Recollections: Chilean Miners

Five years ago, give or take a day or two, I was glued to my seat on the sofa, watching CNN News, hoping beyond hope that thirty-three miners in Chile would be brought, alive, to the surface. I don’t know just what it was about that situation that grabbed me by the soul and forced me to sit in front of the television, but something about the fate of those miners was deeply important to me for a couple of nights.  When I watched CNN report that the first ten miners had been brought to the surface, I couldn’t control my emotions. I sat, alone, in the living room, weeping convulsively as if the people being rescued were family, people I loved. I was embarrassed when my wife, who wasn’t watching the news, walked by and saw me, utterly and completely shredded with emotion. Even today, I don’t know why the scenes of rescue had such an impact on me; there’s just no explanation for the degree of connection I felt for those miners or their families. But something ripped me apart at their loss and then patched me together at their recovery; both experiences were emotional roller coasters for me.