I always find this day sad, but this year is more poignant to me due to the 30th anniversary attention, etc. Growing up, I lived on the 22nd floor of the building next door to the Dakota. We saw John and Yoko with some frequency. I later went to grammar school with their son. They were unpretentious, unassuming, and decent. And for the most part, it appeared that most in the neighborhood gave them at least some space.
I was in my PJs getting ready for bed the night John Lennon was murdered--I was 8 years old. I heard the shots. I didn't know what they were--amazingly I had never heard gunshots even in NYC through the 70s. They went "crack!" not that enhanced echo-reverb stuff from the movies. My mom knew immediately, though, and she knew it was John Lennon: "Oh, god, those were gunshots...John Lennon!" We ran out to our terrace and saw the awful scene below...Yoko screaming...John being placed into the back of an NYPD squad car. My parents cried when the news came that John died, and I didn't know how to help them. I also was terribly sad about the news, but it was dramatically compounded by how sad it made my mom and dad.
I think today about John Lennon the man, not the Beatle, on that day in 1980. He was around my age and also married with a young son Jack's age. Most of the time, I look back on that day as an 8 year old. It's more painful to me thinking about it as an adult. RIP John Lennon.