There are moments that change our lives forever.
A natural disaster, such as an earthquake, can transform life in a matter of seconds. What felt safe just moments before suddenly no longer does. Homes change. Plans change. And for many families, life is forever divided into a before and an after.
Today, my heart is with Venezuela.
It is with those who are grieving the loss of a loved one. With those still waiting for news of a family member or friend. With those who have lost their homes, their treasured memories, or the sense of safety. It is also with those living in other countries who are spending these difficult hours anxiously waiting for a phone call or a message telling them their loved ones are safe or have their hearts broken after seeing all those images of destruction and pain.
When I learned about this earthquake, I couldn’t help but remember the devastating earthquake that destroyed Managua, the capital of my beloved homeland, Nicaragua in 1972. I was 13 years old, yet I still remember the fear, the uncertainty, and how, in just a few seconds, our lives changed. In that tragedy thousands of lives were lost. This is the reason why today I write to you not only as a thanatologist, but also as someone whose own life was touched by an earthquake.
Today, my thoughts are with every family in Venezuela living through that same fear.
Because an earthquake does not end when the ground stops shaking. For many people, the real journey begins afterward.
The questions begin.
The fear begins.
The uncertainty begins.
Perhaps today you are afraid to walk back into your home. Every aftershock may make your heart race again. You may find it difficult to sleep, and every unexpected sound may make you wonder if it is happening all over again.
And if today you are grieving the loss of someone you love, I wish I could simply give you a hug. There are no words that can take away such profound pain. Sometimes what we need most is not an answer, but someone willing to sit beside us in the silence.
Throughout the many years I have spent accompanying people through grief, I have learned that a tragedy like this brings much more than the loss of human lives.
It also brings the loss of peace.
The loss of safety.
The loss of treasured family memories.
The loss of future plans.
The loss of the confidence that tomorrow will be like yesterday.
These are losses we don’t often talk about, but they deserve our attention too.
Perhaps today you are crying.
Perhaps you cannot cry.
Perhaps you feel angry.
Or frightened.
Or maybe you feel as though you are living in a nightmare from which you have not yet awakened.
Every heart responds differently.
And every one of those reactions is deeply human.
I also think of those living outside Venezuela.
I know distance has its own kind of pain.
Perhaps you have spent hours trying to reach your family. Maybe you are waiting for a message that has not yet arrived. Perhaps you would give anything just to be there, holding the people you love. Maybe you are feeling guilty for what your fellow venezuelan are experiencing.
I also think of everyone who, after watching this tragedy unfold, finds themselves feeling afraid. Natural disasters remind us how fragile life really is. They make us think about the people we love and confront us with the reality that so much in life is beyond our control.
Many people have asked me over the past few days,
“How can I help?”
The truth is, helping doesn’t always require extraordinary things.
Sometimes it is a phone call.
A message.
Listening without rushing to give advice.
Simply asking,
“How are you?”
“What do you need today?”
If you are able, you can also help by providing food, clean water, medicine, shelter, or financial support through trusted organizations.
But there is one thing I hope we never forget.
Our support should not end when the television cameras leave.
Very often, the weeks and months that follow become the hardest part. That is when many people begin to feel forgotten.
Keep calling.
Keep checking in.
Keep showing up.
When tragedy strikes, our differences become smaller than our shared humanity.
A tragedy like this reminds us just how precious and fragile life truly is.
Love matters.
Compassion matters.
Kindness matters.
Being there for one another matters.
In these moments we want to bring hope and presence. I believe in our human capacity to lift one another when we need it most.
If today your heart is trembling, be compassionate with yourself.
Allow yourself to grieve.
Allow yourself to receive help.
And when you are ready, allow yourself to become a source of hope for someone else.
We cannot change what has happened.
But we can choose how we care for one another from this day forward.
Perhaps…
that is where hope begins.
With all my heart,
Ligia M. Houben
