Saturday morning was pretty traumatic for me and a lot of people. But by Saturday night, I thought I had a handle on my emotions. Our good friends brought us dinner Saturday evening and kept us company, and by the time I went to bed that night I was feeling thankful for having such supportive family and friends.
And then Sunday morning I couldn’t make it through the front section of the paper without crying. I had to read the sports section. Nope, not over it yet.
Then Monday morning, going to work, I made the sign of the cross while passing the front gates at JSC and burst into tears in my car. Nope, not yet.
Today, watching the memorial ceremony, each ring of that bell was like a shot through my heart as my coworkers and I wept for the families.
It’ll be along time before I’m over this.
We take a lot of pride in the seriousness with which we take our jobs. We work as a team to ensure the safety of a crew in an environment they could not otherwise survive. We take it very personally.
And somehow, despite all of our efforts, at the end of what looked like a picture perfect fight, something about the job our team does went wrong and the crew died. We take that very personally.
And I was unrealistic to believe that a few days of grieving would get me over what I experienced Saturday morning in the Mission Control Center. I take it too personally.