You should have thought more about these sordid possibilities before strapping yourself to a contraption that would build three million pounds of thrust and catapult you ten miles above the earth in a mere seventy-five seconds. But we forgive you, Christa, because we love you and because you have taught us the meaning of splendid courage. You should have realized how much more graceful and self-confident your children would grow to be with the tenderness and tolerance that only you could give them. But we forgive you, Christa, because we love you and because you taught us the meaning of adventure. Teachers do not die in the line of duty, beloved Christa.
Soldiers do or die, but teachers remain behind to explain their pathetic loss.
Childish things and unfinished Lesson Plans are now put out of mind, as we lift our gaze to future flights and exchange reassurances of greater safety. We were surprised to learn, and would rather not have known, that the skin of the shuttle is lined with ordinance just in case military judgment is called upon the terminate the mission. We would have preferred to hear your easy laughter after an exhilirating flight instead of these grim disclosures. Astonishing vistas might have been opened, but instead a huge void was left in the heavens above us and the cold crept in. But we forgive you, Christa, because we love you and because you have taught us the meaning of sacrifice.