Chapter 18
Harmony of Light and Love
Getting Beyond the Grief By the second year after their father’s death, my children had learned to reach for the stars. Rich completed his final semester of college, graduated from the Air Force Academy, went on to pilot training, and then married his high school sweetheart. Kathie carved out a beautiful career as a public relations director for colleges and created a lovely home for her family. It was time for me to move forward too. During the weekdays, I lost, even buried, myself in the work of first the university, then Challenger Center. Sundays, though, always had been reserved for family and were especially lonely for me those first two years. I didn’t know how to change that tradition and had not made the effort to make new friends. After I moved from Houston to Washington DC, my children and other family members called regularly. Sometimes, I heard from friends: Nancy who cared and made me laugh, Pat who knew how to picnic even on a rainy day, Elaine who made arrangements with a florist to send me a fresh bouquet of flowers for several weeks, and Diane and Kirby who encouraged me. Kathy was thoughtful and fun to talk with. So many others wrote meaningful notes that made me smile. But they were all miles away in Texas, California, England, and Germany. I missed them, our conversations, and having dinner with someone who cared.
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During the second anniversary of the loss of Challenger, several reporters interviewed me for television, news, or magazine stories. One was Jane Mahaffey, a young widow herself and a talented writer. Jane invited me to an Easter sunrise service to be held at Arlington National Cemetery where Dick was buried. Having no other plans, I accepted without hesitation. Jane mentioned that other widows and widowers would also attend, including one man in particular who had lost his wife only the month before. We all needed the support of friends who understood. That Easter morning, in my hotel residence, the alarm clock buzzed with loud indignity. Groping in the dark, I switched off the alarm and turned over to sleep again, tugging at the cover for warmth. I’d already decided it was too dark to be alone on the streets and too cold to sit shivering through an outdoor sunrise service. I would explain my absence, and Jane would understand. I dozed until a bolt of guilt flashed through my conscience and brought me quickly to my feet. Racing to get dressed and out the door, I thanked God for his saving grace and for the new friend whom I didn’t want to disappoint.
Easter at Arlington National Cemetery When I arrived, Jane was waiting to meet me. It was still dark when we met in the amphitheater at Arlington National Cemetery and joined other widowed people. We greeted each other solemnly and took our seats, watching quietly and reverently as the morning light began creeping over the horizon. The chaplain opened the service. “Easter sunrise observance marks the dawn of Easter, Christ’s promise of new life for all people,” he told the congregation. “It’s the most important holy day of the Christian religion.” The dark sky gave way to light. The sun, a rosy orange ball, first peeked through the Greek architecture of the amphitheater, then turned to a yellow glow, climbed a sky of scattered clouds, and spread its rays gently over us where we sat worshiping together. As I listened to the message, I was encouraged. I thanked God for the challenge of yesterday, the beauty of the day, and the hope of a new tomorrow. I was ready to let go of my vulnerability and reach out to the people weeping softly beside me, but the energy I used for my own sorrow sapped my strength to help the others. With a strong, determined voice, the chaplain said, “To have new life, new friends, new experiences, we must let go of the pain and close the door
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to the past. We must learn to trust God to lead us safely through to the new day.” I scribbled his words on the back of my bulletin because they gave me courage to reach out to the others, to smile, and to nod my understanding to them. After the service, I walked across the street from the amphitheater to Dick’s gravesite and wished him a happy Easter. I returned to the others to find that another guest, General Don Rodgers, had invited us to join him for breakfast at the Ft. Meyer Officers’ Club. About ten of us sat around a long table eating and getting acquainted. General Rodgers sat across from me and asked that I call him Don. He told me he worked at the Pentagon as the Director of Army Command Control, Communication, and Computers, but that he would soon transfer to Arizona. We talked easily with each other. He had as many compassionate questions about Dick’s death as I had about the sudden death of his wife, Faye. From his southern accent, I guessed he grew up in the South even before he told me he was from Cookeville, Tennessee, a town only about three or four hours from where I had lived in Alabama. We ate the meal with pleasant conversation, but as we prepared to say good-bye, Jane suggested a walk along the Potomac River. A few of us agreed. As we tried to figure out the logistics of changing out of our Sunday clothes and meeting again, General Rodgers, decked out in his Army uniform with ribbons and three stars, calmly laid out the plan, the location, and the directions. For the first time, I really looked at him. He was tall and slender, with piercing hazel eyes and a gentle voice. In Don, I saw a man of admirable strength in spite of his recent loss. Soon our little group reunited to walk along the river on a well-worn footpath. Unexpectedly the others decided to jog, leaving me walking alone with the general. We talked more openly with each other, sympathizing with each other’s losses and our concerns for the future. We felt peaceful together on that beautiful blue-sky day. I learned that Don had lost Faye to a sudden heart attack as she drove home on a crowded Washington freeway. A fellow traveler pulled off the highway and parked behind her car to help, calling for an ambulance when he saw her slumped across the steering wheel. A police officer phoned Don’s office at the Pentagon to tell him the news, and another came to rush Don to his dying wife in the emergency room of an Alexandria hospital. Seeing his wife’s lifeless body attached to tubes, a breathing apparatus, and electronic devices was traumatic for Don. Her doctor offered no hope or
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encouragement. Don notified their only son, Eric, who flew from Dallas to Washington to his mother’s bedside. In only a few hours, Eric was there embracing his father and they held his mother until all life left her body. Walking together by the river, Don and I appreciated each other more, knowing the sorrow that filled our hearts. Don’s loss was not public like mine, but it was just as sorrowful for those who loved Faye. We agreed that at first we cry out in anguish for our dying loved ones, and then for ourselves—for the gaping wound the loss leaves. Our conversation was comforting. We returned to the cars where the others waited and thanked each other for a full day of companionship. A few weeks later, Don would relocate to command Fort Huachuca near Tucson. “Thank you, June,” he said to me before driving away. I never expected to see any of them again except for Jane. Even so, I was certain that day would influence the rest of my life.
