In the aftermath of the Sago mine tragedy, my good friend and colleague Sharon Sherman wrote a beautifully moving column about being a little girl growing up in a rural Kentucky coal-mining family...
It could not be my Daddy - a part of my mind understood that. My Daddy worked in a mine 40 miles away. But the sweat ran in a steady stream down my sides, and my stomach started trying to heave this morning's eggs and biscuits up into the back of my throat. I swung my legs around and put my head down between my knees. The teacher had taught me that trick the last time a miner friend of my father's had knocked on the schoolroom door. The minute I saw him, the room had started turning black around the edges.In some deep part of me, every day of my life growing up, I knew that someday that knock on the door would be for me, that the teacher would walk down the aisle and put her hand on my shoulder and I would know my Daddy was dead.
Read Sharon's entire column as it appeared in the Sunday Denver Post.
Tags: coal mine, mining disaster, Sago, Denver Post
