Transcription
Hi bestie. It's Morbid Monday and I don't know about you, but I have been glued to the Aremis mission. Fully invested. I got to see the launch with my own eyeballs and now they've circled the moon. They're on their way back to Earth and the images they've released are insane. Like I'm sitting there zooming in on my phone like, what am I looking at? What is that? Why do I feel like I'm not supposed to be seeing this? I'm fascinated.
But also, why was I watching that space launch and just thinking to myself, please don't blow up. Please don't blow up. Please don't blow up. Anyone else? It's like a full internal spiral. No reason really, truly just vibes. I can't be the only one because you cannot tell me that when you watch a rocket launch that there isn't a teeny tiny part of you that goes, "What if something goes wrong?" And I've been trying to figure out why I am the way that I am. I haven't figured it out yet, cuz I'm just sitting there in the back of my mind. But then it hit me.
And I've also been getting a lot of messages from you guys lately asking me about the Challenger, what happened, why it happened, what that actually looked like. Because there was a time when millions of people were watching a launch expecting to see something incredible and instead they watched something go very, very wrong. And that moment, it lives rent-free in my morbid little brain. So today we're talking about the crew of the space shuttle Challenger disaster. What happened that day? What recovery was like and then, because you know me, we're going to talk about what happened after recovery: autopsies, death certificates. Oh my. So, let's get into it because it's just another Morbid Monday. Whoa, whoa. Wish it was Friday. Death, dying, and decay. Wo wo. It's going to be a great day. Cha cha cha. Anyways, cue the intro.
So, let me set the scene for you. It's January 28th, 1986. Gas is under a dollar a gallon. Madonna is blasting through cassette players and car radios everywhere. And it's been about 14 years since humans had last supposedly stepped foot on the moon. Space still feels distant, untouchable, and for most people, it's just another ordinary morning. But for seven people, this was anything but ordinary. Seven lives, seven families, seven people about to be a part of something incredible. You had Dick Scobee, the commander, 44 years old. Michael J. Smith, the pilot, 40. Mission specialist Judith Resnik, 36. Ellison Onizuka, 39, and Ronald McNair, 35. Payload specialist Gregory Jarvis, 41, and then Christa McAuliffe, 37 years old. Sorry, Christa, if I say your last name wrong, forgive me. But she was a teacher and not just any teacher. She was chosen out of thousands of applicants across the country. She was selected to be the first teacher in space. Which is kind of wild when you think about it. Final Destination vibes, right? Because she wasn't a career astronaut. She trained with NASA. She prepared for the mission, but she was there to represent something bigger. Students, classrooms, everyday people watching at home. This was supposed to be inspiring. Like if she can go to space, so can you. Kids were watching this live in classrooms. Teachers rolling in their big screen TVs, pausing their lessons. Like this was a whole moment in the '80s, a moment to make space feel closer, more human, more possible. And for that brief moment, it did.
And the mission itself, it was supposed to last about 6 days. They were going to teach lessons from space, run experiments, orbit the Earth, and come back home. They were also scheduled to deploy a commercial communications satellite, and even study Haley's Comet while they were in orbit. So, this wasn't just symbolic. This was a full mission. That was the plan. And then those seven souls, they woke up that morning, got ready, brushed their teeth, suited up, said their goodbyes, and climbed into that shuttle, having absolutely no idea what the next 73 seconds were about to break.
And here's the part that makes this even harder to sit with, this whole story. This wasn't just some random, unpredictable space accident. There were concerns before the launch. Engineers had flagged issues with something called an O-ring, which is basically a seal in the rocket boosters that's supposed to keep extremely hot gases contained. It's kind of an important job. But that morning, it was unusually cold in Florida, like record-breaking cold temperatures. And those O-rings, they don't behave the same way in cold temperatures. They can become less flexible and less effective, and that seal can fail. There were conversations about it. There were hesitations. People raised concerns. But the launch still inevitably happened. And I don't know about you, but that's the kind of detail that just sits with you a little bit differently because now this isn't just a tragedy. It's a chain of decisions. And that part that messes with me. I don't know about you.
Because at first, everything looked normal. The shuttle lifted off the launchpad, flames underneath it, smoke billowing out, that deep rumble you feel in your chest, more than you hear. It was powerful. It was beautiful. And people were watching this live, all eyes on the sky. 70 seconds go by. Nothing seems wrong. The shuttle is climbing higher and higher, exactly like it's supposed to. And then 73 seconds after liftoff, something changes. There's a flash, a burst of white, and suddenly the shuttle isn't one piece anymore. It breaks apart in the sky. These branches of smoke spreading out in directions they were never supposed to. And for a second, people don't even understand what they were looking at because it didn't look like a typical explosion like Hollywood portrays, right? It looked almost slow, confusing, wrong, like your brain is trying to catch up with what your eyes are actually seeing. The shuttle had actually broken apart mid-flight.
