Last Flight

On July 8, the space shuttle Atlantis will take off for its very last flight.  I wish so much that I could be there to see it go.  I came of age during the age of the shuttle program, and its victories and tragedies are little landmarks in my own personal history.  To see it ending for good now is poignant.

I remember desperately wanting to be an astronaut when I was little, seeing the first launches of the shuttles on TV like everyone else.  We were also taken on field trips from church and school to the Huntsville Space Center to see the technology that had led up to those huge white ships that did what seemed so impossible in those days, took men and women into space, let them walk in the weightlessness there, allowed them to see the world from that perfect vantage point that suddenly put everything in its right perspective.  We came home from those field trips with stickers for the Apollo missions, rubber balls shaped like moon rocks, little white plastic model shuttles, and flyers for Space Camp.

Then came the summer I visited with my great uncle and aunt in Cocoa Beach.  My great uncle, like so many others who live in that part of Florida, used to work at Kennedy, and in addition to my family's trip to the Disneys, we went to see the Space Center as well.  I don't really know which made the stronger impression on me, the costumed cartoon characters or the towering rockets.  I still have the tiny silver charm of the orbiter on my charm bracelet, still remember eating the dehydrated ice cream we inevitably bought in the gift shop, still remember sitting in one of the command capsules.

I remember, too, how excited my mother was when Christa McAuliffe was going to be a part of the 1986 Challenger mission, how excited everyone was, really. There were posters and tote bags sent out to teachers everywhere by NASA.  It seemed to be a new age of Space, a time when suddenly, it was no longer the sole province of science, when it could belong to everyone who loved it.  And then came the tragedy, the horror of the loss. I can still remember watching it on TV, seeing the bright proud bird disappear....

When the first shuttle went up after Challenger, I remember being so afraid.  I can remember that everyone waited anxiously to see if it would survive.  When it blazed its way safely into the heavens, that, too was a moment of emotion, of rejoicing.

Now, the experts say it's time for the shuttles to rest, for something new to take their place.  Only, I'm not sure what exactly that's going to be.  Space doesn't seem to be the passion it once was for us.  It seems to be more of an afterthought.  I wonder now what the next generation of children will watch wide-eyed and dream over.  Even though I understand that the technology on those big white vehicles is not state-of-the-art anymore and may be too costly to maintain, there is still just something about them that catches the imagination.  I hope that doesn't fade away with them, that the majesty of them transfers to whatever takes their place.  If nothing comes next to fill that void even if something does come to get satellites into orbit, it would be a real loss, indeed.