by Tarney Baldinger
Kaniv is Sonoma’s sister city in Ukraine, with about the same population of Sonoma Valley. Having been there many times, I am fortunate to have friends there who stay in touch with me and continue to report on how they are surviving the war. They share videos of Ukrainians dancing, singing, rescuing animals, joking – even soldiers at the front.
Of course, the tragedies weigh heavily on them, and they strive to lift one another’s spirits. Alina Kharchenko’s son has lost both legs. She has been twice in Sonoma, and some of you may remember her. When I spoke with her shortly after it happened, she sounded as cheery as ever.
My friend Iryna wrote me about a support group for families of soldiers on the front. “We all meet with a psychologist in the military family support group every Thursday,” she tells me. “We have a lot of interesting events and training. Painting, molding, holding retreats. Next Thursday we will learn how to handle guns, put tourniquets on wounded people.” Last week, they were learning to fly drones – in great good spirits.
“Yes, we have each other’s backs,” she writes. “Unfortunately, we already have two widows – they lost their husbands, one lost her son. We are all waiting for our relatives. I help my son’s military unit as much as I can. We all have one dream – a just peace for Ukraine.”
Iryna continues, “Today we celebrate the 164th anniversary of Taras Shevchenko’s burial. This is a major holiday in Kaniv. All night, morning and day there are blowing air alarms, ballistic missiles were launched at us, and a film was interrupted. but people still gathered. In this way, they want to force us to make peace? In what sick imagination would the victim ‘love’ the cat, the killer, the executioner, the murderer, the destroyer, the criminal?”
Shevchenko was a legendary former serf, poet, artist, writer and political figure who survived persecution and imprisonment while broadening the range of creative expression in Tsarist Russia and persisted in honoring his Ukrainian roots by directing to be buried in his homeland, near the town of Kaniv.
I heard from Olha, my next door neighbor in Kaniv, who about six years ago married a soldier who had been on active duty since the war began in 2014. She proudly showed me the shirt she was embroidering for him. I would see him painting the gutters, feeding the chickens, so happy to have a home to return to on leave. My last sight of him was the two of them walking hand-in-hand down the back lane into town. He disappeared in the battle of Bakhmut, along with many others.
“The harsh truth,” Olha says, “He didn’t die. And he’s not alive. He disappeared. And that’s the worst of all words. Because death is a point. It’s hard, but understandable. And disappearance is a silence that grinds you down. And what hurts the most is not that he’s gone, but that I don’t know if I have the right to wait any longer.
“They bury the dead. We carry the missing inside ourselves. I can’t mourn him. Because everyone will say, ‘It’s not known yet.’ I can’t forget, because what if … I can’t live on, because I am still standing on the day when he was last in touch.
“And I don’t know what I’m more afraid of – receiving news of his death or never receiving it. Because without news, I’m neither there nor here. Not a widow. Not a wife. Not alive. Not dead. Just a woman who opens her phone every morning with half-hope, half-despair. Who prays every evening for a miracle and simply for the end of this uncertainty.
“What if he is out there somewhere? And what? To live like this? To wait forever? To tell myself he is strong, holding on, will survive? The harsh truth is to live between the pages where nothing is written.”
An added burden: the survivors of those missing in action do not receive survivors’ benefits until a death is proved.
Ukraine bombs airfields, shoots down missies and drones, sinks Russian military ships. Russians bomb villages, apartment blocks, hospitals, museums and playgrounds. One out of every seven schools has been destroyed or badly damaged.
My friend Tetyana forwarded this message from a friend in Odessa, written shortly after a serious attack. “Arrival. We are home. But this is just the beginning. I am writing not to panic, but to warn.
“Impact. Shahed drones (made in Iran and Russia). House windows smashed. No light. The smell of smoke. Panic. People are running – and at this very moment, the second thing happens, no less dangerous.
“The floor is made of glass. People are running barefoot, in slippers – and immediately there are cuts. Blood. Destroyed structures, splinters, nails. One step and a nail in the foot. In the air – smoke, dust, debris. It is difficult to breathe without a mask. Pieces of wires and no one knows whether they are under voltage or not. Darkness. Scary, full of sounds, smells and the unknown. There is no light, and you are looking for relatives, a first-aid kit, a way out.”
Adds Tetyana, “Here’s what can really save you or your loved ones:
“Tourniquets, shoes (reliable, closed). Masks. Flashlights, preferably headlamps – you need your hands free. Fire extinguisher, or at least water. Your emergency bag – put it down and let it lie. Better never to need it. We are going through this together.”
And then there is this message, forwarded from Oksana, who was our exchange daughter – she is from Kaniv, but now lives in Kyiv:
“We do not choose to live in war conditions, but we must be prepared for them. Gather your family, think over Plan B for different circumstances. And assemble an emergency suitcase.”
Now, we Sonomans know all this from our bouts with fire. The usual. But also cash in different currencies – (do we need to consider the possibility of winding up in a different country?). Medications for seven days at least, painkillers, blood-stopping agents, a tourniquet. Clothes for hot or cold weather (do we need to consider multiple seasons?). I have read that some parents write their child’s name on them in marker – along with their blood type! Can you imagine?
After one of the recent intense attacks on Kyiv, Oksana spoke about it briefly. A building near theirs had been hit. All she said was “It was very loud. I have never heard such a sound before.” She did not say more. After we said good-bye, she texted me, “Everything is good. Life is beautiful.”
On Saturday, July 5 in Sonoma, you will have another opportunity to support Ukraine. From 11 to 6, in the Arts on the Plaza event, featuring the work of dozens of local artists and artisans, two booths will offer paintings and fine handcraft from Ukraine, and the proceeds will go to the volunteer group in Kaniv who have worked daily for eleven years to provide for the safety, health, nutrition and emotional wellbeing of the people who are fighting on behalf of all of us.
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