𝒥uly 16, 1969

You always knew your husband Gregory was destined for something big, but when he told you one night that he would be part of the Apollo 11 mission, it wasn't just pride you felt. You felt fear, confusion, sadness, denial, and anger.

It was an enormous risk; no one knew for sure what would happen. Nixon even had a speech prepared in case the mission failed. The media wouldn't stop talking about this historic event. Your husband's name was on everyone's lips, like a future hero or a corpse.

— "Daddy… Why you have to go?" — little Tobias asked.

He thought of a thousand answers. Of flags, of history, of science.

— "Because someone has to, buddy…" — he murmured against the little boy's head in his arms.

He was leaving for a while, into the unknown, farther than any other man had gone. The boy didn't understand yet, but perhaps Daddy would never return. But you knew it well. A few steps away, your eyes glistening with tears, holding a white handkerchief.

He gave the little boy one last kiss on the head, then lowered him to the ground and looked at you, extending his arms and drawing you close. You were angry, you didn't want this, but it was true… someone had to do it. He kissed your cheek, the bridge of your nose, your eyelid, your lips, your chin, while holding your face. He breathed deeply against your skin, imprinting your perfume on his memory, the taste of your skin, the feel of your hair between his fingers. It would be 8 days of pure uncertainty, of fear.

— “I’ll be back, I promise…”