 Why does Martha seem so calm when Terry's death is confirmed?
She stood motionless in the garden, one hand pressed against her heart, watching him rise above the fields where he had played as a boy, where he had worked as a young man; and she wondered whether he was thinking of those fields now, whether he was thinking of her standing alone in the April night with her memories; whether he was thinking of the verandahed house behind her, with its empty rooms and silent halls, that once upon a time had been his birthplace. Higher still and higher he rose in the southern sky, and then, when he had reached his zenith, he dropped swiftly down past the dark edge of the Earth and disappeared from sight. "Is Terry really way up there all alone, Martha?" "Aren't you scared , Martha?" What could she say when the suave young man came up to her and said, "We want you to know that we're all very proud of your boy up there, ma'am, and we hope you'll do us the honor of answering a few questions." But whenever she opened her mouth to mention, say, how he used to study till all hours of the night, or how difficult it had been for him to make friends because of his shyness, or the fact that he had never gone out for football—whenever she started to mention any of these things, the suave young man was in great haste to interrupt her and to twist her words, by requestioning, into a different meaning altogether, till Terry's behavior pattern seemed to coincide with the behavior pattern which the suave young man apparently considered the norm, but which, if followed, Martha was sure, would produce not young men bent on exploring space but young men bent on exploring trivia. A few of the questions concerned herself: Was Terry her only child? What did she think of the new law granting star mothers top priority on any and all information relating to their sons? It was late in the afternoon by the time the TV crew got everything repacked into their cars and trucks and made their departure. Martha fixed herself a light supper, then donned an old suede jacket of Terry's and went out into the garden to wait for the sun to go down. According to the time table the general had outlined in his first telegram, Terry's first Tuesday night passage wasn't due to occur till 9:05. It was different because now she had a personal interest in the sky, a new affinity with its myriad inhabitants. Some of them were blue and some were red, others were yellow ...
 Martha made peace with Terry's death in the hours since the general's last telegram.
 Martha made peace with Terry's death in the hours since the general's last telegram.  After communing with the stars in the afternoon, Martha realizes that this is the way Terry would want to go.  Martha is very angry with the general and is doing everything in her power to not yell at him.  Martha is in shock. The reality of Terry's death has yet to set in.