Alone in Space on 9/11: An Astronaut's Photographs and Memories (ContributorNetwork)

COMMENTARY | September 11 is a day that is indelibly etched upon the mind of most Americans that were old enough to experience it (and even some who weren't), a traumatizing event that has become a part of America's collective conscious memory. It would difficult to imagine what it would have been like on that fateful day had there not been someone to turn to, someone with which to talk and discuss and lament and mourn. But one man did just that: NASA astronaut Frank Culbertson. On 9/11 he was an American alone, cut off from not only his home country, which was under attack, but from his world, which had been forever altered by the day's tragic events. On Friday, the astronaut released through NASA both photographs and letters of his 9/11 experience.

"I was flabbergasted, then horrified," he wrote, recalling that the first he heard of the attacks was from a radio transmission from a NASA flight surgeon. "My first thought was that this wasn't a real conversation, that I was still listening to one of my Tom Clancy tapes. It just didn't seem possible on this scale in our country. I couldn't even imagine the particulars, even before the news of further destruction began coming in."

The particulars were horrifying. The September 11 terrorist attacks on the twin towers of the World Trade Center, one of the world's foremost architectural achievements and symbolic of the economic might of the United States, was reduced in a matter of hours to a smoking pile of concrete, steel, glass, and rubble. Nearly 3,000 people would die in the attacks (including those killed at the Pentagon in Washington, D. C.). Over 400 first responders would also die helping search for, aid, and treat survivors as well as trying to restore order and contain fires. Evidence suggests that many are dying still, slowing succumbing to the carcinogenic dust and debris that pervaded the air in Manhattan after the towers fell.

The tenth anniversary of 9/11 has produced a plethora of testimonies, documentaries, human interest stories, histories, and memorials. Of them all, Culbertson's is profoundly different. He was roughly 300 miles above the Earth, circling like the major character in the hit David Bowie song "Major Tom":

"... am I sitting in my tin can

Far above the world

Planet Earth is blue

And there's nothing I can do..."

He was a lone American aboard the International Space Station, forced to deal with the trauma of the day's events without the aid of physical companionship with other Americans. Except for live radio and television feeds from down below, Culbertson was cut off from much of the emotional and psychological support afforded to most that were experiencing the trauma of the attacks.

Culbertson was alone and he knew it. "Other than the emotional impact of our country being attacked and thousands of our citizens and maybe some friends being killed, the most overwhelming feeling being where I am is one of isolation."

He also showed signs of helplessness, as was evidenced through his thoughts of a post-9/11 world. From a second letter: "It's difficult to describe how it feels to be the only American completely off the planet at a time such as this. The feeling that I should be there with all of you, dealing with this, helping in some way, is overwhelming. I know that we are on the threshold (or beyond) of a terrible shift in the history of the world. Many things will never be the same again after September 11, 2001."

Still, unlike "Major Tom," Culbertson knew he would eventually go home. Hope soon overcame the shadows of doubt and uncertainty.

From a third letter: "I hope the example of cooperation and trust that this spacecraft and all the people in the program demonstrate daily will someday inspire the rest of the world to work the same way. They must!"

Frank Culbertson's photos and letters provide the world with an insight into how humans deal with tragedy through gradual acceptance and the determination to overcome the tragic event(s). His is a testament of the hope for a better future born of the lessons learned from that late summer day.

On the tenth anniversary of the terrorist attacks on 9/11, it should be hoped that the present is part of the realization of that better future.

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Space Shuttle Retired but Memories Will Remain Forever (ContributorNetwork)

Yahoo! News asked its readers and contributors to share their memories of the space shuttle program as it nears its end in July. Below is a story from a contributor.

[Your Voice: Sign up with the Yahoo! Contributor Network to share your thoughts.]

When it was announced that the space shuttle program was going to be retired, I was disappointed, but I knew it only the end of a program and not space exploration. The shuttle program planning began in 1968, but a functional design named Enterprise, thanks to Star Trek fans, wasn't tested until Sept. 17, 1976.

While the fully functional Columbia was delivered in 1979, it didn't launch until April 12, 1981, (the 20-year anniversary of Yuri Gagarin's flight) with the minimal crew of two. Eventually, full crews would consist of seven people. Challenger, Discovery, and Atlantis were delivered to the Kennedy Space Center in summer 1982, late fall 1983, and spring 1985, respectively. After Challenger was destroyed in 1986, Endeavour was built to replace her.

Of 135 space shuttle flights, only two ended with the deaths of astronauts. On Jan. 28, 1986, the Challenger shuttle was launched even though the temperature was the coldest for a launch ever. Likewise, the crew received special attention when it was announced that a civilian, a school teacher named Christa McAuliffe, would be part of the crew.

After the launch, Challenger started to break apart and burn up 73 seconds after launch at an altitude of 46,000 feet, and the crew died when the remains of the shuttle crashed into the ocean. After an investigation, a faulty O-ring that shrank and leaked under cold compression was found to be the cause of the disaster, but another disaster would occur in 2003.

On Feb. 1, 2003, while preparing to land, the heat shielding in the left wing of the Columbia failed from damage sustained at take off. The resulting heat from re-entry destroyed the shuttle, and witnesses reported hearing a loud boom.

At the time, I was in Minnesota, but I watched the coverage closely. Yet, the coverage of the Columbia disaster was a limited event. News channels like CNN covered it for the day, and showed images of the shuttle ablaze. I felt terrible for the incredible astronauts who died on that shuttle and their families, but I gained a new respect for them as well. Risking their lives for the advancement of the human race was a risk worth taking. Even as pieces of the ship fell to Earth, I realized that they lived a life more exciting than almost every other human being, but this tragedy also makes it clear that we need to keep exploring space with humans.

Hopefully, humans will journey to the moon again in the near future and even to Mars. Someday, we will number too many to continue living on this planet, and we have a natural affinity to explore. Human space exploration will not end, but our progress may be slowed if NASA remains underfunded.

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