Little Belle's Mama

When I first read about the accident in Lisbon, my heart sank in a way that words barely capture. The Gloria funicular, a historic cable car that has been carrying people for generations, turned into a place of terror on a September evening. A cable is believed to have snapped and the carriage sped out of control down the steep slope before crashing into a building. In moments, a ride that was supposed to be routine and even charming became deadly. At least 16 people lost their lives. Among them were children. Dozens more were injured. The thought of what they must have felt in those final seconds fills me with grief that I cannot shake.

I have never been someone who enjoys rides that promise a thrill. I do not find joy in Ferris wheels or cable cars or the big roller coasters that parks are so proud of. It is not fear of heights alone that keeps me away. It is a deeper mistrust, a quiet voice inside me that asks whether the bolts are really still secure, whether the cables are as strong as they should be, whether maintenance has been done thoroughly enough after years and years of use. Each ride is an invitation to put blind faith in screws, wires, and the people who maintain them. For me, that is faith I cannot give.

My husband feels the opposite. He enjoys the excitement of these things. He would gladly ride a funicular, and he would like our daughter to experience the sense of adventure too, even though she is only a toddler. For him, it is joy. For me, it is only anxiety. I cannot imagine strapping her into something where, if even one small part fails, there is no way to keep her safe. Stories like the one from Lisbon only strengthen the part of me that says no, not ever. The thrill is not worth the risk when the price could be the unimaginable.

What troubles me most about this tragedy is that the funicular had recently been inspected. Reports say maintenance checks were carried out just hours before the accident. This was not a forgotten, neglected machine left to rust in silence. It was part of daily life in the city, something locals and tourists trusted and boarded without hesitation. That is what makes it so unbearable. If something like this can happen even when the right boxes have been ticked, where does that leave those who still want to believe in safety?

I think of the children who were caught in that moment. The panic in their cries, the confusion in their eyes, the fear they must have felt as everything around them went wrong. It is horrifying to imagine their voices echoing in that narrow carriage as it hurtled downwards. No parent should ever hear that sound from their child. No parent should be left with that memory. My heart prays that those young souls are now at peace, free of fear, and that their families, even though broken by grief, will somehow find a way to carry on.

Lisbon has declared national mourning and has suspended the operation of other historic funiculars while the investigation continues. That is the correct response, but it does not erase what happened. It does not return the children to their parents or heal the trauma of the survivors. It only reminds us that no safety measure is absolute, and that sometimes, the weight of trust we place in machines is heavier than it should be.

For people like me, this confirms what I have always felt deep inside. I do not need adventure in the form of mechanical rides. I do not need the thrill of going higher or faster than my own body can carry me. Life is already fragile and unpredictable enough. The simple act of walking outside carries its own risks, and yet we do it. But when the choice is deliberate, when it is optional, I cannot bring myself to step onto something where my life hangs by cables or gears.

I know many people will continue to ride funiculars and cable cars, just as others continue to fly despite plane crashes. They will tell themselves that accidents are rare, that the odds are small, that thousands of rides happen safely every day. They are not wrong. Statistically, their logic holds. But logic does not erase the reality of this tragedy. Logic does not comfort the mother who buried her child this week. Logic does not take away the sound of metal failing and screams rising into the night.

Sometimes it is not about numbers, it is about the heart. And my heart says that no view is beautiful enough, no thrill exciting enough, to risk my child’s life. My husband may wish for her to see the world from above in one of these moving boxes, but I cannot agree. I will protect her feet on solid ground. I will let her know wonder in other ways—through nature, through stories, through music, through the warmth of people who love her.

The Lisbon accident is more than news to me. It is a reminder that safety is precious and fragile, and that trust must be placed carefully. I wish for the souls who were lost to find peace, for the injured to heal, and for the families in mourning to feel surrounded by compassion. And I wish that all of us, whether we choose the ride or choose to step away, remember that each choice carries weight, and that life itself is already the most precious adventure we will ever know.