Any feed back you can give, errors you see, punctuation, spelling, where it's confusing, what you don't like about it, what you do like about it. Also, APA citations, are the correctly done? Historical narritive told in the first person.
A nightmare, that's what it felt like. I watched the shuttle launch, watched it make a gentle arc into the flat blue sky. And then it wasn't there. It disappeared. All that was left of the Challenger was two smokey trails continuing to snake their way up into the sky, without the shuttle. Scott, head tilted back to see, tugged at my jacket, "what happened daddy?"
"I'm not sure" I replied. I felt panic rising fast in my chest. I had to keep it together. Surly Christa would be ok. Surly they would find the crew safe somewhere on the ground. Oh God, please let her be ok, please, please, please. Caroline wiggled in my arms, "Can we go now daddy, I'm cold."
"Soon honey, soon." I could see some Kennedy Space Center employees coming toward us and I knew, deep down I knew, this was not going to be the joyous day planned. I sent up my prayer again.
I was ushered, along with all the wives and about 10 children, into a waiting room. Please God, please, don't let this happen, let her be ok. Scott was holding my hand, silent tears streaming down his face. Caroline on my hip, one arm wrapped around my neck, her head against my shoulder, thumb in her mouth, had even become quiet. My wordless prayer kept repeating over and over in my head, please, please, please. I looked around at all the faces, and devastation was evident on all of them. Are they a reflection of my own? Can they see the panic on me like I see on them? Oh God, please, please. Through the door, came a man in military uniform, his stiff demeanor did nothing to soothe me. "Ladies and Gentlemen, I regret to inform you that we have lost radio contact with the crew. As soon as it is deemed safe we will be sending out a rescue party. We will keep you all informed and let you know immediately when we have new information."
One of the wives stood up, "Sir, can you tell us what happened?"
"I can only say that there has been a major malfunction and we've lost contact. More then that I can not say right now." With that, he turned sharply on his heels and left.
There was a mummer that went though the room as people talked quietly to each other. I turned and looked out the window. From here I could see the timer that ticked down the seconds, minutes and hours since lift off. Amazing, I thought, time is still going. It feels like it should stop, like it did stop. I need to wake up, I'm ready to wake up. But I am awake, this, this is a living nightmare. Time keeps ticking away as we all wait for the inevitable news. The news none of us want to hear, the we will never see our loved ones again. Still we all hope that they've survived by some miracle, by some divine hand that spared them. It feels like days have gone by, but it's only a few hours, how is that possible? The door opens and a very official looking gentleman steps into the room. I sat down and pulled Caroline and Scott to me. Everything got fuzzy and dark, I hear the man start to talk, "I regret to inform you that... no survivors... still searching..." He kept talking and explaining but I didn't really hear it. I felt lost suddenly, like I was blind and put in an unfamiliar room. I might fall any second, into a dark oblivion. I focused on my children. I had to keep it together for their sake. They too, looked lost and confused.
Back at the hotel, I get the kids ready for bed. I don't know what to tell them, how to explain to our babies that Mommy is gone. If I say it out loud then it becomes reality. I can't face that yet. The rescuers might still find her. They hadn't found anything yet. They don't know, God would not take my wife away, would not take a mother away from her babies. The TV is playing quietly in the background when I hear the news come on. I turn to switch it off when I see it's a recap of President Regan's address to the nation. He is saying "For the families of the seven, we cannot bear, as you do, the full impact of this tragedy. But we feel the loss, and we're thinking about you so very much. Your loved ones were daring and brave, and they had that special grace, that special spirit that says, ``Give me a challenge, and I'll meet it with joy.'' They had a hunger to explore the universe and discover its truths. They wished to serve..." I feel the tears running down my face and a sob breaks loose, " We will never forget them, nor the last time we saw them, this morning, as they prepared for their journey and waved goodbye and ``slipped the surly bonds of earth'' to ``touch the face of God.''" ("Address to the Nation", 1986)
God. Where was he in this? Why would he do this? Why? Why? I switched the TV off and I could feel anger well up inside me. I wanted to curse God, and be angry at Christa for leaving, But I couldn't. Not just yet. I had to take care of the children. I turned back to my kids, starting with Scott, I say, "Good night, I love you," and give him a hug and kiss him on the forehead.
