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The Letter

The Letter rests at Jacks side, perhaps not to be read by him until God raises all mortals with life once
Under the painfully silent cloak of darkness on the night of Saturday, November 23 rd, 1963, John F.
Kennedy lay in repose in the East Room of the White House. Upstairs, his young widow, Jacqueline
Kennedy with three massive doses of ineffective sedatives flowing through her veins- attempted, in vain,
to fall asleep. Instead, she spent the night in their marital bed, sobbing for her husband, repeatedly crying
out his name, and burrowing herself with his pillow.
After several fitful hours, she jumped up, took out her powder blue White House stationary, and began
to write The Letter with her heart overflowing with fiery love and passion for Jack.
She wrote that the previous night she had slept in his bed, the hard mattress like a concrete slab, and
sobbed for hours. She told him about his children and reminded him that after losing Patrick, she had said
that the blow she couldnt bear would be his death. She wrote about the sense of loss that was only just
beginning, and about her deep love for him.
Page after impassionate page, she scrawled about Caroline, John Jr., about Patrick.. She wrote about
their marriage and everything it had meant in her life. Soon she began to cry, her tears staining the page,
smudging the ink, but she wrote on..

The Letter lives on, drenched in his widows eternal love and her copious tears. It is the Seal of Love
that quite literally- lies between them, waited to be read by him..

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