Floating Star

We all knew this would be a risk. We signed up anyway, signed the waivers, trained hard, said goodbye to our loved ones, and everyone we knew.

We bonded over the hope of making it. Cheered when we lifted off without a hitch. Embarking on our journey through the unknown, into the depths.

We knew that by the time we returned, if we ever did, that everyone we knew would be gone. We only had each other. Only we knew what had happened out here, no one else could understand.

As our known world got smaller and smaller, the fear began to set in. The knowledge that everything we found out here would never make sense, not in our lifetimes. The weight of all we were letting go of crashing down on us even as a lack of gravity hoisted us out of our seats.

Children. Parents. Siblings. Partners. Pets. Friends. Every step we'll miss. Every school play. Every report card. Every bedtime story. Every wedding, every engagement, every breakup. Every dream. We'll miss it all.

For the first rest cycles, these facts plagued us. Screams and sobs cracked the silence. But warm embraces met the tears. A comfort bonded us. We became detached from our people.

When we returned home, we would still be so far away.

We knew this would be a risk. Life out here is hardly a life at all. Confined to a pod, floating through a vacuum of wondrous disaster.

We took careful turns. One of us would suit up, get all the gear in and step out into the vastness. Allowing the emptiness to engulf us, experience the stars, see things not even pictures could justify. Stepping outside the pod and then letting the others pull you around by the constant movement of the pod. We knew every second counted. That at any point something could go wrong.

We never wanted it to be us. But as soon as it was someone else, we remembered all they had left behind and wished to the stars it could have been us instead.

We always left letters behind. Most of us kept diaries, hoping that when we returned, our voyage would surpass reports and our stories would be known. The losses, the triumphs, our story not just our venture. A letter of our love was always kept safe. Knowing when we returned those we knew would be gone, but holding on to some semblance of our past life. Most consisted of memories, the best days of our lives.

Time is hard to keep track of when the time we string ourselves to is always an unknown conversion changing by the moment. We created our own way of keeping track of the days and ultimately years that passed at home. We tracked sleep. After one rest, it was the next "day". We called them cycles.

Many cycles passed, not much would happen. Games would be won and lost. Meals made and devoured. Tears shed and shared. Photos taken and stored. Every few cycles one of us would take a step outside.

It was my turn to step.

Everything was fine. I was secured. I was fine. I'd done this before. I knew what to expect.

I went out farther than I thought I would.

In the lapse of gravity we were used to floating. Within the confines of our pod we could not float for long before knocking into something or someone. Out in the vastness, our only limits were the tether and air supply.

I went out farther than I had before.

I always shut my eyes after I stepped. Letting the tether pull me along. Letting everything be out of my control.

I was farther from the pod than anyone had ever been.

The worst isn't the first conclusion. I didn't notice at first.

I notice the vastness. The chill biting through the heavy suit, the closest thing to a winter breeze any of us has felt in a long time. In the distance the edge of cosmic clouds. Purple and red. Stars surround us all the time. It's different out here. Everything is endlessly far away.

Then I noticed.

I notice as the pod treads away and I stay, unmoving.

I was secure.

Panic is not first to set in, nor is fear.

Why?

Echoing passed the wonder, past the unfathomable of the space stretched out around me.

Why am I being left?

Why are they leaving?

The five stages of grief are not as straightforward as some may be led to believe. Acceptance comes quickly. The rational rears its head.

We cannot adjust course. The path is set, we are along for the journey. To document the wonders outside our world. They have no choice.

I can't hold this mistake against them. They did nothing wrong.

Next comes the panic, knowing that my air will run out. Controlled breathing only makes my breathing more irregular. Deep breaths take more air but calm my heart rate. Short breaths elevate my stress. Both cause the clock to click faster.

Entrapped by the cold, burning sets in. With it comes fear. My lungs burn but I can't gasp for air.

The fight is a lost cause, no kicking or trying to pull away. There is nothing to fight against. My motions lose all conviction when there is nothing to cause momentum, nothing to cause friction, no gravity to add weight.

I'm left with the stars. My dreams as a young kid to see them up close, before I learned they would burn me like Icarus. I had been burned with curiosity of what lay beyond. Scorched with the knowledge there would be more to see. A fire propelled me to this moment.

I was fine.

Everyone says it's peaceful, drifting into the depths. Sure, usually they're referring to water but what is the deepest ocean if not space?