A second has extraordinary power in life. And this reality, which we unconsciously accept because it’s the duration of a blink, a sound, an unexpected turn… suddenly takes on its full meaning when an accident or a loss occurs. After that brief instant, what follows is no longer measured in seconds. We are witnessing this right now with the tragic train accident that happened last Sunday. The anguish, the uncertainty, and the despair cannot be quantified. Nor can the sleepless nights in hospitals, or those heavy silences in eyes that no longer know their place. When we lose a loved one, a part of our life goes with them, never to return. Unless we have faith, the trauma that accompanies the unexpected, in all its dramatic intensity, leaves barely enough room to breathe. It takes time, and for some people, a great deal of time, to try to rebuild daily life.

We generally take for granted that we are controlling our lives. That’s why we say things like, “I’ll do this,” “We’ll see each other tomorrow,” “See you later,” etc., with the full conviction that it will happen. But this is unfounded. And, in fact, the Apostle James wisely advised adding, “If God wills, we will live and do this or that.” That is the reality. None of the people who boarded the trains that fateful day could have imagined that, overnight, instantly, they could lose their lives, as has unfortunately happened to so many, nor that they would be injured (and perhaps some with irreversible physical and psychological consequences), just as their families and friends didn’t think so either, because otherwise they wouldn’t have embarked on the journey.

Accustomed to seeing other people’s pain on screens, no one thinks that one day they might be the ones experiencing it, becoming the subject of news reports. And yet, pain, as I said years ago, is like a guest that settles into your life unannounced. Sometimes it snatches you away, and other times it leaves wounds that cannot be erased. Visible wounds receive immediate attention, as with any kind of fracture. But there are other kinds of wounds, difficult to recognize, that lodge in the body or in the memory without permission. They are invisible; they don’t bleed, but they hurt just as much, or even more. Socially, we experience a sense of powerlessness, and we share the state of shock when news of this magnitude, like what we are currently experiencing, floods all the media. That is to say, from the outside, the external damage is visible and recognizable because, in some way, it can be touched; it can be photographed.

In a few days—it’s hard to say, but it’s the reality—the society that now shares a profound dismay at this tragedy, while not forgetting it, will not experience that same intense emotion. Because only the life of the one who suffers most directly changes; everyone else’s simply goes on. That’s just how things are. On the other hand, loneliness, fear of an uncertain future, and, in numerous instances, feelings of guilt and anxiety can take root within those who suffer firsthand and linger for a long time. The lives of those involved in the accident, the families of the deceased, and those whom the tragedy has struck hard will require a great effort to rebuild and adapt to a life that will never be the same.

Pain has been called “the hidden face of humanity.” Suffering challenges us, it is feared, and we avoid talking about it. Perhaps it isn’t always verbalized, but from a health perspective, it’s certainly more difficult to understand why traumatic experiences aren’t easily overcome, especially as the years go by. Only those who suffer it truly know what it’s like, understand those in the same situation, and empathize with them, even if they don’t know them personally.

It is not good that pain should become silent and solitary so as not to be questioned. Pain has no logic, nor does it have any sense. And this is not about blaming God, although that is not the subject of this reflection, and addressing the topic would lead to other considerations that require their own space. I will only add that when one has faith and pain is united with the redemptive passion of Christ, it is faced with courage, and countless fruits are reaped. But, having said that, the reality is that we all have an expiration date. It is useless to rebel or ask, “Why me?” A few decades ago, in my work *Pedagogy of Pain*,  I expressed my conviction on this matter by modifying the question, “And why not me?” Am I different from everyone else? Everyone, eventually, if they have not already experienced pain, will live through this experience, because it is a universal fact that binds all humankind regardless of age, sex, creed, and culture.

Let’s think instead about how to help the multitude of people who carry unseen memories, unheard fears, and unspoken emotions, and let’s begin with those closest to us. Of course, this includes those who have just been struck by suffering and those who were confronted by it in the past. Let’s show understanding support that often translates into gentle silence, an attitude of active listening, without prejudice, but with the utmost respect, which is what every person immersed in pain deserves. A simple gesture like asking “How are you?” can be the first step in instilling hope in someone who thinks all is lost. Let’s not forget that the deepest wounds, those not outwardly visible, are the ones felt most keenly.

May those who suffer not lack the prayers of those of us who believe; may God, in his mercy, sustain them and grant them peace. Prayer is the best way to approach with gentleness those grieving hearts who currently are unable to utter a word and whose faces are bathed in tears. Perhaps these words of Fernando Rielo, founder of the Idente Missionaries, may offer them some comfort: “There is no tear that God does not keep a precious memory of.”