Chapter Four: November 23rd

Saturday, November 23, 1963:  The 35th President of the United States of America, John Fitzgerald Kennedy, was dead. On this Saturday of Thanksgiving weekend, his body lies in repose in the East Room of the White House. The day before, Dallas police had searched a building known as the Texas School Book Depository because witnesses said they saw a gun protruding from a 6th floor window there.  Later that afternoon, police took 24-year-old Lee Harvey Oswald into custody after he allegedly shot & killed a police officer outside a theater in the city.  The President’s body had been removed from Parkland Memorial Hospital in a casket, which was loaded onto Air Force One and brought back to Washington D.C. within hours of the assassination – after Lyndon Johnson was sworn in as President.  Jackie was asked if she wanted to change out of her blood-stained pink suit.  She refused, saying, “I want them to see what they have done to Jack.”

Wednesday, November 23, 1983:  It was the last day of work before the big Thanksgiving holiday weekend.  I was three years into my first “real” job at an ad agency, and the offices were closing early at 1pm that day in anticipation of the long weekend.

I knew before I left home that morning that my father had gone into work before I did.  I thought, well that extra rest last night must have done him good.  So imagine my shock when I got home to find my father laying down on his bed.  Something had to really be wrong for my dad to be home from work in the middle of the afternoon.

When my mother got home from her own job shortly afterward and saw that my father was home, she laid down the law to him:  “Get dressed,” she said. “We’re going to the doctor.”

A few hours later (I had stayed home) our apartment doorbell rang. I answered it and found my mother standing there – alone.  “Where’s Dad?” I asked incredulously.  She answered, “You’re not gonna believe this – they’re admitting him to the hospital.”  She had just come home to grab an overnight bag for him.  I was stunned – “What’s going on?” I said.  She told me that the doctor said my dad was going into shock and he was calling the hospital, adding, “I just hope they have a bed for him…”

We went back to the hospital, and the doctors were saying that they were doing quite a few tests.  Standing in the doorway of his room, I watched as my dad moved around quite uncomfortably in the bed, not being able to settle in.  My mother asked why they weren’t doing more – why didn’t they know what it was, if they needed to operate?  We were told, “It would be like playing Russian roulette on him right now, not knowing exactly what’s wrong.  It could be his gall bladder, it could be his kidneys…”

I remember seeing the nurse come in to give my father a shot. I remember turning away in the doorway because I didn’t want to watch the needle go into his arm.  Visiting hours were ending shortly, so we decided to go home so my dad could hopefully get some rest.

I remember walking up to my father’s hospital bed, giving him a hug and a kiss goodbye, and saying “See you tomorrow, Dad…”

Tuesday, November 23, 1999: 

I won’t tell the detailed story of what happened on this date 24 years ago now, because I know I’ve shared it here before.  What I will say is this:  Recently, someone asked me how many kids I have.  I replied, “I have one son.”  A few moments after those words came out of my mouth, I felt such a sense of shame.  Betrayal, almost.  Because what I said was a lie.

I have TWO sons.  As my husband says, “One is here, and one is with the Lord.”  Just because he’s not on this Earth with me, doesn’t mean I don’t have him.  He was here.  Born and died on the same day, within a matter of moments. But he saved my life with his.  And forever changed it…me…and the way I thought.

For that, I should shout his name from the rooftops!  My son – Eleazar Alexander Blakesley – Thank you for saving my eternal soul – and for giving me truth.