Day 100, September 7, 2015

To anyone out there,

Today is the hundredth day that I have been stuck here. The spaceship is completely destroyed, my communication system is obsolete, and the last time I’ve spoken to another human was when I got stuck here.

“Houston?” I asked hopefully into the microphone.

“This is Houston,” said a blunt, tired-sounding man on the other side of the call, 238,900 miles away.

“Houston, I’ve reached the—well, no, actually, I’ve, um, I’ve crashed on the moon. Anyhow, I—I’m on the moon and my ship, it’s wrecked. Houston I’m afraid that I can’t get home,” I said through hyperventilated breaths. My knees quivered.

“Roger,” he sounded slightly panicked, but he was trying to remain calm, probably for my sake. “Sam, are you positive the spacecraft is completely damaged?”

Suddenly, I recognized the voice. This was Jack Howard. I had met him three days before my departure. When I was so sure this would be a successful visit to the moon.

“Yes, Houston, I’m sure. It’s completely wrecked except for communication.

There’s a red light flashing next to the speaker. Houston, please, tell me. What do I do? I have a wife. I have kids. Please just find a way to get me home.” I didn’t even notice the tears spilling out of my eyes until they soaked my cheeks.

“Calm down,” he told me, as the red light started blinking. “We’re going to figure this out, but for now, the only advice I can give is to just—” the light went dead right as the audio did. My only source of communication was abolished.

The last 100 days of my life have been wasted. All I have done is eat, sleep, and cry. I’ve rationed the food I came with, but I only have two days’ worth left, if I’m careful. The only other thing I spend my time doing is writing these letters, imagining that I could send them, that someone would read them and write back, that someone could save me.

If you find this, I’m probably gone. If you are from Earth, please tell my wife, Lisa Cooper, and my daughters, Madison and Kristen Cooper, that I love them and I am so sorry.

My name is Samantha Cooper. I am a wife, a mom, and a courageous astronaut. But what I need to be remembered as, is the woman who tried to live. This is the end, but I didn’t give up, and I never lost faith. Today may be the day I die, but it is not the day I stop trying to live. Through the hard days, and the long nights, I persevered and I lived. That’s what I did in space. I am not the woman who died in space, I am the woman who lived there. I survived, until I didn’t.

Samantha Cooper
The woman who lived

—By Madison, 16, Florida