And as everything separated, the crew cabin, the part holding all seven of them, continued onward, which is something a lot of people don't realize because when you hear explosion, you picture everything being gone instantly. That's not what happened here. That cabin separated and it kept moving and continued upward for just a moment and then it started coming back down from about 50,000 feet in the air. And that fall wasn't instant. It's estimated it took about 2 to 3 minutes for that cabin to make its way back down to the Earth. And I don't know about you, but my brain is spiraling wanting to know what was happening inside. Was the crew of the Challenger aware that they were plummeting to Earth? Did they know?
And this is where we have to talk about something that, I'm not going to lie, it's a little unsettling because during the investigation, they found that at least two of the crew members had activated their emergency air packs. Those are backup oxygen supplies. And you don't activate those unless you're conscious. So that tells us that there was at least some level of awareness for some portion of that fall. Now, for how long, we don't know. What they experienced in those moments, we don't know. But we do know it wasn't necessarily instant. There's no way to fully reconstruct those exact moments. But from a psychological standpoint, we hope that their awareness was lost quickly because the alternative is something none of us really want to sit with for too long.
And then, as quickly as it started, that fall ends at an estimated speed of around 200 mph, which, I'm sorry, pause because hearing that, you already know the outcome. But I want you to imagine just for a second, traveling at 200 mph and then stopping instantly. Like your body stops, but everything inside of you doesn't. It's kind of like one of those cartoon moments where a character hits a wall and everything inside of them just keeps going for a second, right? That's obviously exaggerated, but the idea behind it, that part is very real. And the same goes for the ocean. At that speed, it doesn't behave like something soft. It hits more like pavement. It just stops you immediately and everything inside of you keeps going. Which is why for a lot of people, understanding that helps because it means the forces involved are so extreme that death would be effectively instantaneous. There isn't time for the body to process what's happening and that, for a lot of people, makes this a little bit easier to sit with.
But while all of this is happening, the cameras are still rolling. People are still watching live. Kids sitting in classrooms, teachers standing there, no one turning it off yet because at first, no one even knew what they were looking at. There's this moment where the room just kind of goes quiet, like, did that just happen? Is that a part of it? Is it supposed to look like that? And then it hits and you realize, no, something went very, very wrong. And I can't even imagine being a teacher in that moment, having a classroom full of innocent children watching this, trying to process it for yourself as an adult, right? While also realizing they're processing it, too, because that wasn't just a mission failure. That was something people experienced together in real time. And that kind of thing sticks with you.
Almost immediately after the crash, recovery efforts began. Within days, search teams were out there, ships, divers, coordinated crews. But this wasn't a clean crash site. This was the ocean. Everything had come down over a very wide area. And the ocean does not keep things very neatly in one place. You've got currents, movement, shifting debris, low visibility, and time. Time, time is working against you. So, this wasn't a situation where everything is just there waiting to be found. This was a process, a slow one, a difficult one, and it went on for weeks, well into March and even into April. Ships like the USS Preserver were making repeated trips, bringing debris and remains back to port over and over again. And eventually, they located the crew cabin on the ocean floor in about 100 feet of water. And when they got to it, the crew were still inside, still in their seats.
And I remember learning that for the first time and just thinking, okay, so that part, or some parts, stayed together. Because when you hear they were still in their seats, it's easy to picture everything being perfectly intact and together, but it wasn't. Yes, the crew were located within that cabin space, but the cabin itself was heavily damaged on impact. And the human body is not built for that kind of force. So what was recovered were not whole, intact bodies. It was remains. And those remains had to be brought up one by one, very carefully documented, accounted for. Because even in pieces, you can still identify someone. Dental records, medical history, positioning, personal equipment. That's how you know who you're working with, even when they're not intact.
The ocean deserves a moment here. This is where the ocean comes in because this isn't a controlled environment. And what is there one moment can be somewhere else the next. And during that body recovery process, Gregory Jarvis was there one moment and then he wasn't. The ocean took him, swept him away out of the cabin. His remains were essentially lost during recovery. And for a period of time, they did not know if they were going to be able to bring him back, which is a horrifying thought that someone can be there, their body is just floating there, and then they're just gone. I imagine the recovery divers going down, retrieving someone, floating them back up, and then coming back down for the next one, and they can't find Gregory. He's just gone. That gives me chills. And it took weeks, weeks before he was finally located again and brought back to shore. And that right there tells you everything you need to know about ocean recoveries. This is not predictable. This is not controlled.
