My father mined coal for several years to provide for my mother, sister, and I. He worked long tiresome days and nights to assure we had enough money to live off of. We stressed ourselves with worry as we were unsure if he would arrive back home safe after a difficult day and night of labor.

His job position was an underground electrician. Many of his coworkers have informed my family and I that he was one of the most dedicated workers they have yet to know. In fact, it took three men to handle the job when he was forced to miss work.

I am ecstatic to say I was born and raised a coal miner's daughter. Life seemed perfect. My daddy worked hard and not only provided for my family; however, he mined coal that is used world wide to generate power for people just like you and I.

If it wasn't for the coal mines, growing up as a child I would have went days without food on the table. It was our way of life.

Each time my father arrived back home coated in coal from head to toe, we would greet him at the door and cover him with hugs and kisses.

On January 9th of 2013,   all of these faultless moments faded into my worst nightmare. Everyone seems to worry about their loved ones losing their lives while underground. For us things were different.