Ukraine Update (05/18/22):
Today was a long, but pleasant day at school. It was Serve Day, and I was working with a fine group of hard-working young men who were helping me clean out a dusty room on campus that was full of lesson plan books, posters, and binders from my 40+ years in education. The room needed to be emptied and it was an honor and a privilege to serve with these students. They were responsible and hard-working.
But our lives did not depend on what we got done today.
My mind is now turning to share with you about some other people who are serving. Their very lives depend on their service, and they know it. I feel like I am living in a strange parallel universe right now, where I focus on things that need to be done, but my life doesn’t depend on those things. I ate some pizza with the students after working with them today, but I wasn’t in a damp basement bomb shelter. And my life didn’t depend on my work today. I then went home and didn’t think about missiles flying overhead or wonder where they might land and what they might destroy.
We need to continue to bear witness and remember, and pray, and give for David, pictured below. David is Misha’s nephew, and yes, I am using his precious picture to represent the children for whom the soldiers in Ukraine are fighting. These courageous soldiers are serving for David and his parents, for Misha’s parents, for the young families and the babushkas and their husbands across Ukraine. Their lives depend on this service. We must also remember that they are serving for you and for me. The Ukrainians are defending truth and democracy in Europe, and that service is for you and me. We would be naïve to think what is happening there doesn’t affect us. It does.
Let me help you bear witness to what is happening In Ukraine on a very personal level. Here are some excerpts from text messages received from Hannah this week:
“We attended the funeral of two soldiers today. The whole city stopped and stood, and some even kneeled as the procession went by. I had to look away from their mothers mourning.”
“It’s very real. We need two hands now to count (our) dead and wounded friends and soldiers.”
“It’s a people’s war! Basically, everybody we know here is somehow involved (in the war) in some capacity.”
“_________’s husband, the father of baby ________, is in the hospital now with a concussion from a bombing.”
I’ve read those messages over and over this week, and I tear up every time I read them. I’m not trying to make you sad. I’m just trying to keep us all from forgetting the horror of what is continuing to happen to innocent people in Ukraine while we are doing necessary things on which our lives do not depend.
Here are two updates from Hannah and Misha:
From Hannah (05/18/22):
“Misha tells me to write but this war has stolen a lot of things, including my attention span. I can’t seem to control it anymore. Whereas before February 24th, I reveled in being able to sit and read a novel in evening, I now struggle to focus on anything at all and my attention span slips between my fingers like sand. I am always grabbing at it, frustratedly. Since February 24th, I’ve abandoned many activities that were once a part of my daily life; the only consistent activity that has steadily remained a daily ritual in my life is running, and even so, it’s more of an act of self-preservation or mode of transportation, now, rather than a hobby or athletic endeavor. Where is the girl who used to contentedly sit in silence for hours on end? I hardly know her anymore. I miss her.
I know I should write, so I look to the notes application on my phone. For years, I have written small blurbs and lists and recorded my dreams in this part of my phone; I rarely look back at it, but it serves as a strange and disjointed chronicle of the past several years of my life. I open up the application and scroll back, aimlessly, hoping something will serve as inspiration to write.
Before February 24th, there are notes like: “dreamt about the airplane with the open back door again” and “toothpaste, onions, avocadoes, ???shrimp tacos???” and “dream themes: whales, brown bears but from really far away, lakes.” There are lists of backpacking trails, birthday gift ideas for my mother, and even a list of names for future dogs I want to adopt (Nora, Freya, Fern, Louisa).
After February 24th, there is a dark and sudden shift in the notes on my phone: “dreamt my lips were full of shrapnel. I was on a train and there were missiles overhead. I felt frantic” and “tourniquets for ___, bulletproof vest for ____, ask ____ if they need more occlusive bandages” and “how to buy cadaver bags in bulk? fabric for stretchers? confirm stretcher dimensions.”
For me, writing feels stupid now; yet, I still continue to habitually type my thoughts, dreams, and tasks into the notes application of my phone. Complaining about how the war has taken my attention span feels ridiculous to me when the war has taken lives, peace, futures, and childhoods. It has taken homes and husbands. It has put planning for the future on hold and has separated families from each other. There is nothing beautiful about this war. It is all terrible.
It has been a lot of days since February 24th. I think I stopped counting after 60 or so. I read awhile ago that living in a time of war is like living in a thick fog, and that repeats in my head everyday: thick fog, thick fog, moving through a thick fog. Life, more or less, goes on around the world, and Ukraine is left in a thick fog. I remind myself that the only way to move through fog is slowly and patiently and without panic, so that’s what I try to do. Slowly, patiently, without panic.
Thank you to everyone who has donated towards the project to assemble IFAKs (Individual First Aid Kits). We will be able to assemble some this week and hope to distribute them as fast as possible; if you’re interested in donating, ask me and I can tell you how. A local seamstress is sewing all 100 IFAK bags, and she’s doing an incredible job.
In the meantime, Misha will no longer be crossing in and out from the Ukrainian border; with time, this has become riskier and we have decided it’s wise to avoid this. So, for now, we are staying put and doing what we can here in Ukraine. In between it all, there are moments of lightness and bike riding and squeezing my nephew’s chubby legs and walking the dog and sitting in Misha’s parents’ kitchen.
Slowly, patiently, and without panic.”
From Misha (05/16/22):
“Today we attended funeral of two our soldiers. Young guys, who died defending our well-being. That sobers you up, cause one can get too cozy in the safe Uzhhorod.
Standing among those people, I realized that I don't know anything about them, and they literally died for me. Did they have sisters, like I do? One worked as a cook in some cafe in Uzhhorod. Maybe he even cooked for me? Did they have pets? I want to ask them all those stupid questions.
But it is not possible, and all the downtown traffic stopped and froze to honor the heroes.
And we should keep fighting, hustling, trying to help them.
Cause they haven't died for nothing.”
Come and #StandWithUkraine on Saturday (5/21), from Noon to 2:00 pm at the Benton County Courthouse.
If you want to help with the IFAK project, here are some options:
Venmo: @NWSS-LLC
Paypal: @steviethevagabond
Check: NWSS, LLC P.O. Box 667, Corvallis, OR 97339
I am picking up $3000.00 worth of tourniquets tomorrow for the IFAKs and we already have hundreds of dollars’ worth of combat bandages in our living room waiting to go to Ukraine. We still need your help.
Thank you.