Gabby_ A Story of Courage and Hope - Alison Hanson [103]
Actually, Gabby and I had become very public examples of an issue facing countless families with injured or ill loved ones: When and how do you return to work? While I was submitting to being retested by NASA, the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette actually asked its readers to vote on whether I should return to the mission. By a 2-to-1 margin, they advised me: Fly.
I’m not sure my NASA bosses were following the polls, but they eventually called me in to announce their decision. They said I’d performed well in my week of testing: “We want you back as commander.” I thanked them for their confidence in me.
They had issues they wanted to discuss. “We don’t think you should be doing any media interviews until the launch,” my boss said. “You need to focus on the mission.”
I didn’t think that would work. “Look, my wife can’t speak for herself,” I said. “She has become a very public figure. I think I’ll occasionally need to give updates on how she’s doing—how we’re both doing. I’ll do it on my own time.” They relented, but we were in new territory. My marriage to Gabby would put the upcoming mission under an intense spotlight.
NASA held a press conference to announce my return, but no one knew the behind-the-scenes machinations that had led to it. My bosses were very positive. They explained that having me as commander would reduce the mission risk. They said the decision to reinstate me was unanimous, and went all the way up the chain of command.
At the conference, a reporter asked me if I had received a specific OK from Gabby that she wanted me to fly. “I know my wife very well,” I said, “and she would be very comfortable with the decision that I made. She’s a big supporter of my career, a big supporter of NASA.”
I also told the reporters that Gabby’s doctors said it was possible that by launch day, she’d be well enough to attend. What would Gabby want? She’d definitely want to be there.
In the weeks that followed, that became a goal for both of us.
Gabby’s colleagues on both sides of the aisle had their own sense of what Gabby would want—from them. Seventeen days after the shooting, on the night President Obama gave his 2011 State of the Union address, Gabby’s colleagues found a way to make a statement about political discourse in America. They agreed to buck the tradition of Democrats and Republicans sitting only with their own party for the president’s address. Instead, many lawmakers, as a show of civility and solidarity, sat together in a bipartisan seating arrangement. In the Arizona delegation, one chair was left empty to recognize Gabby’s absence.
The representatives and senators wore black and white ribbons. Tucson residents had been wearing those ribbons since the shooting. The white ribbon represented hope for a peaceful, nonviolent society. The black ribbon paid tribute to those who were killed and injured.
I began watching coverage of the address at Gabby’s bedside. She was still quite out of it, but I was nervous about what the president would say and what Gabby might comprehend.
The empty chair in the Arizona delegation was between Jeff Flake, a Republican, and Raul Grijalva, a Democrat. I asked Pia to tell their staffers that what Gabby really wanted was for the two congressmen to hold hands across the empty wooden seat. Gabby, of course, wasn’t able to speak or make such a request. But I thought it would be funny to put that bipartisan prospect in these competitors’ heads. (Pia was mature enough to resist forwarding my message; she knew it was a prank from me, not a request