In memory of the astronauts of Apollo 1, Challenger, and Columbia, and all those who have lost their lives in the name of exploration...

Tomorrow is the anniversary of one of those days when you remember exactly where you were when it happened. I was in sixth grade on January 28, 1986, in my science class. We had a TV wheeled into our classroom, and we were watching the launch of the Challenger. Because the launch had been delayed several hours that morning, we in California would actually get to watch it live.

So we spent the whole week before talking about space travel and stars and things of that nature. My teacher had actually applied for the Teacher in Space program, so she was very interested in the launch.

And then we sat, and watched. We saw footage taped from earlier that morning as the crew walked out and boarded the shuttle. We listened to them talk about what the Challenger's mission was, and what science projects they had on board. And we sat in stunned silence, staring at the puff of white smoke with the two trails leading away, as the unthinkable occurred.

The only sound that broke the silence was my teacher, crying. A few minutes later the principal made an announcement to the entire school, telling everyone what had happened.

I'm sure there were a lot of kids who didn't really care one way or the other about the accident. But to anyone who was interested in the shuttle flight, astronauts, space, or explorers, it was a horrible lesson in the consequences of mistakes and stubbornness. It was also one of the first times that kids my age learned that not all heroes have happy endings.

Seventeen years later, my husband woke me up on a Saturday morning to tell me that "something had gone wrong" with the Columbia shuttle as it entered the atmosphere for its landing after a successful week-long mission. I got out of bed, turned on CNN, and spent the next few hours glued to the television. Even though NASA had not yet conclusively determined what had happened to the shuttle, it was very clear as I watched the multiple trails of smoke traveling across the video of the southern sky that the shuttle had been lost. I called my parents in California, woke them out of their morning sleep to tell them the news, and cried.

I rejoiced in August 2005 when Discovery safely returned to earth, successfully returning us to manned space flight. But our shuttles are old, and the safety rate (when you consider the number of manned flights vs. the number of accidents) isn't great. So there will always be a fear, and a prayer for the safety of the astronauts, and thankfulness for their safe return, every time a shuttle goes up.

This week is full of these memorials, for the Apollo 1 accident (Jan. 27), the Challenger disaster (Jan. 28), and the Columbia disaster (Feb. 1). I offer my continued thanks to everyone who is brave enough to become an astronaut, prayers for their safety, and this poem by John Gillespie Magee, Jr., called "High Flight" (President Reagan quoted from this poem after the Challenger disaster):

Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sunsplit clouds, and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of; wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence, hov'ring there
I've chased the shouting wind along and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air
Up, up the long, delirious burning blue
I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, nor even eagle flew
And while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high, untrespassed sanctity of space
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

God speed.