Where Did The Roses Fall?

The President smiled.
The First Lady, dressed in pink,
carried red roses.

~carliewired

November 22, 1963 I was an eleven year old student in grade 6 in British Columbia, Canada. Until I returned home after school, it was a most unremarkable day.

My Mother had the radio on that day, as she usually did. She was visibly upset. "Someone shot the President." she told us simply. It seemed incomprehensible to me. How could the American people allow their president to be shot? How could they not protect him?

The loss of the President had a very personal impact for me. I had watched he and his family on television and admired them in publications. My Mother had used the photos of Caroline and John Jr. as illustrations to pave the way for the birth of my sibling. I felt a strong attachment to these children. How would life go on for these children without their father?

As the years passed I watched film footage of the President's last day in Dallas many times. I remember Jackie in her pink coat and carrying a generous bouquet of red roses. Somewhere in that tragic day those red roses were lost to view as the horrible event unfolded. It truly was the end of Camelot.