Margaret Dean: Endurance: A Year in Space, A Lifetime of Discovery

I’m convinced he lived to see my mission through and to celebrate my return. It was a big deal to him to support Mark and me and to celebrate our accomplishments, and he was proud of all of his granddaughters, whom he adored. Like most people, he had mellowed with age, and we had a much improved relationship toward the end of his life.

In my computer, I have a file of all the images my crewmates and I took on the International Space Station during the time I was there. When I’m trying to remember some detail from the mission, sometimes I click through them. It can be overwhelming, because there are so many of them—half a million—but often a picture of a specific person on a specific day will bring back a flood of sense memory, and I will suddenly remember the smell of the space station, or the laughter of my crewmates, or the texture of the quilted walls inside my CQ.

One night, I click through the images late at night after Amiko is asleep: an image of Misha and Sergey in the Russian service module, smiling, getting ready for a Friday night dinner; an image of Samantha Cristoforetti running on the treadmill on the wall, grinning; an image of a purple-and-green aurora that I took in the middle of the night; an image of the eye of a hurricane taken from above; an image of a dirty filter vent just before I threw it away, containing a snarl of dust, lint, and one really long blond hair that must have come from Karen Nyberg, who left the station more than a year before I got there; a series of images of the connectors on the Seedra Terry and I took while we were in the process of fixing it so the ground could see how it was looking; an image of an iPad floating in the Cupola displaying a snapshot of a newborn baby I don’t know, majestic cloud formations visible below; an image of Tim Peake preparing his spacesuit for his first spacewalk, the Union Jack visible on the shoulder of the suit, a huge boyish grin on his face; a picture of Kjell flying through the U.S. lab like Superman; a picture of Gennady and me chatting in Node 1, just enjoying the moment and each other’s company. A year is made up of a million of these, and I could never have captured them all.

One image that doesn’t exist in my computer but that I will always remember is the view from the Soyuz window as Sergey, Misha, and I backed away from the International Space Station. As well as I know the inside of the station, I’ve only seen the outside a handful of times. It’s a strange sight, glinting in the reflected sunlight, as long as a football field, its solar arrays spread out more than half an acre. It’s a completely unique structure, assembled by spacewalkers flying around the Earth at 17,500 miles per hour in a vacuum, in extremes of temperature of plus and minus 270 degrees, the work of fifteen different nations over eighteen years, thousands of people speaking different languages and using different engineering methods and standards. In some cases the station’s modules never touched one another while on Earth, but they all fit together perfectly in space.

As we backed away, I knew I would never see it again, this place where I’d spent more than five hundred days of my life. We will never have a space station like this again in my lifetime, and I will always be grateful for the part I’ve played in its life. In a world of compromise and uncertainty, this space station is a triumph of engineering and cooperation. Putting it into orbit—making it work and keeping it working—is the hardest thing that human beings have ever done, and it stands as proof that when we set our minds to something hard, when we work together, we can do anything, including solving our problems here on Earth.

I also know that if we want to go to Mars, it will be very, very difficult, it will cost a great deal of money, and it may cost human lives. But I know now that if we decide to do it, we can.

Amiko said to me once, “Teamwork makes the dream work,” and spaceflight is the biggest team sport there is, so spending any amount of time in space takes the support and collaboration of thousands of people. From the instructors who train us to the flight controllers and flight directors working in mission control to my friends and family keeping me connected to my life on Earth—there isn’t enough space in this book to thank them all, so one collective “thank you” will have to suffice.

Above all, I have to recognize my partner—and now fiancée—Amiko Kauderer. I hope the pages of this book make clear what it meant to me that she was with me day by day throughout this journey, experiencing together its challenges and triumphs and its highs and lows. I’ve tried to express what a crucial role she’s played in this mission’s success, but words can never express the role she has played in my life these last eight years. Thank you, Amiko.

My kids, Samantha and Charlotte, have sacrificed much for their dad. From missed birthdays and holidays to the general disruption of their lives, accepting the inherent risks of spaceflight and sharing their dad with the world. They were brave, adaptable, and resilient. I appreciate and am proud of how you handled it all with strength and grace. Thank you.

My brother, Mark, has been by my side since my birth, challenged and supported me throughout our lives. Having also flown in space, he understood the thrill, the trials, and the hardships of this journey. His support and counsel I’ve come to rely on and much appreciate. Thank you.

My parents endured the emotional toll of watching their sons launch into space and await our safe return to Earth—a total of seven times for my mother, Patricia, and eight times for my father, Richard. Thank you to my mother also for showing me by her example what it took to achieve a lofty goal.

My ex-wife, Leslie, lent her willing support, accepting the role of a full-time single parent, ensuring our daughters were safe and cared for back on Earth each time I went to work off the planet. Thank you.

Writing a book is a team effort as well. This is my first experience writing a book, but it was also the first time my collaborator Margaret worked on someone else’s book. Despite this, the experience couldn’t have been an easier collaborative effort. From the beginning, Margaret showed herself as trustworthy in not only maintaining confidentiality but also by allowing me to open myself and explore my own emotions, which helped bring these personal stories to life. Thanks, Margaret, for helping me through this process and thanks for your friendship.

Our editor, Jonathan Segal, was also critical to the process and final product. Thank you, Jonathan. I also need to thank my literary agent, Elyse Cheney, for not only inking this deal with the publisher but also for being a mentor and friend.

My flight surgeon, Dr. Steve Gilmore, deserves a special recognition for taking care of my health in space and on Earth for many years and for providing critical insight to much of the medically related content.

I have to thank some of the people who offered their perspectives on the experiences I describe and allowed me to tell their stories. Many people helped by filling in details, offering input on drafts of the book, and helping out in other ways big and small. Thank you to Bill Babis, Chris Bergin, Dr. Steve Blackwell, Beth Christman, Paul Conigliaro, Samantha Cristoforetti, Dr. Tracy Caldwell Dyson, Tilman Fertitta, Steve Frick, Dr. Bob Gibson, Marco Grob, Ana Guzman, Martha Handler, Dr. Elena Hansen, Brooke Heathman, Christopher Hebert, Giselle Hewitt, Dr. Al Holland, Akihiko Hoshide, Bill Ingalls, Omar Izquierdo, Dr. Smith Johnston, Dr. Jeff Jones, Bob Kelman, Sergey Klinkov, Nathan Koga, Mike Lammers, Dr. Kjell Lindgren, Dr. Gioia Massa, Dr. Megan McArthur, Dr. Brian Miles, Rob Navias, Dr. James Picano, Dr. Julie Robinson, Jerry Ross, Tom Santangelo, Daria Shcherbakova, Kirk Shireman, Scott Stover, Jerry Tarnoff, Robert Tijerina, Terry Virts, Sergey Volkov, Dr. Shannon Walker, Dr. Liz Warren, Doug Wheelock, and Dr. Dave Williams.