at heart, i am a homebody. i love going out and having fun, but in the end, nothing makes me happier than coming home to my own place with my own bed, and just spending quality time in my apartment. last night was one of those nights where i was just glad to get home and fall into bed.
yesterday was busy. i ran, played soccer, had a late lunch with becca, then went to dinner for sara’s birthday and to dave and buster’s after that. in between all those things, i found a quiet moment to finally pay a visit to the sign in front of the space center, and take in the cards, flowers, and other tokens that have been left there over the past month in memory of columbia. from the sign, you can also see through the fence to the astronaut memorial grove, where a tree is planted for each astronauts and other space pioneers that die. there are seven fresh holes in the ground surrounded by plastic fencing, waiting for seven new seedlings.
yesterday was not only the first day of march, but marked one month since we lost the shuttle and its crew. it is hard for me to comprehend that an entire month has passed since that awful saturday morning. the phone call from becca telling me to turn on the tv, the moment of confusion in my groggy just-awakened state, the flicker of recognition in the back of my head as the television popped to life and i watched the video of an event i’ve seen many times before, but never involving a manned vehicle, never involving a craft that isn’t supposed to create that kind of firework. the feelings of absolute shock followed closely by horror and then grief. the images and sounds of that day are burned into my head.
and yet it has already been a month. february passed in a blur of work and sleep. long work weeks, chaotic at first, but calming as the days passed and our role in the investigation became more clear. the memorial service, ending with a lone t-38 pulling away high into a clear blue sky. the stress of being at the bottom of the chain, and feeling in the dark about decisions at work, along with the reassuring knowledge that i have an important role, and that many people are depending on me to do my job, do it efficiently, and do it well. the nights when, lying in my bed with a chance to relax, i tossed and turned and couldn’t erase the images. images from the presses, and images created in my own head.
at work, sitting at my desk and looking at a screen of numbers and inputs, it is easy to forget the gravity of what happened. through my simulations and the maps that they create, it is easy to forget that this wasn’t just another falling satellite. it is easy to forget, or simply put out of mind, that there were seven people up there. forgetting is the easy part. remembering is painful and hard.
i was reflecting on all of these thoughts friday night, and decided visiting the makeshift memorial by the front gate would be a nice way to mark the day. it was. i guess in a way i was hoping for closure, though it didn’t turn out that way. as i read the signs and prayers, written in magic marker that has begun to run and fade in the rain, i realized that i may never find closure. i think the accident is something that will always weigh heavily on my mind, whether i stay with nasa until the end of my career or not. because i was living in houston, because i was working for nasa. because i was involved, and because i experienced it personally. seeing the shuttle disappear ripped a hole in my life in a way that even september 11 couldn’t.
so i think closure will elude me. but visiting the gate did help me find some peace. and in the end, i think maybe that’s how it should be.