Tuesday, February 4, 2003
Columbia: A prelude to a war?
CHASING RAINBOWS
By MICHELLE FERRIER
I could see my face reflected in the television screen as the video of the Columbia explosion replayed. My contorted face – pinched, near tears – mirrored the journalists as they sketched out the few details known at 10 a.m. My husband and my three young children were huddled around the television as the anchors shared the worst possible news.
“Columbia is lost. There are no survivors.”
As we watched the trails of smoke careening through the atmosphere, my children looked to my face.
“Are they dead Mommy?” My face must have confirmed the worst.
“How could they die? Why didn´t God save them?”
I was still stunned. I had worked for NASA prior to the Challenger disaster and my mind had not recovered from the eerie deja vu. Not again, my mind screamed.
“Mommy, what´s wrong?”
I struggled to explain the images on the screen, the dizzying montage of video, pictures, announcers, journalists, audio, flashing fast like a video game. Except it wasn´t a game. Except these deaths were real.
I´m really unprepared, I thought as I tried to explain the deaths to a 4, 7 and 10 year old.
What happens when we´re at war and these images are coming fast and furious?
I couldn´t explain seven deaths, let alone the hundreds or thousands of casualties, missing troops, and collateral damage that would parade across the airwaves continuously if, when, we engage in war with Iraq.
“Michelle, you´re scaring the kids,” my husband warned as he scanned the small faces looking at mine.
My eyes burned with the tears I could not let fall. I heaved a deep sigh and held them back.
Seven smiling astronauts beamed back at me as I scanned the rainbow of faces displaying the best of humanity.
“Maybe they´re still alive,” said my oldest as the anchor talked about the space suits they wore on re-entry in case of decompression in the shuttle cabin.
“No, they´re not,” I answered bluntly.
No use in any more words, as the tears might come tumbling out with them.
No use in prolonging hope in the face of the overwhelming evidence.
No use in pretense, this was a day for stark realities.
I muted the television and bowed my head in a silent prayer. Let them see me appealing to a higher power. Let them see me confused and afraid.
Part of me wanted them to be scared, too.
Their lives of bicycles and school, beaches and family are simple and mostly unappreciated.
I thought of children in Iraq for whom childhood had ended a long time ago. I thought of the children here in the U.S., who will be emotional casualties of a war.
And I thought of the moms and dads who will have to answer the question: Why did we let this happen?
For my children and for me, this was just the beginning. Let them feel this sense of loss today, a piercing of their veils of innocence.
More than anything, it might help prepare them – and me – for tomorrow.
Special Report: THE COLUMBIA CHRONICLES |  |