Chapter 18
You cannot go into a war zone and come away unchanged.
You don’t have to see the sorrow with your eyes because you can feel it with your heart.
The thing about grief is that it veils one’s face.
It’s like a haze has descended. The tears of mothers stay permanently on the edges of their eyes, as if they can hardly contain their sadness.
They grasp their children’s hands or touch their hair, as if they can’t bear to lose the physical connection.
Their emotion is visible in the slope of their shoulders, the nervousness in their bodies.
Something is missing—laughter, a common language among women.
In the weeks after the Ukraine invasion, I spoke with Poland’s First Lady, Agata Kornhauser-Duda.
She briefed me on what they were experiencing in Poland.
I asked how I could best express my concern for Ukraine and support the border countries absorbing refugees.
I discussed those possibilities with my team and tasked them with quietly investigating what a trip to the region might look like.
How would we get there safely? What would be required? Was it even possible?
The official press release we issued before my trip read:
The First Lady will spend Mother’s Day weekend traveling to Romania and Slovakia to visit with US troops, reaffirm our strong bilateral ties with these two NATO allies, hear from Ukrainian refugees, show support for the Ukrainian people, and express gratitude for the relief efforts of neighboring countries, United Nations (UN) agencies, and non-governmental organizations (NGOs).
Dr. Biden is inspired by the resilience and strength of the Ukrainian people and hopes to communicate that Americans are standing with them.
On Mother’s Day, she will meet with Ukrainian mothers and children who have been forced to flee their home country because of Putin’s war.
On Sunday, May 8, we flew to Ko?ice, Slovakia, where we saw a city-run refugee center and a school.
Next, we traveled to the Slovakia-Ukraine border crossing in Vy?né Nemecké, Slovakia, where Ukrainian refugees could enter Slovakia and receive basic services before moving on to processing centers or transit hubs further inside the country.
Border guards told me stories of thousands of people who crossed into Slovakia fleeing Russia’s unjust invasion.
In the cold of February, many walked for miles upon miles with no shoes.
They were fleeing in fear, hoping to find safety and then one day return home.
One eleven-year-old traveled by himself, with only a phone number to contact his family written on his arm.
Others even had pets making the journey with them.
“We weren’t ready for that,” the guards told me.
We had seen images of these crossings for months, but hearing the stories directly was chilling.
Our final preannounced stop was to visit a facility provided by the local Greek Catholic church that served refugees, volunteers, NGO workers, and first responders.
As we left the church, though, we didn’t proceed back to our original motorcade.
We were met by a second, new motorcade of armored vehicles.
From there we quickly drove into Ukraine.
This part of the itinerary had been tightly choreographed, but it was kept a surprise for safety reasons.
Only once we were out of the country would the press be able to report on this portion of the trip.
It was eerily quiet as we drove through Ukraine. We were at times the only car on the road, driving through miles and miles of bright yellow sunflower fields that almost seemed to be glowing in contrast with the blue sky.
My car pulled up to the austere building in the city of Uzhhorod at the same time another car arrived.
We opened the doors, and Ukraine’s First Lady Olena Zelenska and I both got out and hugged.
I handed her flowers, and we whispered “Happy Mother’s Day” to each other.
I told her I was in Ukraine carrying the hearts of the American people with me.
“Thank you,” Zelenska responded. “The Ukrainians are so grateful for the support of the American people.”
We went into the makeshift shelter built in a former school.
People were sleeping on the floor. The gymnasium was packed full of mothers, children, and pets, all of whom seemed to be in shock.
Olena and I talked to Ukrainian women who told us about trying to get food for their children.
The men weren’t there; they were away fighting.
The mothers had tables set up for children to do crafts, to try to keep them busy and give them some sense of normality.
The women gently encouraged their children to sing, to color pictures, to stay calm—even while they themselves were scared to death.
The Ukrainian mothers I visited told me about the horrors of the bombs that fell night after night as they sought to find refuge during their journey westward. Many had to live days without food and sunlight, harbored in basements. The scale of the suffering was hard to fathom.
One young Ukrainian mother I met told me that when she and her family ventured out in search of food, Russian soldiers would shoot into the lines of people waiting for a piece of bread.
These women were grateful to the people of Romania and Slovakia for their support.
As another mother, Anna, told me, “There are no borders for our hearts.”
Although Olena Zelenska seemed comfortable in my presence, she rarely looked me in the eye when speaking to me, which she did in English.
Clad in a blazer, jeans, and white sneakers, she wrapped her arms around her body unconsciously.
She seemed to be on high alert at all times, ready for anything to happen.
Olena told me of widespread rape, and about the many children who had seen people shot and killed, their homes burned. She didn’t ask me for food or clothing or weapons. What she requested was help supplying mental health care to those suffering from the effects of Vladimir Putin’s brutality.
To visit with me, Olena had come out of hiding. As we finished our meeting and gave each other one last hug, she quietly told me, “I want to return home quickly. I only want to hold the hands of my children.”
Kahlil Gibran wrote, “The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.” My hope is that this is true for the mothers I met.
But that can only happen when this war ends.
On the flight to Washington, I wrote an op-ed for CNN that ended: “Mr. Putin, please end this senseless and brutal war.” That plea has gone unanswered.