“I am leaving. The bombs are getting closer. I will not pay for this war with my baby’s life,” announced Anna. I stopped breathing and for once, I listened.
Loss echoed over the phone: Loss of home. Loss of country. Loss of casual banter. Loss of words. Loss-of-safety.
Anna, from Eastern Ukraine and I had been talking for about a month having met through Airbnb. She was a host and I had chosen to donate to Airbnb hosts in Ukraine as Russia invaded. It was my meager attempt to support someone- something – as an impossible invasion played out for the world. My finger found her room on a map and I sent a message of support. Anna responded with warmth. I liked her instantly.
Messages were exchanged. Texts turned into calls. Calls turned into video calls. We talked often. She was funny, pithy, sarcastic, earnest and full of gumption. She swore. And amazingly, she spoke English. She always asked how my son was, giving me what I call “the bounce back” in our conversations. I simply could not tell her about work or the monotony of my life in peace.
Our calls continued. I saw her daughter on Whats App video calls and waved to her mom. In the backdrop a cruel, new war played out – a massive invasion that defied description. As Americans taped Ukrainian flags to their bay windows and front doors, I had my own window into the Ukraine invasion with Putin’s army.
“Anna, before you get on the train can I please have your name?” I barked into the phone. I was too loud. I was panicking. She was calm. I could hear her packing as we spoke. The train ride was a dangerous one. She knew that. I knew that. I asked her if it was hard to know what to bring. Her answer broke me, “No, because we can only bring a 12 inch bag.” She brought a plastic truck for Viki, underwear and some cookies.
I winced, “Are you having a last – a send off dinner with your father?” Again my heart broke. I could picture her response in sepia tones, “My mother is at the kitchen table. She teach father how to take his pills.” A dutiful wife, Alla, who always made sure her husband had his meds at the correct time was doing a med cram session. She was going too.
They left. Anna, her daughter, Viki and Alla. Three generations uprooted and heading out to the safety of a strange border. The closest reference I had was the end of The Sound of Music. Yet even the VonTrapps had those big, embroidered bags at their sides.
She promised to text if she could. My phone buzzed. Anna sent pictures of their passports. Ominous.
I called my family. They hung on my every word.
My heart is hot 