"Good night daddy, I love you too" and he clings to me not wanting to let go.
"It'll all be ok, just wait and see" I tell him. I turn to Caroline, she looks so much like her mother, I close my eyes for a second. "Good night Caroline, I love you".
"Good night daddy, I love you too" and she reaches up to kiss my cheek. "Don't cry daddy, it will be alright."
I give her a bear hug and tell her it's time to go to sleep.
Weeks passed before we got the news that remains had been found at the bottom of the Atlantic. The last of the hope that was in me died. That shred of belief that God would not do this to our family, shriveled up. It left me feeling empty. I thanked the voice on the other end of the phone and told them I would make the arrangements for the funeral. We laid Christa to rest at Blossom Hill Cemetery on May 1, 1986 ("Christa McAuliffe"). Life, as always, moves on. I didn't want it to. I wanted it to turn back. I wanted to take back my words that I'd told her, "Go for it Christa, it sounds like it's tailor made for you". I wanted instead to say the selfish thing, "Stay Christa, don't do it, it's to dangerous, let someone else take that risk." I wanted more then anything to bring her back to me. I didn't talk to the press, didn't do any interviews or write a book about the tragedy. I tried to make things go back to normal for the children's sake. It was hard. I prayed to God to help me. But I felt that he abandoned me. I guess everyone feels that way when they lose someone they love. The community too didn't talk to the press. And it felt that in less time then it should, everyone was at least some semblance of their former self.
It was on the second anniversary that I finally broke my silence. David Firrell-Wysocki, from the associated press called me. I told him, "I'm probably violating my own rules against talking about the disaster, but tragedy is not unique to me or any of the other surviving spouses - it happens to everybody." And it does. Many tragedies had happened since Christa had passed. Everyone has tragedies, mine just happened to be a very public one. "Tragedies are all personal, all extreme, all immeasurable, and they are not something that other people can fully understand, so there is no point trying to burden anybody else with them." (Firrell-Wysocki, 1988) Life has continued, even on the days that I wished it wouldn't. The healing process has been hard, but the children were resilient and I found that I was too. I couldn't forget her, didn't want to forget her, but the hurt and anger slowly melted away. Like ice in the springtime. And all that was left behind where the beautiful, precious memories of our lifetime together.
A nightmare, that's what it felt like. I watched the shuttle launch, watched it make a gentle arc into the flat blue sky. And then it wasn't there. It disappeared. All that was left of the Challenger was two smokey trails continuing to snake their way up into the sky, without the shuttle. Scott, head tilted back to see, tugged at my jacket, "what happened daddy?"
"I'm not sure" I replied. I felt panic rising fast in my chest. I had to keep it together. Surly Christa would be ok. Surly they would find the crew safe somewhere on the ground. Oh God, please let her be ok, please, please, please. Caroline wiggled in my arms, "Can we go now daddy, I'm cold."
"Soon honey, soon." I could see some Kennedy Space Center employees coming toward us and I knew, deep down I knew, this was not going to be the joyous day planned. I sent up my prayer again.
I was ushered, along with all the wives and about 10 children, into a waiting room. Please God, please, don't let this happen, let her be ok. Scott was holding my hand, silent tears streaming down his face. Caroline on my hip, one arm wrapped around my neck, her head against my shoulder, thumb in her mouth, had even become quiet. My wordless prayer kept repeating over and over in my head, please, please, please. I looked around at all the faces, and devastation was evident on all of them. Are they a reflection of my own? Can they see the panic on me like I see on them? Oh God, please, please. Through the door, came a man in military uniform, his stiff demeanor did nothing to soothe me. "Ladies and Gentlemen, I regret to inform you that we have lost radio contact with the crew. As soon as it is deemed safe we will be sending out a rescue party. We will keep you all informed and let you know immediately when we have new information."
One of the wives stood up, "Sir, can you tell us what happened?"
"I can only say that there has been a major malfunction and we've lost contact. More then that I can not say right now." With that, he turned sharply on his heels and left.
