THIS WILL BE TAKE THIRTY-NINE.
—it was the last day that Medgar and I had together that I truly realized that that might be the last day, and perhaps it was because of the way he, he reacted. He told me how tired he was, that he felt he couldn't go on—
THIS WILL BE TAKE FORTY, SPEED.
The last day that Medgar and I had together was one that we probably both realized that something was going to happen, either that day or very soon thereafter. I can recall the fatigue on his face and the way he looked at me and looked at the children and told us he loved us, it was something special about it. He said to me as he was about to walk out of the door, he said, "Myrlie, I'm so tired. I don't know if I can keep going, but I can't stop."
THIS WILL BE TAKE FORTY-ONE, SPEED.
Medgar and I both knew that the time that we would possibly have together was short. The last day that we did have was a very special day and I think both…both of us sensed, that—what would happen to him—what we had feared for so long was right around the corner, He was very tired when he left home that morning and he told the children and myself how much he loved us, and he walked toward the door and he said, "Myrlie, I'm so tired, I don't know if I can go on, but I can't stop." And I rushed toward him and I hugged him and told him, "It's going to be all right, it's going to be all right." And we clung to each other, and he walked out of the door, and he came back in and said, "I love you, I'll call you." Well, during that day, he called two or three times which was a little unusual with all of the activity that was going on. And each time he said, "I love you I want you to know how much I love you." And I told him the same thing, and he said, "I'll see you tonight." I said, "Fine." Late that night he came home, the children were still up, I was asleep across the bed, and we heard the motor of the car coming in and pulling into the driveway. We heard him get out of the car and the car door slam, and in that same instance, we heard the loud gun fire. The children fell to the floor, as he had taught them to do. I made a run for the front door, turned on the light, and there he was. The force of the bullet had pushed him forward, as I understand, and the strong man that he was, he had his keys in his hand and had pulled his body around the rest of the way to the door. There he lay, and I screamed, and people came out. Our next door neighbor fired a gun, as he said, to try to frighten anyone away, and I knew then that, that was it.** That the man that I loved, had shared my life with, he had shared his life with me, where I had been a reluctant, in the beginning, supporter of his and wanted him for myself and for my children, but understood that he said, "I belong to my people, and to my state, and I want to help them, and in so doing, can help this country. I'm doing it for you, I'm doing it for the children, for other wives and other children." Realizing that, I realized that I had lost most of my life and that Mississippi, regardless of color, had lost one of their strongest and best leaders, and this nation as a whole, as well as the NAACP, would not ever be able to replace a Medgar Evers.