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I 'll never forget the first time I saw her - it was awe at first sight. The

very first space shuttle blasted from Cape Canaveral, Fla. on April 12, 1981. The mission lasted only 55 hours, and I found myself mesmerized by a TV set in an El Paso hotel room. I clutched our six-month-old son Chris, and I babbled about NASA and the old, Apollo launches.

When the orbiter prepared to land, network broadcasts were preempted by live coverage of the landing. I whispered in Chris' ear: "You won't remember this, but history is being made." As the landing gear dropped, I held my breath like a child, superstitiously believing that it would somehow ensure a safe landing.

The shuttle had a regal name: Columbia. And it carried the nation's hopes and dreams for a new era of space flight.

The Columbia made a perfect three-point landing that afternoon at Edwards Air Force Base - I exhaled in relief as I bounced Chris on my knee.

Feb. 1, 2003, may have dawned bright without a cloud in the sky, but it turned into one of NASA's darkest days. The Columbia was on its 28th - and final - mission.

The orbiter was 37 miles above earth when it encountered pressurization problems. In a firey explosion, the Columbia and her crew were doomed.

On the front page of this issue, notice the insignia of shuttle mission STS-107. The logo was designed by the crew and features the symbol for microgravity, reflecting the 16-day science mission.

The insignia serves as a solemn reminder of the sacrifice of the seven astronauts. It's healing to repeat their names and remember them in our hearts: Rick Husband, commander; Laurel Clark, mission specialist; Ilan Ramon, payload specialist; David Brown, mission specialist; William McCool, pilot; Michael Anderson, payload commander; and Kalpana Chawla, mission specialist.

As NASA attempted to reconstruct the shuttle from the debris recovered in East Texas, they discovered some amazing treasures.

A film canister contained an image of the crew floating in space and hamming for the camera. Another canister contained live roundworms from one of the science experiments.

A tattered little notebook, soggy from rain and ice, initially appeared too damaged to decipher.

NASA confirmed that the spiral-bound notebook, written in Hebrew, belonged to the world's first Israeli astronaut, Mr. Ramon.

Last October, a few of the 18 handwritten pages were placed on display at the Israel Museum in Jerusalem.

Sunday will be the sixth anniversary since the Columbia crashed.

Let's pause together and look to the heavens.
TERRIE GONZALEZ
herald@mediactr.com