My parents bought a pre-Civil War house, where much of my childhood was spent. We lived less than a mile from the Orrel Mine in Newburg, W.Va., where 39 coal miners died in an explosion on Jan. 21, 1886.

In 1982, I moved to a house just down the street, where I raised my own children. Often, as I waited outside the school waiting to take them home, thoughts about that tragedy flowed freely - perhaps because the cemetery where those miners were buried bordered the school property. Maybe those mental meanderings also occurred because my children's father was a coal miner, and being the wife of one carried with it certain fear, worries and wishful thinking.

Fear that your loved one might not come out of the mine, worry that the coal might run out, and wishful thinking that nothing would ever go wrong. No roof would cave in. No mantrip would break down. No gas explode - a tragedy that only a coal miner's widow can comprehend.

Experts say six degrees of separation exist on our planet. That is, it takes meeting five people, before the sixth one is someone you know. Because of its rural history, and its sparse population, I believe there are only two or maybe three, degrees of separation in West Virginia. Consequently, my family knew one of the coal miners trapped in the Sago mining disaster last year.

Terry Helms happened to be from Newburg, where the Orrel disaster occurred. Our daughters grew up together, and the last time I saw him was at a high school track meet, where my Courtney and his Amber were competing. Although we lived in the same area for many years, it wasn't until those track years that I really came to know Terry. But I did know Upshur County, where Sago is located, for we had once lived in the county seat of Buckhannon.

Mountaineers are known for their hospitality, their friendliness and their willingness to help others. Buckhannon was where I learned the true meaning of courtesy. I thought it an anomaly, the first time the car in front of me stopped and its driver waved out into traffic another driver who was waiting patiently on a side street. But then it happened again, and again.

It was a way of life. When traffic was at its worst, drivers would always take a few seconds and perform this kindness.

I've tried to carry it away with me, to all the places I've been since then, but I don't always do a very good job. But when I do, I think of Buckhannon.

I went there to take a job as managing editor with the town's tiny newspaper. At the time, I didn't know much about being an editor. But during the first month I spent there, working 80 hours a week so I could learn the ropes, I got to know many kind and helpful souls.

My children and I lived on Hickory Flat Road, just off of the Tallmansville Road, and perhaps six miles from Sago. I visited Buckhannon last year, not long after the Jan. 2 mine explosion. I just wanted to see where the mine was and, following my reporter's instinct, I saw a couple of large, long trucks hauling some very unusual equipment and steered the car behind them. They went a couple of miles on the Tallmansville Road, and parked in a large field.

I parked and walked to the only house there. I wasn't working for any publication then, nonetheless, as my instinct told me, and as the homeowner confirmed, the Sago miners were directly under the field across the street.

I made sure he knew I wasn't with the mainstream media, before telling me that. I couldn't help thinking, while standing there and watching the long line of big rigs and other vehicles pull in, that I had a scoop. One very big scoop, for while Anderson Cooper, and the gang were a few miles away, at the spot where they thought the action was, I was standing above the earth where the real story was.

But it was a story I couldn't use, for I had given my word to the man whose land I was standing on. By the time I got into my car and slowly headed back down the road, I saw it - one media van all rigged up with an antenna, there to get the story. It would only be a matter of time, before they all followed.

Taking time to write a good news story involves just that - taking time. It is something that many of today's journalists sometimes forget. Just as I sometimes forget to take time to let another driver out into traffic in front of me.

If we remember Terry Helms we will do the same. For Terry took time to do in life one of the things that is most important - he took time for his children, and for others. When Courtney's father couldn't, or wouldn't, attend her track meets, Terry was there, to root both her and his daughter on. He included her in the teasing and hugging and generosity he showed all the girls.

The lesson I learned long ago in Buckhannon is the same one Terry taught, both by word and deed. Life today is lived at a hectic pace, but people like Terry know to slow down and take time to smell the roses, and show kindness in all the ways that matter.

Time is not something that stands still, and just as the long line of traffic that sits waiting for a red light to turn green, will eventually move on, so will time. Then it - like Terry - will be gone.