Untitled, on purpose

At the beginning of the month, when I realized that the 22^nd was the 50^th anniversary of the assassination of John Kennedy, I thought I would blog about that last week. I knew that I didn’t want to tell you about the events of that day in Dallas – haven’t we all heard enough about that. I sure didn’t want to tell you about any new conspiracy theories. I thought I would tell you what I was doing when I heard the news. It didn’t take long for me to realize that wouldn’t work. I was just shy of two years old.

At least I thought someone in my family would know. Surely I was home with Mom and she melted down over the news and being the loving daughter I was at even that tender age, I would’ve offered her comfort. That wasn’t the case. Mom was in Milwaukee in an apartment across the street from the hospital where they had just admitted Grandma. Mom seems to think that my sister Pat, who would have been four, was with them, but she didn’t remember where I was. My oldest sister Judy had been in school that day, and remembers clearly hearing the news, but has no memory of where I was. Pat and my dad could give me some clues as to my where abouts, because I am sure that they would have kept track of me, but neither one of them has sent those clues from heaven.

Which leaves me wondering if anyone in the family ever knew where I was. I do have a few memories of each of them. But the reality is that it doesn’t really matter. I remember what I was doing when I heard that Elvis had died and I had to talk to Pat about it. I remember where I was when I heard that Princess Diana had died and even though I knew that I should tear my daughter Val, only seven at the time, away from the TV coverage, I couldn’t do it. I remember hearing that Michael Jackson had died, and that neither my husband nor I were surprised, and we both agreed that it was ok to push Farrah Fawcett’s death the same day to the background, because why are we publicizing any of these deaths anyway.

So all of these thoughts were going through my head this weekend, as I kept thinking that I was behind on writing about this topic anyway, so why bother now, when my husband hollered from the living room that JayLeggett had died. What? I thought, no way. My hometown’s biggest claim to fame. And the nicest guy. His poor family.

I guess we never know. Whether it is an assassin’s bullet, cancer, poor choices, poor genes or a fairy tale gone horribly wrong, life can be cut short at any time. So don’t spend so much time looking back, spend time living for today.  

My sister Pat, 1959 to 1999, and our dad, 1915 to 1993.