Where do I begin?

It's strange how in a single moment, seventeen years can be erased. I had spent the day at a friend's, and it wasn't until about 3pm that we turned on the TV and saw the coverage of the Columbia tragedy. I just watched the screen with my mouth open, and started crying. My friend thought I was just reacting like I do when something sad happens on a TV-movie. But it was much more than that. Part of it was the loss of life--the idea of hurtling toward the earth so quickly, with so much heat, and then just breaking up. Or the fact that it was the first time an Israeli had gone into space. Or the fact that it was Columbia, the same ship I watched all those years ago first lift off to usher in a new era of space travel. But in that instant, I was back, at the age of 18, watching the Challenger blow up over and over for nine hours as my boyfriend watched a dream die. My first thought was of him, and how upset he'd be, and even though I've had nothing to do with him for years, and plan never to, my first impulse was to call him, because he would understand.

I grew up at Barksdale AFB, near Shreveport, pretty close to the track of debris that has come down to earth. I can't imagine just walking out and finding small pieces of a space vehicle in a field or yard--or, like recent reports show, a patch or human remains. I'm sure many people are out looking for traces. But it's eerie--such a large area. When I was in seventh grade, I lived on Edwards AFB in California. I never got to see the shuttle land (we moved to Kansas right before it began its spaceflights), but I often saw the vehicle on Boeings or up on a scaffold tower at the base. It was just amazing to look at, as we drove by--you knew it had to be pretty large, yet it seemed like some sort of delicate sea creature clinging to a reef. I guess that was the prototype--Enterprise. Later, when I was in Kansas, I watched the first space shuttle missions with wonder. I had always been drawn to the space programme--one of the first things I remember watching was the Apollo-Soyyuz mission where even during the Cold War it seemed like the thirst to explore space might unite our world. Now it's been the case, with the international space station, etc. When I met him he was studing computer science and planning to join NASA. He had blueprints of the shuttle and had studied as only a true science geek could. When the Challenger exploded, we were at the student centre at the University of Kentucky and some guy came up and asked if we'd heard the news. We thought he was playing some sick joke. Then we found out the truth. We sat and watched numbly in one of the TV rooms for hours. He pointed out the separation of the crew cabin, analysing the film pretty well for a college freshman--his observations were borne out months later when the information was released. But something in him seemed to die that day. He later changed his major to religious studies and gave up his dream as the shuttle programme was grounded and its future uncertain.

I have a friend who is a mechanical engineer that I met years after my divorce. She also wanted to work for NASA, but she was more dedicated to that dream, and did several internships with the agency during her college career. Now she's in California (as far as I know; we keep dropping out of touch) working on the Mars mission for NASA. Tracy, if you read this, I'm so sorry for you and your colleagues. I know NASA is like a big family. And I know that one day you might take a similar leap to space. I hope to see that day. We love you. Take care.

Whenever I'm at work I have a personalised news page, and part of that always comes from Space.com. So I've been keeping up with the mission and some of the experiments it was running. It was unusual because it was an all-science mission. Ironically we'd just passed the anniversaries of Apollo I and Challenger. I don't know what it is--it's like this week is cursed in space travel. But still we reach upward. I guess it exemplifies the best of the quest for space--the spirit of exploration rather than the necessity of defence. Maybe I just watched too much Star Trek as a kid, but I feel it's important that we make that leap to space. I can't ever imagine getting to go myself; I think it'll be a long time before civilians can go up in as routine a manner as airlines, probably after I'm dead. But I want my children and their children to have that opportunity to experience the wonder of watching our planet from orbit and exploring new worlds and possibilities.

That dream is made possible by the work and yes, sacrifice of the people who continue to hurtle into space encapsulated in a bit of aluminum and tile. I was born shortly after the Apollo I fire. When I was a kid, we sent men to the moon (unless you believe the naysayers) with computer with the same amount of memory as my old Atari. It's amazing any of them came back. It's amazing that any of them keep going up. It's the human spirit that keeps it up, of course, our curiosity and courage.

My heart goes out to the families of those who lost loved ones, and to the people of NASA and related agencies and companies. One thing we learned from Challenger is that it was important to go on despite the setbacks, because it is the only way to honour the memory of those who died, and it is a noble effort. I also pray for those in the International Space Station, who endure mind-boggling months of separation from their loved ones. They seem to be okay for supplies, etc. for now. But the tragedy must be weighing on their minds and hearts.

Maybe someone reading this will understand. I mourn for those who died, and those they left behind, but more than anything I mourn a dream, a dream that is not dead but only interrupted, one that will hopefully reach fruition after hard work and many years. And even though I have no real part to play in it, I have a strong connexion to that dream, and so it hurts in a way that doesn't make much rational sense, but a lot nonetheless. And I'm a little angry because I seem to be the only person around me feeling this way. Even when I went online to check the news it had disappeared as a story from my local station's website and my start page, so I had to rely on Space.com and CNN for more info. Maybe I'm just weird for feeling this way; maybe I have to connect to tragedy on a personal level bordering on narcissism. I don't know. But all I can say is I feel a great emptiness and sense of loss and sadness. I hope we'll know more eventually, that they can puzzle it out and prevent future problems. Maybe we need to accept that while missions go on, generally flawlessly, we may have to learn to accept tragedy every 15-20 years as a part of the struggle upward. I don't know. But right now I just feel confused and angry and grief.

Well, that's all I feel like saying right now. It feels better to write about it. Peace to you and yours.