When the ground moves

On January 17, 1994, at 4:31am, my wife and I were violently awakened in Woodland Hills, CA, by the magnitude 6.7 Northridge earthquake. I remember trying to hang on to the sheets of the bed to keep from being tossed out of it. We were literally bouncing on and off the mattress. I also remember thinking that I was glad we were on the 3rd floor of the apartment complex because I didn't want to be crushed when we fell all the way to the ground - and I was expecting to feel that falling sensation at any second. It was the most frightening experience of my life.

We were lucky, though. Our building didn't collapse. We didn't fall. Our one-year-old son, sleeping in the next room, never even woke during the quake. None of us were hurt.

But I do know what it's like to try to get out of a damaged building in complete darkness. I do know what it's like to sit outside, waiting for news and wondering what to do next. I do know what it's like to be on edge for months and months, riding out aftershocks, hoping it's not happening again. I also know what it's like to have family and friends come together and support each other in the days following.

But I don't know what this is like:



I don't know what it's like to lose all your belongings in a matter of seconds. I don't know what it's like to have a loved one perish when the ground moves.

My thoughts and prayers are in Peru tonight...