The 15th anniversary of the Upper Big Branch Mine disaster took place on April 5. I wanted to share my personal experience with it, with my readers. This story is divided into three parts — stay tuned next month for part two.

I kept searching the internet for updates, but nothing new had been posted for hours. The waiting gnawed at me. I tried to focus on work, but my mind kept drifting back to the tragedy unfolding at Upper Big Branch Mine.

Then, on impulse, I locked my house, got in my car, and drove five hours from Middleway to Montcoal in Raleigh County. I didn’t know what I was going to do when I got there — just that I wanted to help in some way.

Finding the mine headquarters was easy. The flashing lights of emergency vehicles lined the road. A security guard stood at the gate, making it clear: only family members and mine officials were allowed in. I turned the car around, feeling foolish for acting so impulsively.

On the way back, I passed a church with a sign suggesting it was offering support for grieving families. I stopped, walked inside and saw volunteers managing food tables. I wrote a check to help cover costs, accepted a bottle of water and headed for the exit.

Before I could step outside, a woman burst through the doors.

“I need volunteers to go up to the mine and help clean and love on the people. They ain’t got no one up there helping them.”

My stomach clenched. Darn it. I had come so close — now I’d have to compete with the good Christian neighbors, her friends or relatives, who would surely step up first.

But when I looked around, no one moved.

In a quiet, hesitant voice, I said, “I can help.”

The woman — Judy — nodded briskly. “You follow me to the gate house, and they’ll let you in.”

She was right. The troopers waved me through.

Inside, Judy handed me my first job — cleaning. I spent the next hour filling trash bags, then moved on to serving food and restocking supplies. The donations never stopped pouring in.

At 2 p.m., the dignitaries arrived with an update. There was no new information. The carbon dioxide levels were too high for rescuers to enter the mine. The absolute earliest they could begin searching was 24 hours away — if conditions improved.

As the official spoke, a woman collapsed into my arms, crying.

“I wonder what expression he had on his face,” she choked out. “I keep seeing his face.”

The next morning, I was back on the road. This time, I noticed more. Businesses had posted signs: Please Pray for Our Miners and Their Families. Vans from CNN, CBS and NBC lined the streets. Along the roadside, vendors sold miner’s work clothes — dark uniforms with their signature reflective orange and yellow stripes.

When I arrived, I did what I had done the day before — cleaned, served food and held sobbing wives as they clung to the hope that their loved ones were still alive.

Kevin Stricklin, the Mine Safety and Health Administration (MSHA) representative, explained that they needed the carbon dioxide levels to drop below five percent, before rescuers could safely enter. They were drilling holes to release the gas, trying to clear a path to fresh air.

Donna Joy, of Shepherdstown, is in her second term on the Jefferson County Board of Education. Her comments are personal, and do not represent the Jefferson County Board of Education as a whole. She can be reached at aumpeace@msn.com.