In Kharkiv As The Russian Federation-Ukraine War Begins Its Fourth Year, A Pre-Existing Emotional Scar Has An Opportunity To Be Less Visible To See And Less Visible To Feel
In Kharkiv As The Russian Federation-Ukraine War Begins Its Fourth Year, A Pre-Existing Emotional Scar Encounters An Opportunity To Be Less Visible To See And Less Visible To Feel
When you don’t do something that instinctively you think you should have done, the memory of that moment can become akin to a scar- it may with time be less visible, but with that time the feeling can deepen, solidify, and even metastasize.
So happened yesterday in Kharkiv, Ukraine, when in the early afternoon at the steps to a metro station across Sumska Street was an older woman in a dark heavy coat holding a book and wailing. Passersby noticed. I noticed. No one approached. I continued my journey.
A few hours later, walking up on the side of the street with the metro station I again encounter the woman. Again wailing. This time slumped against two concrete stairs leading to the entrance of a retail store.
The condition of the marquee suggested the retail store had long since closed- probably on or soon after 24 February 2022 when the armed forces of the Russian Federation invaded further into the internationally-recognized territory of Ukraine and many businesses shuttered.
I slowed in front of her, but did not stop. Our four eyes connected. The woman knew that I saw her. There was such agony in those eyes. Hopelessness is so dense. I continued up the street.
All the while, however, transitioning from my visions of her to remembering an experience years ago in New York City.
On a city bus. Winter. Snow and slush on the ground. The bus stops, passengers climb aboard. The doors close. An older woman rushes toward the bus, waving her hands; I do not remember if the woman was yelling for the bus to wait for her. As the bus pulled from the curb, I fixed on her face- distraught. Our four eyes connected. To this day, I remember her- despite trying at times not to remember her. Those moments reappear with increasing frequency as my travels include encounters with circumstances that should never have been. Why did I not do anything?
I remembered two Kharkiv City police officers at Krendel Café where I had breakfast. To my relief, they were outside- one having a cigarette. I entered and asked the manager to translate into Ukrainian what I saw and ask the officers to visit the woman.
The officers asked me to accompany them. The woman was in the same location and positioned in the same manner- supported by cold damp concrete steps.
I waited about fifty meters up the street. One of the officers knelt and spoke with her. A few minutes later, I turned and went on my way.
This morning, I visited Krendel Café and encountered the two police officers. They reported the woman had returned to her home- another not infrequent victim of emotions overwhelmed by an active military conflict beginning its fourth year preceded by the isolation experienced by many older adults during the COVID-19 pandemic.
That scar from New York City is a bit less visible to see and to feel today because yesterday my instincts- the instincts I want to believe I have, took hold.
