One Day

Thoughts from Ukraine

I took off my helmet and washed my hair in vodka today. How I wish for a normal, soft hat. Someone called me and asked how I was. I felt only anger. Me? Me? Ask about Pasha who died throwing his bullet proof vest off to protect children with it. Ask the blind woman from Dnipro that I went to try to help get away, for a friend of mine in Poland. Blind. In terror. Tragedy comes in all forms. Children do not cry here. Children do not cry. I have not seen anything sadder than children that do not cry. Women, too, rarely, if ever cry. Only men cry. I cry. I have only one promise to make. I will never leave Ukraine. One day I will be able to wear my soft grey Alpine hat, and I will walk to the beautiful meadows high in the Carpathian mountains. One day we will meet there. One day. Until then, the only thing I know is there are different kinds of blind.

So my friend in Poland has accepted two Ukrainian woman into her flat. Two women, and their cats. Polish is somewhat similar to Ukrainian, but so far they do not understand each other, because the two Ukrainian women do not speak. They cannot speak. Not because their tongues have been ripped out, but because they have nearly lost their minds from the bombing, murder, journey, dehydration and fear.

So they no longer speak, and are in near permanent shock. Maybe it is permanent. Who knows. I mentioned…