“No one wants to live among ruins without faith in the future. I turn to my dog, Goldie. She is a real psychotherapist not only for my family, but also for children and people we meet on the street during walks. She gives us hope.” – Leona Veremeieva
Part III
I am in Kyiv now as I write this – not in the flesh, but virtually. For the 179th night, I am paying $42 a day to stay at The House of Swans, an Airbnb apartment in Ukraine, that I have never actually seen. The money goes to my host, Leona, who uses it to buy food and supplies for her family as well as orphaned children and homeless widows.
But something is wrong. I have not heard from Leona in several days. I am worried. The last time she wrote, I heard despair in her voice as Putin continued his merciless aerial bombardment of her beloved city. It broke my heart to read, “The war has exhausted our resources, and especially during this freezing winter, when we are sometimes forced to live without electricity and heating, it becomes incredibly difficult. At times, it feels as though our strength is running low.”
Leona has never gone this long without responding. Usually, she writes back within a few hours. Danielle Bell, the head of the UN Human Rights Monitoring Mission in Ukraine, says, “Whether you are in a hospital or a prison, at home or at work, close to or far away from the frontline, if you are in Ukraine today, you are at risk of getting killed or injured by the war.”
In the four years I have been booking virtual nights and corresponding with Leona, she has never missed a birthday, Christmas, 4th of July, or Thanksgiving, to write me heartfelt messages. “Wishing you the happiness of good friends, the joy of a happy family, and the wonder of the holiday season.” Leona studied English at university and speaks and writes beautifully, often evoking the formal, poetic cadence of her literary hero – DH Lawrence. Two years ago, when I fell and broke my back, she wrote, “May the challenges you faced this year be made up for by the exciting adventures that await you next year. Here’s to the magic of the holidays and the brightness they bring!”
This is from a woman who huddles in the dank basement of the metro station as the air raid sirens scream through the night. She wishes me magic and brightness when her world is haunted and bleak. Leona’s last name is Veremeieva. She tells me VERE comes from the Cyrillic word for faith and that is what gives her strength – “Faith in people, goodness, and trust in the universe.”
The last time I wrote Leona, I had so many questions – What was she doing February 24, 2022, the night the bombs first fell and the tanks first rolled? I asked her to send pictures of Kyiv’s buildings before and after the destruction. I wanted to have a visceral understanding of the war’s devastation through her eyes.
But bearing witness is easier than bearing the shattered soul. Perhaps it was too much. I had never asked her about that awful night before. Sometimes being a writer feels like a vulture tearing at a carcass.
Forgive me, Leona.
Last week Trump urged Zelenskyy to “get moving,” saying that Russia was ready to make a deal. Zelenskyy responded, “The Americans often return to the topic of concessions. Too often those concessions are discussed in the context only of Ukraine, not Russia.”
The bully is rewarded. The battered victim is told the beating could stop, if he gives the bully everything in his pockets and the clothes off his back. Trump praises the strength of the bully, saying he “holds all the cards.” The victim, bloody and bruised, rises valiantly to his feet to face the bully; yet again. And so, this catastrophic war goes into its fifth year while the world watches in horror.
Another night goes by without a response from Leona. I go to sleep in my warm bed. My dog, Bear, lies at my feet. The only rumble to disturb my sleep is the constant snore of my slumbering husband. I pull the covers close and listen to the soft pelt of the falling rain. And I wonder – is Leona ever warm when she sleeps, holding Goldie, her retriever, and waiting for the light?
In the morning there’s a message from her, “Dear Lynn, these days have been very difficult, my mother got sick. She is very worried about her son, my younger brother. He is now serving on the front line. Every single day, I pray that he will survive and return home safely.”
And I see that Leona has taken the time to answer all my prying questions. In answer to my request for pictures of bombed buildings in her neighborhood, she writes, “I deleted the photos of the destroyed houses from my phone, they were terrible moments.” She continues.
“You asked me to remember the very first days when the war began. Until the very last moment, we could not believe it was truly possible. The idea of war felt so absurd that when the missile attacks started during the night, everyone was overwhelmed with horror. People were frightened, confused, and unprepared for such a reality.
I was awakened by the terrifying sounds of missile launches and explosions. To steady myself and regain some sense of control, I rushed to take a shower and then went to make coffee. Perhaps it was my body’s protective response to the shock — a small attempt to hold on to normal life while everything was suddenly changing.
My son was already packing the most essential things so that we could leave the city. His calm and practical mind worked faster than mine in that moment. I quickly gathered medications, documents, and food for the dog.
We left for our summer house — what we call a “dacha” village — about 100 kilometers from the city. It is surrounded by forest, in a nature reserve. That is where we spent the first period of the war.
Together with our neighbors, we soon began helping refugees arriving from the south of the country. They came from different cities, often entire families with children and elderly parents. They were sheltered in the church and in local homes, where they were received with compassion and care. Everyone contributed — bringing food, clothing, and medicine. In those dark times, I witnessed how people can unite and support one another with remarkable generosity.
After several months, when it became clear that the war was serious and unavoidable, we started collecting aid for those who had gone to fight. There were so many volunteers. Today, most of them are no longer alive — they gave their lives. It is very difficult for me to write about this, because among them were my friends whom I have lost.”
Near the bottom of her long message Leona includes several pictures she took with her old iPhone. There are no scenes of destruction. Instead, there’s a picture of a melting snow cat in the yard.
She says, “He smiles and says that we need to see something good around us.” There are also pictures of Autumn landscapes, fountains, birdhouses and several of Goldie. The last photo is an old, decaying stump with a flowering plant growing from its hollow. She writes, “The tree is no more, but there are flowers. This is a second life as a continuation. It is re-juvenation. It is hope.”
And the final thing Leona writes is a message to me and my husband. She remembered it was our 38th wedding anniversary. “May your family hearth continue to glow with love, understanding, and gentle care for one another. May the years ahead bring you even more shared joy, quiet moments of happiness, deep conversations, laughter, and memories that warm the soul.”
Thank you, Leona. I wish the same for you, from the bottom of my heart, I wish the same for you, my friend.
If you want to support the Ukrainian people there are many excellent charities:
- Come Back Alive Foundation: 100% of proceeds go directly to the Ukrainian Army.
- World Central Kitchen: Chef José Andrés distributes meals to those in disaster zones.
- RAZOM For Ukraine: Gives urgent medical supplies, equipment and mental health support.
- Whitestork: Delivers First Aid Kits to those on the frontlines.
- UNICEF: Helps meet the needs of children and families in Ukraine.
- Greater Good Charities: Provides urgently needed food to Ukraine’s animals.
- Airbnb.org: Offers housing to families displaced by disasters.
Or donate directly to a family in need by going to Airbnb, VRBO or a similar site and reserve your own “virtual” nights.
Everything makes a difference, no matter how small.
