Gabby_ A Story of Courage and Hope - Alison Hanson [115]
It was hard for me to imagine the girls opening and reading those letters after receiving news of my death. I tried not to think about it.
My final letter was to Gabby. I’d written to her before previous launches, of course, but this time, given what we’d been through together, my emotions couldn’t have been more intense. On the outside of her envelope I wrote, “Open in 134 contingency only.” Inside was the letter:
Dearest Gabby,
I am so sorry. If you are reading this, it has certainly been a tougher year than either of us could have ever imagined. It is odd how things turn around so quickly. As you recently said, “Life is strange.”
Maybe things happen for a reason or maybe this is just a random world we live in. I hope it is the former. I certainly believe that what happened January 8th was fate. My mishap, on the other hand, can be chalked up to flying a vehicle that is very dangerous. It really stinks that we won’t be together, but no matter how awful this is, you will persevere. You are tough! The toughest person I know.
You will get better, recover and move on and do great things. Please try to meet someone else and fall in love again. You deserve that. Please know that I will always love you madly.
We are still a team—in spirit.
I love you and will miss you always.
MK
On April 27, 109 days after the shooting, Gabby arrived at Houston’s Ellington Airport to fly to Florida for the launch. She made a willful decision that her coming-out would be a statement, to herself and those around her, that she was on her way back to self-sufficiency. She got out of her wheelchair and slowly climbed the stairs onto the NASA jet. A news helicopter captured long-range video of the moment, which aired all over television that day. It was the first glimpse the public had gotten of Gabby since January 8.
Gabby landed at Florida’s Patrick Air Force Base, thirty miles from the Kennedy Space Center. She then was checked into the barracks there along with her mom, Pia, her nurses, her security detail, and the astronaut Piers Sellers, who was serving as Gabby’s NASA liaison. I was in crew quarters, preparing for the launch, but I got several e-mails from Gloria about the “bleak” accommodations: an old table and chairs, industrial-grade carpeting, “a stiff little sofa,” a discolored pastoral landscape on the wall. The place was on a sand lot dotted with crabgrass. “It’s like living in a motel at the end of the universe,” Gloria wrote.
Gabby had spent six months with the Mennonites. She knew what it’s like to live austerely, so I figured she’d be OK with the barracks. I was wrong. When I called to ask her about the accommodations, she registered her dissatisfaction. “Awful,” she said.
Maybe living in a hospital for months had her longing for something less sterile. In any case, it was nice to see she was taking over her life to some extent, and asserting herself. She wanted new accommodations, calls were made, and we were able to get everyone set up at the local Residence Inn.
“It’s amusing,” Gloria told Gabby, “that a brain-injured woman had to take matters into her own hands to finally get us adequate lodging.”
In the early pages of this book, I described Gabby’s arrival at the NASA beach house on April 28, the day before our scheduled launch, when I was able to take her down to the water’s edge. That may have been our happiest moment since the shooting.
Later, Gloria told me that when Gabby left the beach house and got into the car, she seemed exhilarated and almost carefree. As they drove off, “Don’t Stop Believin’” by Journey was playing on the car radio, and Gabby surprised everyone by happily singing along. I was sorry I missed that.
Gabby’s four days in Florida were not without incident. One night while she was returning from a NASA function, Gabby needed to use a restroom. It can be pretty desolate