I remember that day as vividly as if it were yesterday, and how I cried for the Challenger Seven.
I was nine years old at the time, and I saw the smoke trail with the two SRB trails distinctively rising from the round BOOM cloud. I had written to NASA only a short time earlier, expressing my interest in becoming an astronaut. I still have the letter that I received back, shortly after the accident.
You know what? I've cried a lot since then. We've had rocket attacks on my city, I've had friends killed on the road, by sniper, and by their own bad habits. I've come close two times that I remember vividly, once while my wife was pregnant with our first. Those fourteen brave men and women who were lost in the name of exploration deserve our respect, but not our tears. They knew what they were doing. They did it anyway. Cry over people who die young for no reason other than "I hate you" or "I'm stupid". Don't cry over the elderly who die, and don't cry over the brave who took their chance. Celebrate them instead.