My heart is hot

I am hoping to get to Anna and then travel on to the Ukraine border to work with World Central Kitchen. It would make this crazy idea a bit, well, less crazy. But every work spot is filled.

I start obsessively checking the website like a I am trying to score Beyoncé’s tickets. When two slots open I grab them both with a shaking hand.

There was one person I can ask. I call her.

“Yes.”

“We have to leave in 48 hours. For Pollllllaaannnddd.”

“Yes.”

“Today is Wednesday. We would have to leave Friday. “

“Yes. Look Cheryl, I have a bit of leg work to do, but my initial response is ‘yes’. I told the congregation that if I am not at church one Sunday it is because I went to volunteer with World Central Kitchen.”

It was official. Mother Laurie Garramone and I were going to Poland.

The plan:

• We would land in Warsaw.
• We would meet Anna, Alla and Viki, have dinner and I could give her the care package.
• We would have dinner together.
• We would leave for the border.
• We would work one week and return to Warsaw.
• Laurie would leave for Easter Week and I would stay a week longer to spend some time with Anna exploring the city.

It was already epic.

I am at the post office trying to mail Anna my care package.

“What was that?!” If I was drinking water it would have been a spit take. Granted, it is huge. But my god.

Defeated I go home with the box.

Talking to Steve (dear husband) I sputter, “it would be cheaper to just fly to Poland to bring it to her”.

Our eyes meet. Wordlessly we both know: I must go to Poland. 

Anna has been working for free for 6 weeks. She is working 12-16 hours a day without a day off. It’s driving me crazy.

Anticipating the tsunami of Ukrainian refugees, Anna explained she was under pressure to find work. She explained it will only get harder as more Ukrainians come over. On her second day, HER SECOND DAY in Poland she started “hitting the pavement”. I adjust uncomfortably in my chair under a blanket. “Hmmm” I respond. “Can’t you just rest for a little bit?” Reassuring me, she uses her go to phrase, “All is fine, my angel”.

She finds a cafe where she auditions for work. Free work. Her plan is to prove to her boss that she can learn Polish while working hard and learning the system. During her third week, her purse and passport are stolen. Now she is really stuck.

I start looking at English speaking schools for job openings. There aren’t any.

From Anna via texts:

We found a nice place! It’s a convent. It’s clean and we have

Our

Own

Shower!!

She is elated. She video calls me to show me the shower.

“Tomorrow we go and get some panties, shampoo, some nice things”. In response, my family wires her money. She almost does not accept it.

I become acquainted with Western Union and the Polish Zloty. I feel like a drug dealer. It’s late. I report to my husband, “Well, we either set Anna 150 bucks or 10,500 bucks. Steve yawns, “I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

After shopping, Anna sends me a picture of what she bought with the money. Perfectly laid out, it seems like her attempt at some kind of digital receipt.

Essentials?

Anna is staying in a convent with 10 other women and children. They share cooking duties and she does not have to pay. She can stay until May of 2022. It feels like a lifetime away.

Their *home*.

One room for three generations. One room to live. Anna is happy.

“Anna, let me buy you an Airbnb for a month, please? Did you see the links I sent you?”

“No, no my angel, because after a month where will I be then? I have to find a place for Ukrainians”.

“But – “

“My angel, (she pronounces every consonant) I don’t want your money. We fine. Tell me how Rory is.”

I start verbally vomiting anything to keep the conversation going. It seems like that is what she needs. It feels wrong. I can’t fix anything. It’s giving me a pimple.

Afterwards, damn it, I realize she is right, she needs to find a place for REFUGEES.

March 6, 2022 Anna, Alla and Viki are now refugees.

I am trying to find Anna a month in an Airbnb in Warsaw. I have been pouring over properties. Anna calls. She exclaims “We made it to Poland!” My lungs release. My spine pools.

Her tale sounds like Mission Impossible. Again, I have no reference other than movies. They got off the train in Kiev. She stayed in a dirty hotel room that had not been changed for days (weeks?) from the previous guests. She was exhausted. In the middle of the night a siren rang out and she heard, “Run! Get Out. Get some water and run.”

I am in awe of her. It’s official.

I turn on the news. A few miles from the Poland border, Russia hit a military base.

Yup. I knew that.

I can’t stand it. I know the train after Anna’s was bombed.

I travel to my local TJ Maxx and buy clothes, dolls, toys – so many toys- and make up. I think, “I shall mail her the best care package.”

We attend a pro Ukraine event in NYC.

I eat too many carbs.

My family calls frequently for updates. We are all in now.

I can’t sleep. I watch the news until I fall asleep.

Cheryl: Are you hungry?

Anna: Actually, I am a little.

Cheryl: Where are you?

Anna: I don’t know. I can’t talk long. How are you my angel? Is Rory better with his cold?

Cheryl: (dismissing) Yes, Anna. (It’s hard to be conversational) He made Viki a video – reading a book to her. We know this must be very hard for her. Sorry it is in English.

Anna: I can’t show Viki now. I have to protect my battery. I tell her it’s an adventure. I have to go now. Kisses my angel.

Anna’s view sitting on the floor of a train for a harrowing 29 hours.

“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.