A fictitious letter from the heavens to those left behind
Adam Cahill
A Domer's Outlook
My Dearest,
Writing a letter to you that can never be delivered, I know, may not come as any consolation after recent events. It doesn't bring me much consolation, either. I only write it for myself with the hope that somehow you will feel the presence that my message intends. I can't seem to explain it any other way. All you know is that I am lost and will never see me again. I am left with much the same sentiment having lost both you and the life we had together. But no matter what happens, I don't want you to worry about me.
I know it is hard to understand my death, especially since I was within minutes of holding you in my arms when things went wrong. But, as much as my world revolved around my love for you, I have no regrets of the choices I made in life and the direction in which I led it. I knew the dangers that were involved when I volunteered for the astronaut corps and accepted them. In the end, we paid the ultimate price, but any confusion our crew might have felt upon our arrival at the gates was eased by a group of old friends who have gone through this before.
My darling, I've grown up with the idea that I was meant to make a difference in the world and I believe, now, that I have. In the 16 days I spent on the Columbia, I realize we were helping the world sail into unforeseen waters and doing it with our sails at full mast. And sad though it may be, the deaths of my crew and I are making a difference around the world. Nations will mourn now, but things will only get better because of this.
The program must move forward, and hopefully the first Israeli man or Indian-born woman in space will not be the last. It's too important to world relations not to extend the necessary olive branch to all nations around the world.
I was part of a space exploration project that furthered people's understanding of God's plan. In my crew of seven, we have two women (one which was born in India), an African-American man, and the first Israeli in space. The Columbia was a guiding light of human liberties and world relations, and I was proud to be a part of her crew. The shuttle and others like it have brought the nations of the world together in concert with a common goal to improve humanity.
Sweetheart, there is a lot of noise in the world today. There is talk of war, disease and terrorism. But this much I know. If God's sacrifice of our lives can help soften the voices of hostility, I would die a thousand deaths to ease the suffering of mankind. I am certain that if the leaders of the world could have seen through my eyes the past 16 days, politics and partisanship would cease to exist. They just don't understand that the questions of power and ownership can be muted by a few inches of a space shuttle's window. God's power can be spoken without words.
My love, it is hard for me to bear the thought of being without you, even in this place. How thoughtless and foolish I feel to have put you in the position that you are in now. I can do nothing to change the circumstances that have befallen you. And for that I am eternally sorry. I only wish I could have done more.
But this I promise you. If you ever worry about my fellow astronauts and their families who are and will continue to follow me into the frontiers of space, do not be troubled. We will always be with them. Always. For when the next landing of astronauts takes place, they shall have new sets of eyes watching over them. And when the wings of the shuttle waver in the wind, they will remain firm. When the astronauts touch down on the runway, know that they floated back to earth under the wings of angels.
I can do nothing to change the tragedies of the past, but I will do all that I can to prevent them from happening again. I believe that Sullivan Ballou, a union major in the Army of the Potomac during the Civil War, said it best in a letter to his wife, "Do not mourn me dead, think I am gone and wait for me, for we shall meet again."
My dear, tell our friends that heaven is on their side and when we meet again the mood will be heavenly. I promise.
All my love,
One of Columbia
Adam Cahill is a junior majoring in history and American studies. His column appears every other Wednesday. He can be reached at acahill@nd.edu.
The views expressed in this column are those of the author and not necessarily those of The Observer.
All Viewpoint Stories for Wednesday, February 12, 2003
