Letter from 1km deep
By now you've probably heard about our miners, the ones who were trapped underground for two whole weeks, in a tiny space in which they couldn't even stand? And the media frenzy that covered their slow rescue and liberation? And the bidding war for the first exclusive interview about "what it was like down there" and that Channel 9 won it?
Having followed the story closely each morning because Channel 7 got itself heavily involved (and is still slanging insults back and forth with 9 about how sincere each other's coverage really was), well, I wanted to hear from the blokes who went through it, so I watched the whole interview.
They're both family men, that's what they said defines each other, and it was the only thing they really had in common to talk about down there (because one like Holdens, and the other was a Ford man, you know). They key thing they did when they thought the blasting was going to loose a rock fall and perhaps kill them was to write letters to their wives and kids, on any available surface. The first people they saw when they walked out alive, saw and grasped and held, were their wives.
If S. was buried alive in a mine, who would he write to now? Well, his daughter, of course. Because he has a daughter, there will always be someone who is family, who cares that he is down there and will need a message from him. And he's probably getting so that he would write to Other Woman (string of murderous expletives).
But what about me? He is who I would write to if I was down in a mine. Probably still, he'd be the one I'd be thinking of and wanting to get a message to. I try not to, I try to cast my mind forward to new friends and new people, and know in my heart that I will one day love someone as much as I loved him, but I don't yet. I have my immediate family, so they take center stage again. There's nothing wrong with that, they're fine people to have as my family and loved ones. There seems something wrong about still having my parents be the key ones for me, about not having connected with someone else and built a new family, but I didn't, and that's it.
He was my one, my family, but perhaps I was never family to him. And he wouldn't write to me on his overalls in a mine today because he's just not that into me. He used to need to talk to me on the phone four times a day. Now he forgets to call. How can that happen? I didn't stop loving him! I'm stopping now, but it's taken a year, and I still have recidivist nights like tonight, when I again can't believe it.
How can anyone be your letter-in-a-mine person, for a while, and then decide not to be?
Well, automated search engine spiders and strangers stumbling around in cyberspace, this is for you. I'm here. I'm alive! I'm in a lot of pain, buried nearly completely, not sure if I will survive it, but I thought I'd scribble this on my knee and let you know I was here.
Having followed the story closely each morning because Channel 7 got itself heavily involved (and is still slanging insults back and forth with 9 about how sincere each other's coverage really was), well, I wanted to hear from the blokes who went through it, so I watched the whole interview.
They're both family men, that's what they said defines each other, and it was the only thing they really had in common to talk about down there (because one like Holdens, and the other was a Ford man, you know). They key thing they did when they thought the blasting was going to loose a rock fall and perhaps kill them was to write letters to their wives and kids, on any available surface. The first people they saw when they walked out alive, saw and grasped and held, were their wives.
If S. was buried alive in a mine, who would he write to now? Well, his daughter, of course. Because he has a daughter, there will always be someone who is family, who cares that he is down there and will need a message from him. And he's probably getting so that he would write to Other Woman (string of murderous expletives).
But what about me? He is who I would write to if I was down in a mine. Probably still, he'd be the one I'd be thinking of and wanting to get a message to. I try not to, I try to cast my mind forward to new friends and new people, and know in my heart that I will one day love someone as much as I loved him, but I don't yet. I have my immediate family, so they take center stage again. There's nothing wrong with that, they're fine people to have as my family and loved ones. There seems something wrong about still having my parents be the key ones for me, about not having connected with someone else and built a new family, but I didn't, and that's it.
He was my one, my family, but perhaps I was never family to him. And he wouldn't write to me on his overalls in a mine today because he's just not that into me. He used to need to talk to me on the phone four times a day. Now he forgets to call. How can that happen? I didn't stop loving him! I'm stopping now, but it's taken a year, and I still have recidivist nights like tonight, when I again can't believe it.
How can anyone be your letter-in-a-mine person, for a while, and then decide not to be?
Well, automated search engine spiders and strangers stumbling around in cyberspace, this is for you. I'm here. I'm alive! I'm in a lot of pain, buried nearly completely, not sure if I will survive it, but I thought I'd scribble this on my knee and let you know I was here.
posted by Ellen at 11:01 pm
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