Transitions As the freshness of spring gave way to the heat of summer, work continued to fill my days. I traveled across the country, seeking support for Challenger Center and visiting my children. By August, Rich had an assignment to fly F-16 fighter jets at Ramstein Air Force Base in Germany. It was difficult to tell him good-bye. Even with my renewed sense of purpose and direction, I often experienced moments of despair. To fight back tears of loneliness and the fear of isolation, I immersed myself in work even more, slipping into my old way of relying on my selfish need to control every situation and outcome. When a company created a television movie about the Challenger accident that none of the Challenger families approved, the stress of trying to prevent its release became so overwhelming that I needed medical attention. With no neighbors to call and my children in other parts of the world, I asked Jane Mahaffey to help me. As we drove to the hospital, I prayed for guidance, for strength to let go, and for wisdom to overcome the obstacles in my path. Jane helped with her presence, listening and cheering me with jokes. She helped me create a humorous image of myself standing atop the world trying to save everybody else, when I was actually the one who needed saving. She invited me to talk to our chaplain at the Army post and to a psychologist. These individuals led me to understand that no one is perfect, that feigning great strength is actually a weakness, and that my need to hold on to the past (particularly to Dick) was a selfish act. For my health and well-
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being, I learned that I must first turn away from grief and loss and turn toward God and the gift of new life. Guided by the light of love and laughter that healed and softened the jagged edges in my life, I soon had the strength and courage to begin letting go of the need to hold on to my past and control others, and to begin to create time and opportunities to make new friends. After church the next Sunday, I drove to the cemetery where Dick was buried. I knelt at his grave and prayed for strength to accept my life as it was, to begin to move forward, and to turn control back over to God. I needed to hold on to the memories while letting go of the past. I needed to let Dick Scobee return to his star that would glow in the heavens forever.
JUNE SCOBEE RODGERS, originally from Alabama, is the widow of Dick Scobee, commander of the space shuttle Challenger. June serves as the Founding Chairman of the Board and as a Founding Director for the Challenger Center for Space Science Education.
This is an inspiring story of conquering hardships, demonstrating tenacity, and in creating the Challenger Centers for Space Science Education, building something genuinely useful for society. — NEIL ARMSTRONG
I am reading this book and choking back the tears. I know firsthand how wonderfully June and Don Rodgers represent the American spirit. My life is richer for knowing them and for honoring the Challenger crew. — LEE GREENWOOD ENTERTAINER, WRITER, MUSICIAN June turned grief into a positive force and helped us heal the wounds much more than we were able to help her and the other Challenger families. — BARBARA BUSH FORMER FIRST LADY OF THE UNITED STATES
June is my dear friend and will be an inspiration to all who meet her in the pages of Silver Linings. — GEORGE H. W. BUSH 41ST PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES Silver Linings is a brave and compelling book by a brave and compelling person. This is our story, America’s story, and a story of the human spirit. — KEVIN J. ANDERSON AUTHOR OF NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER THE EDGE OF THE WORLD This book will give you hope, inspire you to dream big and challenge you to overcome whatever adversity you face. It is a must-read for those who feel they are limited by their circumstances. — MARGARET PEALE EVERETT (DAUGHTER OF NORMAN VINCENT PEALE) CHAIRMAN, GUIDEPOSTS FOUNDATION