I am the wife of a miner. there are many ways to mine and while Joey is currently making a tunnel rather than collecting and ore he is still underground, and under ground/water weight. There would be no rescue for him, only recovery. It sucks. I pretend he is in an office. He has worked the coal mines underground, he has worked above ground drilling and blasting. My husband loves hard work and a dangerous job. He thrives on it. So I am used to the fear than will grip me at odd moments. I know that if one single person messes up it could lead to my husbands death. I know that if they hit any debris wrong or if pressures change to much, or if an earthquake were to hit, the tunnel will flood and Joey will be gone. He says that at least I would be taken care of but that’s no comfort. Being the wife of a miner is knowing your man will be going into hell. It may be gold, or coal, or even just tunnel excavation, but it is hell. It is dark and damp, communication sucks, carrying a breathing device is common. They come home to us tired and hurting as the work they do takes a toll on their bodies. They walk out of their hole in the ground barely recognizable as the men we love, covered in dirt, and dust, and who knows what as they make a living for their families. Some know nothing else, some could love nothing else. Each wife knows that we have to value the time we are given. We know that each time we kiss him as he goes to work could be our last moments and so we treasure them. It would be hard to find a miners wife who, even when she is fuming at her man, doesn’t still kiss him and tell him that he is loved because we know how dangerous the life they lead is. So as I sit and watch the headlines flash across the Internet and TV screens I, more than most, know the sheer terror that grips a miners wife and the amazing strength and hope. I believe we are chosen as companions to these brave men because we have to be equally as brave when they enter the depths of hell. We have to give them our strength, our passion, our wisdom and fire. We are the women who stand behind these men with our eyes wide to the danger but counting our blessings all the same. So my heart is in Utah with the families of the fallen, of the missing, of the hurt and the tired. We know some of the families involved, the pain and strength flashing through the eyes of wives and children as the news shatters their world. We know it could have been us. So I pray for them. Here is a poem I found which totally defines what these men feel, what they go through. I dedicate it to them with love and great sadness.
COAL MINER’S PRAYER
By Margie McAlaster
Take a look at these hands, Lord,
They’re worn and rough.
My face scarred with coal marks,
My language is tough.
But you know in the heart, Lord,
Lies the soul of a man
Who toils at a living
That few men can stand
There’s sulphur and coal dust
And sweat on my brow.
To live like a rich man,
I’d never learn how.
But if you’ve got a corner
When my work is through,
I’d be mighty proud to live
Neighbors with you.
Each dawn as I rise, Lord,
I know all to well…
I face only one thing:
A pit filled with hell.
To scratch out a living
The best that I can.
But deep in this heart
Lies the soul of a man.
With black covered faces
And hard calloused hands,
We ride the dark tunnels,
Our work to begin.
To labor and toil
As we harvest the coal
We silently pray,
Lord, please harvest our souls
Just a corner in Heaven
When I’ve grown too old
And my back it won’t bend, Lord,
To shovel the coal.
Lift me out of the pit, Lord.
Where the sun never shines,
‘Cause it get mighty weary
Down there in the mine.
But I’d rather be me, Lord.
Though no riches I show,
Though tired and weary.
I’m just glad to know
When the Great Seal is broken
The pages will tell
That I’ve already spent
My time in hell.
