Number 14: Aftermaths

Cue theme music: “Silence”, Delirium & Sarah McLachlan

“Lock the doors.”

It’s going to be a long time before I can hear that phrase and not think of a resigned flight director giving the order to a stunned mission control team. I wasn’t there, and I didn’t see footage of that moment until well after the home videos and reports and press briefings had blasted the news from every media outlet, but it still hits me. It’s the little things, I suppose, that hammer home that, no matter how much I want to deny that this tragedy could have happened, it can’t be escaped.

We had plans to drive up to College Station that afternoon to see a friend and former co-worker, through the heart of Houston and on out into the country. I’m grateful we didn’t cancel that trip, not only because it was good to see our friend and give her some NASA support, but also because it meant we weren’t glued to the increasingly frustrating reports. It was touching that Saturday to see every flag along the highway, from car dealerships to factories to homes to hotels, lowered to half-mast, just hours after news got out, but it was a hawk hovering over an empty field that choked me up. Seeing the Center’s flag at half-mast and finding mission patches and pictures and flowers and flags at the front gate was moving, but finding that the welcome-home hall that the training team was putting up as I left Friday had been taken down was hard.

Afterwards, it was the little things that made me feel better. After months of every sign from diners to motels to flower shops to souvenir shops giving encouraging messages like “Our thoughts are with NASA” and “God bless Columbia”, it was a relief to see “Chicken nuggets 2 for 1”. After all the huge memorials with every government official and TV camera present, it was walking away from the private tree planting ceremony that laid the crew to rest for me.

I think it’s because the big stuff can be expected. We expected the debris search that turned up pieces of our vehicle and her crew over four states, though the volunteer turnout and dedication was a poignant surprise. We expected the flags to lower, though we couldn’t know that every single one in sight would.

I expected the hard questions; I hadn’t anticipated the depth of ignorance or apathy that led to the stupid questions. I expected the investigations and the cost vs. benefits discussions; I didn’t expect the attacks, especially not less than a week after it happened. I expected the “how did you let this happen”; I didn’t expect the “you got what you deserve”.

Lessons Learned.

It’s a familiar phrase at NASA; every major undertaking results in a list of them. What are my lessons learned from Columbia? þ Not everyone is more interested in the facts than a story. ù You can only correct people who are willing to listen. þ Some people are interested, but only if you use small words and explain why it matters. ù It always hurts more than you think it will. þ It helps to talk about it, then it helps to stop talking about it. ù The media doesn’t care. Friends and family do. þ More people think about you than you think. ù Being someone’s personal link to a tragedy can be uncomfortable. þ What is an inevitability to you may be a triviality to someone else. ù Never let media broadcasters be your only source of information. þ I’m sarcastic when I’m bitter, but I get my facts right. ù The public doesn’t understand the engineering difference between knowing and guessing or between minimal risk and acceptable risk. þ Laughter takes the edge off pain. ù Someone else’s greater pain doesn’t make yours any less. þ There are those whose worth shines brightest in the darkest times. ù It’s the little things. þ There is never a limit to lessons learned. ù