And then you add time into that because they weren't recovered immediately. Salt water, warm water, movement, marine life, all of that accelerates decomposition. Swelling happens. Tissue breaks down faster. Your features physically change. So what is eventually recovered is not going to look the way people expect. And that's why identification becomes so careful and so detailed and so important because you're working against all of that trying to bring people home. And once those remains were brought back to shore, they were transferred to Dover Air Force Base. Each one placed in a flag-draped casket, carried past an honor guard, handled with the kind of care and respect that you would hope for in a moment like this. In this case, they were able to identify remains for each of the seven crew members and return them to their families.
But a question I know that's coming is, were the crew of the Challenger autopsied? Yes, or as much as they could be. Because when you hear the word autopsy, you picture a full, intact body, maybe the Y incision, the whole works, right? But that's not what this was. These were again, fragmented remains. So the goal here wasn't just to determine a cause of death in the way people might expect. It's primary identification and documentation. Pathologists worked through what had been recovered, comparing dental records, medical history, anything that can help them positively match those remains to a person. And in this case, I think you're going to find this interesting. They were not able to determine an exact cause of death for each individual. And I know what you're thinking, well, Lauren, obviously they died in the explosion. And yes, we understand what happened, right? It's on film. But from a medical and legal standpoint, that's not enough because when someone dies, you don't just put on the death certificate an explosion. You have to document a cause of death and a manner of death. Those are two very different things and very specific things, I might add. Cause of death is the physical reason the body stopped functioning, like blunt force trauma. Manner of death is how it happened: accident, natural, homicide, things like that. And in a situation like this, when you have multiple factors, the breakup, the fall, the impact, and the time spent in the ocean, it's not always possible to isolate one single definitive cause of death. And that's where things start to get complicated. And that can feel frustrating because people, families want a definitive answer, but sometimes the reality is there isn't one.
And if that wasn't complicated enough, I mean, the whole thing's been complicated, right? The recovery, the autopsies, cause of death, but even something as basic as a death certificate became an issue for the Challenger crew because this wasn't your typical case. This happened over the ocean. It involved a federal mission and the remains were examined by military pathologists, not the local medical examiners. So when it came time to actually sign those death certificates, the local officials were like, "Yeah, no, we didn't handle those remains. We didn't perform those exams, so we're not putting our name on it." And honestly, that makes sense to me because in their world, you sign your name to what you personally handled. And this wasn't that. So NASA stepped in and issued the death certificates themselves, which is not something you see every day, like hardly ever. And it just shows you, even after everything we just talked about, there were still questions about who was responsible for what. And that's how complex a situation like this really is.
Oh my gosh, this would be such a slim chance, but I kind of wish I could see what those death certificates look like issued from NASA or if NASA signed it. That's probably my guess. But I would love to see what that looks like. I have no idea. If anybody can find an image, let me know.
And now I want to talk about the funerals because this part stayed with me and I think it might you too because they weren't all laid to rest the same way. The remains that could be identified with certainty, yes, those were returned to the families and from there, each family made their own decision. Some chose burial. Some chose cremation. Some were laid to rest in their hometowns, surrounded by the people who knew them. Others were buried at Arlington National Cemetery with full military honors. And that part feels, as much as anything like this can be, normal.
But then there's the other side of it because there were also remains recovered that they knew belonged to one of the seven victims, but they could not say with 100% certainty who. And when you're dealing with something like that, you don't just guess and hope that you're right. I wouldn't be able to sleep at night if that was my job. I'm not just going to put this over here and say this belongs to her when it doesn't. You have to be sure. So those remains they couldn't identify were all put together and cremated together and then laid to rest together at the Challenger Memorial in Arlington. And honestly, I think that that was the right call because instead of risking getting it wrong, instead of separating something that may have belonged together, they kept them together, which in a way means there is a place where all seven of them still are. And I think there's something about that that matters because after everything, the fall, the impact, the ocean, the time, they were still brought home. They were still identified. They were still cared for. And they were still laid to rest with intention. And I think sometimes that's the part we don't talk about enough. Not just how someone dies, but what happens after, how they're handled, how they're returned, how they're remembered. Because even in something this chaotic, this devastating, there was still care, there was still effort, there was still respect, and that part matters.
Okay, Q&A time. I got this question in my DM and I thought we should read it together. Is what happened with the Challenger like, what happened with the Titan sub? Like when it imploded back in 2023 with Stockton Rush and his passengers? The answer is no. They're actually complete opposites. With the Titan, that was deep ocean pressure, extreme pressure. And when that sub failed, it didn't explode outward. It collapsed inward instantly. And when I say instantly, I mean there was no time to process it, no time to react, no time for the brain to even register pain. It would have been over before they even knew something was wrong. One moment, gone the next. And the forces involved in something like that are so extreme that there really isn't anything left in the way that people imagine. And no, they did not recover any remains. They found nothing. They were like liquefied.
