the meantime, she had nearly convinced me that everyone at school was wrong.

    Yes, death comes for us all sooner or later. As I stated at the end of my recent post that you commented on this morning, about how the behavior of traumatized people often mimics the behavior of traumatized rats (until the people get help for their trauma) — my doctor told me just two days ago that I have skin cancer. My surgery is scheduled for December 6. Although skin cancers don not have the high mortality rate of many other types of cancers, it is still a stark reminder of my own mortality.

    But it’s really okay. I know that my soul is ready to be with Jesus, my precious Savior and my wonderful Lord. In fact, I am looking forward to that day more and more with joy, the older I get!

    Liked by 1 person

    • says:

      Praying for you, my friend. I probably have it too. You have so much to write about, Linda. I’m still waiting to read your memoir. Is it done yet?

      Liked by 1 person

      • Writing my real-life horror-to-healing memoir has been the second hardest thing that I have ever done. The hardest thing was living through the horror parts of my story in the first place. But by the grace of God, I am finally healed enough to write in my memoir at least a little, every single day.

        I wrote, even on the day that my doctor told me I have skin cancer. I wrote on the day that I got the heartbreaking news that my beloved aunt’s mind is gone with severe, sudden onset dementia. I will write at least a little today, even though today is Thanksgiving and we are going to have dinner with my husband’s granddaughter, who a very bad mental health meltdown just last night with her mom… and we were up most of last night comforting and encouraging her mom, my precious stepdaughter. I intend to write at least a little on December 6, before my surgery. For me, I have discovered that the key is to write at least a little, every single day, regardless of what I am feeling or what’s going on. And slowly but surely, at this rate, my book will eventually be done. Lord willing!


      • says:

        It will be the best therapy you can get because you’re to one working through it wit God’s help. A labor of love and healing,

        Liked by 1 person

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