Yesterday, I watched as students from St. Bernadette School in Springfield participated in a wreath-laying ceremony at Arlington National Cemetery. It had been a stressful morning for me — one that involved getting lost and power-walking through the grave sites to make it to the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier on time — but as I watched the students pay their respects in such a profound, quiet way, my anxieties melted away.

After the ceremony, on my walk back to the cemetery’s parking garage, I did my best to soak up my surroundings. Even on such a gray and drizzly day in a solemn locale, there was still beauty in the few remaining red and yellow leaves on the trees. I found myself taking photo after photo in an effort to capture the day’s mood just right.

When an older-looking man and a young boy walked up to me and asked where the John F. Kennedy gravesite was located, I happily pointed him in the right direction and expected to continue on my way. I was surprised when, without any prompting on my part, the man started to tell me about what he had been doing when Kennedy was shot in November 1963.

He was in the military, he said, and had been stationed on the West Coast at the time. When Kennedy was killed, he was boarding a plane with his fellow soldiers headed for “destination unknown.” It was on that plane, 30 minutes after the rest of the country, that they received the news of the president’s death.

“You don’t know what it’s like to have your president assassinated while you’re serving your country,” he said to me, his eyes welling with tears.

He put his arms around the boy he was with — his grandson, who looked to be about nine.

“I have another one, even younger than this. On Veterans Day, they called me and said, ‘Thank you for serving our country.’”

I expected the boy to look embarrassed at this point — having just been outed by a relative for such good behavior. When I looked down at him, though, he smiled and looked very proud.

Only a minute or so later, the man thanked me and continued on his way with the boy, and I went back to taking photos, with a heavier heart.

For me, this visit to the cemetery was just another assignment for work, but for this man, the day’s visit was more than 45 years in the making. He looked excited and relieved to finally be able to pay his respects to President Kennedy, a man who was shot years before I was even born.

His words echoed in my mind: “You don’t know what it’s like...”

And I really don’t. I have no idea what it must have been like for him as a soldier during that time.

But I’m glad he was around yesterday to tell me.