My Stars

"You are an astronaut. Describe your perfect day."

I awaken to silence, darkness, perfect stillness. The sun has yet to grace the window, the stars still fighting to show themselves as the sky shifts to envelop them. These are the celestial beings I have studied, grown to love and respect as ancestors. Each tells a story and lends itself to humankind for a few hundred years before its discreet exit into the darkness of oblivion. Cassiopeia glints in the distance, nearly invisible to the naked eye, except to someone looking hard, as if for an old friend. I smile and shake my head, incredulous that I may be so privileged as to float amongst these wonders. That I may wake, surrounded by the beauty that makes up the night sky, as if I were one of them. I glance at the clock. Kennedy Space Center time is now 5:26 am. I think of what all of the people at that command center must be doing at this moment. Probably filling their coffee mugs, grumbling about the way their mattress mistreated them last night, debating over who should have won American Idol. Stuck in a windowless box, cut off from the outside world, and completely forgetting -- perhaps even taking for granted -- the majesty in which their planet is encompassed, as they sit down to monitor the blips and beeps that represent countless satellites and space stations that are soaring through the infinity of space. I sigh thinking of their foolishness as I gaze out at the lightening canvas of sky outside my little window. How lucky I am. I stretch and think of the kids. They would be up any minute now. I wonder if they dreamed of space, if they dreamed of their mommy in the sky, doing what few can barely imagine. A tear comes to my eye as I think of all the time with them I miss on my missions. School presentations, skinned knees, the giggles bouncing down the hall into my room. What about career day? Do the other kids believe them when they say, "My mommy couldn't be here because she's in space"? I marinate in that for a moment, but then shake it off. No time for that. The limited time I have here can't be spent worrying about what I miss out on. As I yawn, I hear it. The rustling and then the rumble. Tiny 3- and 6-year-old feet thumping down the hall, bursting into my room with an explosion of excitement: another morning with Mommy's feet on solid ground! They climb into my bed and I snuggle them close, ignoring the bedside calendar marking only 2 days left to launch. That countdown fades away as I think: all of the stars in the galaxy couldn't shine as brightly as their smiles. Right now, that launch is as distant as Orion. I cover their little faces with smooches and I know that, as much as I love the stars, they could never have my whole heart. The love that surrounds me here will never burn out, never supernova or disappear. This is my universe, my perfect day. My shooting star wish come true.