Now, the Challenger is much different. That wasn't pressure crushing inward. That was a fall. The cabin separated and came back down, and that took time. So if there was any level of awareness, that's the part that's hard to sit with, at least for me, because instead of something happening in a split second, there's this window. But the end, the impact would have been instantaneous. So even though both are tragedies, they are two completely different types of death. One is implosion, pressure, collapsing inward. The other is extreme impact. And those are not the same experience at all.
And then I saw this question. Could something like this happen again today? And the honest answer, space travel is never risk-free. But the Challenger changed everything. After this disaster, there were major investigations, major changes, as there should be, design changes, safety protocols, decision-making processes. Because one of the biggest takeaways from the Challenger was that the warning signs were there and they weren't acted on the way that they should have been. So today, there are a lot more checks, a lot more hesitation when something doesn't feel right. A lot more emphasis on listening to the engineers because of what happened here. So could something go wrong? Yes. But would it look the same? Hopefully not, because this forced change. I still wonder if the Challenger crew knew that there were complications before they were set to take off. Did they know about the potential that the O-rings were going to fail? If they knew, would they have still gotten in that rocket? That's what I want to know.
Okay, cuz you know I can't film in one take. [ __ ] it. Before we get into the Q&A, I just want to give you a quick Artemis 2 update. The new one where they went to the moon and then they just came back. Well, anyways, they made it back alive and well, thank goodness. Safe splashdown exactly how it's supposed to go. Everyone is okay, which I love that for all of us. And I don't know, a part of me kind of wonders if moments like the Challenger crash are in the back of those astronauts' minds, like as they were slowly falling back to Earth and going through with that water landing. So, seeing this one go right, seeing them come home safely, that's a really good feeling. All right, let's get into your questions.
Has anyone ever requested plastic surgery? Like smaller waist, bigger lips, that kind of thing. And I'm not going to lie, I am a mortician and I can work a miracle sometimes, but I cannot work magic. And I definitely did not go to school to be a plastic surgeon, but you would be surprised how often we have conversations like this because people do make requests. Now, am I out here doing lipo? No. Are we giving someone a full glow-up? Also, no. And honestly, the most common request I get from families is not what you might think. It's not the waist. It's not anything dramatic. It's double chins. People are very concerned about having double chins in their casket. And I always have to gently remind them, I am a mortician, not a plastic surgeon. But there are things we can do and a lot of it falls under restorative art. So, for example, my restorative art professor told us about a case where someone had died from cancer and they had a very large growth on their face, about the size of a golf ball. And the family asked if it could be removed before the viewing and she was able to do that. She removed it, closed the area, and the family was so grateful because they got to see their loved one the way they remembered them. And that's really what this comes down to. We're not here to change someone. We're here to restore them. So, yes, requests happen, but most of the time it's about bringing someone back to who they were, not turning them into someone new.
Okay, I love this question. What is the difference between an undertaker, a funeral director, and a mortician? And I totally get why this is confusing because honestly, it depends where you are. Undertaker is just the old-school term, like very vintage, very historical. We don't really use that one anymore. I mean, you can if you want to be cool and different. Funeral director is the more modern, straightforward term, and that's what you'll usually see on name tags. That's the person working with families, planning services, handling arrangements, and logistics. Now, mortician is more of a broad term, and that's usually what people use when someone does both the funeral directing side and the body preparation side. So embalming, restoration, all of that behind-the-scenes work because in some states, those are actually two separate licenses. You can be just a funeral director or just an embalmer depending on what you're licensed to do. But if you do both, that's where mortician kind of comes in. And for me personally, I usually say mortician because I do both. But I am not offended if someone calls me a funeral director. That's literally what my own name takes as. And if I'm on the phone talking to someone, I will say I'm the funeral director. It's just the simpler term more people recognize. So yeah, different names, a whole lot of overlap, and a lot of it depends on licensing and location.
All right, I love you guys so much. And don't forget, please leave your morbid questions in the comments. I think I'm going to have to do an entire episode dedicated to them, and that'll be a lot of fun for me, too. I know normally we do mango kisses at the end of our episodes, but I do not have mango with me today. And before you ask, she is fine. She's okay. It's just her time of the month, apparently. Why do I feel like this is TMI to say about a dog? Like, I feel like I'm telling you her personal, but it's just she's a doggy. But Mango told me to tell you that she loves you. She's sorry she couldn't be here. Believe me, she wants to. We'll do some honorary Mango kisses today. No, I'm not licking you. So, thank you, and I'll see you next Morbid Monday. Let me know if you like this video. Okay, bye.