There was a mummer that went though the room as people talked quietly to each other. I turned and looked out the window. From here I could see the timer that ticked down the seconds, minutes and hours since lift off. Amazing, I thought, time is still going. It feels like it should stop, like it did stop. I need to wake up, I'm ready to wake up. But I am awake, this, this is a living nightmare. Time keeps ticking away as we all wait for the inevitable news. The news none of us want to hear, the we will never see our loved ones again. Still we all hope that they've survived by some miracle, by some divine hand that spared them. It feels like days have gone by, but it's only a few hours, how is that possible? The door opens and a very official looking gentleman steps into the room. I sat down and pulled Caroline and Scott to me. Everything got fuzzy and dark, I hear the man start to talk, "I regret to inform you that... no survivors... still searching..." He kept talking and explaining but I didn't really hear it. I felt lost suddenly, like I was blind and put in an unfamiliar room. I might fall any second, into a dark oblivion. I focused on my children. I had to keep it together for their sake. They too, looked lost and confused.
Back at the hotel, I get the kids ready for bed. I don't know what to tell them, how to explain to our babies that Mommy is gone. If I say it out loud then it becomes reality. I can't face that yet. The rescuers might still find her. They hadn't found anything yet. They don't know, God would not take my wife away, would not take a mother away from her babies. The TV is playing quietly in the background when I hear the news come on. I turn to switch it off when I see it's a recap of President Regan's address to the nation. He is saying "For the families of the seven, we cannot bear, as you do, the full impact of this tragedy. But we feel the loss, and we're thinking about you so very much. Your loved ones were daring and brave, and they had that special grace, that special spirit that says, ``Give me a challenge, and I'll meet it with joy.'' They had a hunger to explore the universe and discover its truths. They wished to serve..." I feel the tears running down my face and a sob breaks loose, " We will never forget them, nor the last time we saw them, this morning, as they prepared for their journey and waved goodbye and ``slipped the surly bonds of earth'' to ``touch the face of God.''" ("Address to the Nation", 1986)
God. Where was he in this? Why would he do this? Why? Why? I switched the TV off and I could feel anger well up inside me. I wanted to curse God, and be angry at Christa for leaving, But I couldn't. Not just yet. I had to take care of the children. I turned back to my kids, starting with Scott, I say, "Good night, I love you," and give him a hug and kiss him on the forehead.
"Good night daddy, I love you too" and he clings to me not wanting to let go.
"It'll all be ok, just wait and see" I tell him. I turn to Caroline, she looks so much like her mother, I close my eyes for a second. "Good night Caroline, I love you".
"Good night daddy, I love you too" and she reaches up to kiss my cheek. "Don't cry daddy, it will be alright."
I give her a bear hug and tell her it's time to go to sleep.
Weeks passed before we got the news that remains had been found at the bottom of the Atlantic. The last of the hope that was in me died. That shred of belief that God would not do this to our family, shriveled up. It left me feeling empty. I thanked the voice on the other end of the phone and told them I would make the arrangements for the funeral. We laid Christa to rest at Blossom Hill Cemetery on May 1, 1986 ("Christa McAuliffe"). Life, as always, moves on. I didn't want it to. I wanted it to turn back. I wanted to take back my words that I'd told her, "Go for it Christa, it sounds like it's tailor made for you". I wanted instead to say the selfish thing, "Stay Christa, don't do it, it's to dangerous, let someone else take that risk." I wanted more then anything to bring her back to me. I didn't talk to the press, didn't do any interviews or write a book about the tragedy. I tried to make things go back to normal for the children's sake. It was hard. I prayed to God to help me. But I felt that he abandoned me. I guess everyone feels that way when they lose someone they love. The community too didn't talk to the press. And it felt that in less time then it should, everyone was at least some semblance of their former self.
It was on the second anniversary that I finally broke my silence. David Firrell-Wysocki, from the associated press called me. I told him, "I'm probably violating my own rules against talking about the disaster, but tragedy is not unique to me or any of the other surviving spouses - it happens to everybody." And it does. Many tragedies had happened since Christa had passed. Everyone has tragedies, mine just happened to be a very public one. "Tragedies are all personal, all extreme, all immeasurable, and they are not something that other people can fully understand, so there is no point trying to burden anybody else with them." (Firrell-Wysocki, 1988) Life has continued, even on the days that I wished it wouldn't. The healing process has been hard, but the children were resilient and I found that I was too. I couldn't forget her, didn't want to forget her, but the hurt and anger slowly melted away. Like ice in the springtime. And all that was left behind where the beautiful, precious memories of our lifetime together.
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