Midnight Musings

It's after midnight, but I don't want to go to sleep yet, as that would signify the end of my weekend. Instead, I'll tell you what I remember.

When Challenger was lost in 1986, I was nine years old. Jo Ann remembers it in much more detail than I do, but I remember that it was a rainy day, and that we were sitting in a little portable building in uncomfortable wooden desks. At nine years, I wasn't really able to piece together the significance of the whole tragedy at first, but seeing the news reels of the exploding shuttle playing in an almost continuous loop when I got home helped me realize its importance. I remember my mom being there when I got home from school -- unusual, since school let out much earlier than her job did -- and she was watching the newscasts. They continued for a very long time that night.

Until September 11th, the Challenger explosion seemed to be the main "where were you when..." question for those of my age group. In my mind, it was dwarfed as a landmark experience from that day on.

Yesterday morning -- Saturday, that is -- I woke up late and did a quick check of my usual web reads. The only hint I had of the Columbia disaster was a cryptic e-mail about the loss of seven souls. I think that my mind connected the message with violence in Europe or the Middle East, and I didn't think much of it.

The news, when it came, arrived via Romania, of all places. C yelled, "Rachel, go to cnn.com!" I asked why, and she replied (very tersely, for her) "Just go!" She was talking to her parents on the phone.

I was shocked when I found out what had happened. I don't remember the thought of terrorist involvement ever entering my mind, but I read almost immediately that terrorism had been mostly discounted as a cause of the disaster.

Right then, a large boom shook the house and the power went off, turning off my computer. C and I both yelled in surprise, and both of us momentarily thought a piece of the wreckage had fallen. It wasn't until later that I found out that the tragedy had happened a couple of hours prior.

It was a gorgeous day -- warm and sunny with hardly a cloud in the sky -- and it struck me as ironic that national tragedies always seem to happen on unseasonably glorious days. I knew that the Capitol's flag was at half-mast, and I wanted to take that picture, vivid against the blue sky, as a memorial. As we made our way around town, first to the Capitol and then geocaching in a beautiful, tranquil park, I was struck by the increasing number of flags flying at half-mast, as well as by the constant talk of it on people's lips.

It's hard for me to isolate the reason why this tragedy, this loss of seven souls, hits us so hard when the crash of a small plane with seven passengers aboard might rate scarcely more than a mention. I don't mean to dispute the disparity -- only to acknowledge it.

Maybe it's that the space program is a high-profile project with extensive news coverage. Maybe it's that astronauts are revered as heros, as brilliant and courageous souls. Maybe it's that they're pioneers, an esteemed few who are chosen to race amongst the stars and dance through constellations.

Maybe it's that every child dreams deep-down of growing up to be an astronaut someday.