Wednesday, January 28, 2009

23 years come and gone

My mother and I were working together, training for the new job we'd both been hired to do, for Colonial Williamsburg. At the end of lunch, one of our new colleagues entered the room with the news that the Challenger had blown up. We figured he was joking (he had already developed a reputation for pranks and rather dark humor).

It wasn't a joke. It also wasn't a day easily to forget.

Still and all, were I fitter and, perhaps, younger today, I'd gladly clamber aboard the next ship going out there. They lived the dream, and died pursuing it.

May their souls have peace.


Joan of Argghh! said...

A somber, lovely tribute.

I looked south as I was crossing the bridge in the town where I live, and saw the strange, double contrail.

I've always looked south to watch and pray. I cried mightily, deeply that morning.

Carolyn Cooper, MPH, RN said...

I was working as a loan processor in an Alabama town on the Chattahoochee River . . . one of the salesmen (also a joker) came into the office to share this news in a very off hand fashion. My first thoughts were of Christa McAuliffe, the "teacher in space." I went home for lunch hoping to hear that there was some hope . . . I stayed home the rest of the day to watch the coverage and try to reconcile this tragedy.