Airstrikes, powercuts and wedding part one

On Monday morning I heard a bomb exploding for the first time in my life - and then the second and then the third.

The day had started pretty normally - for Ukraine, anyway - when I was woken at about 6 by the air raid siren.

Here in Lviv, in the west of the country, the siren is often a precautionary measure and a false alarm, as the Russians prefer targeting the central and eastern regions. So I got up, did some yoga, had a shower, and waited for the all clear signal.

But it didn’t come.

Then I got a message from my son, who thankfully was in the safest part of the country, by the border with Slovakia, which has never been bombed.

Hey mum, how are you doing? he wrote. Be careful. Rockets coming westwards.

At this point I checked Twitter and saw that practically all of Ukraine was under a massive air bombardment.

Here’s a map showing the number of rockets, missiles and drones that were flying over the country.

Then I heard a huge boom coming from somewhere in the distance.

I exchanged more messages with my son who wanted to know how I was doing. In a weird role reversal, for the first time since he’s been working in Ukraine (for a humanitarian organisation helping victims of the war) I was the one in the more dangerous location.

I heard two more booms.

I kept refreshing Twitter and saw that Kyiv, where I’d been just a couple of days before, was coming under a huge assault.

I exchanged messages with other Ukrainian friends and family members, and even though I was on my own, I felt a lot less alone.

It took hours for the all clear to sound here in Lviv and by that time the enormity of the Russian attack was becoming clear (it turned out to be one of the biggest attacks of the war).

Down below my apartment I heard the sounds of life returning to normal and the deserted streets started filling with people.

I needed to get food and water so I decided to join them, but as soon as I got outside I felt a weird sort of dazed detachment - the best way I can describe it is that I felt like a zombie, just going through the motions.

I went to the store. Bought the food and water. Then I felt the strongest urge to get back home.

Once I got back I opened my laptop and tried to write some of my book but I couldn’t concentrate at all. 

I decided to go and buy a traditional Ukrainian dress for my son’s first wedding (more on that in a minute) but it was a total disaster.

It was a baking hot day, about 33 degrees, and nothing I tried on fitted properly and I couldn’t understand the sales assistants and they couldn’t understand me and it all started to feel all too much and I started to feel too close to tears, so I had to abandon the mission and come back to the apartment.

On my way back I saw a wedding party gathered on the steps of a church, the bride a vision in white in the middle of them all. In spite of everything, life - and love - was continuing.

But when I got back to my apartment I saw that the buses of soldiers had arrived for that day’s funerals in the nearby church.

I let myself into the apartment and burst into tears.

Later that evening the power went out. 

I lit a candle I’d bought as a keepsake from my time here, made from beeswax in the shape of the lion symbol of Lviv. A symbol of strength, which felt poignantly appropriate.

Without power I wasn’t able to get wifi and internet access, which in a weird way turned out to be a blessing. Unable to keep checking on the latest attacks, I had to turn everything over to faith.

I meditated and prayed.

I lay on my bed staring up at the ceiling listening to the generators roaring outside the restaurants and shops below. Power cuts happen a lot in Ukraine now, due to the Russians targeting the energy infrastructure, so most businesses rely on generators to stay open.

My son messaged again, this time to ask if I had any music requests for their second wedding (in Ukraine the church doesn’t have the authority to legally marry people, so couples have to have a smaller registry office wedding before the church service to become legally married.)

I asked for All You Need is Love by the Beatles.

In spite of it all, life - and love - continue.

On Wednesday, I tried buying a Ukrainian dress for the first (registry office) wedding again in a beautiful little store near the park where I go walking every morning.

I straight away found a beautiful dress in bright green with intricately hand-embroidered sleeves and I knew instantly that this was The Dress. It fit perfectly too but when I went to pay by card the woman working in the shop kept shaking her head no.

Due to the language barrier I couldn’t quite understand why, but got the impression that it was a temporary problem - issues with their card machine perhaps.

So I trudged back home in the sweltering heat, feeling disproportionately dejected that my mission to buy a dress had failed yet again.

Which, now I come to think of it, perfectly sums up how I felt all week after Monday.

Disproportionately dejected by the little things because I couldn’t quite process the much, much bigger things - like bombs exploding all over the country.

On Friday morning, my son arrived at my apartment, and he offered to help me go and buy a Ukrainian dress.

I told him about the shop containing The Dress so we set off there in the hopes that I’d be able to pay OK this time.

When we got there we were welcomed in by two lovely women - the owner of the store and her daughter.

I made a beeline for the rails and to my delight, The Dress was still there.

This time my son was able to translate and it turned out that the store has only opened recently so they don’t have a card machine yet. However, they were able to direct us to an ATM nearby.

We went and got the cash and came back to find that they’d got a selection of traditional Ukrainian drinks out for us. Ukrainian lemonade, which is divine by the way and comes in many different flavours, and a more earthy tasting drink which it turns out was made from fermented bread!

my son getting stuck into the bread drink!

I paid for the dress and was gifted a beautiful Ukrainian necklace to go with it.

My son started chatting away with the women in Ukrainian, telling them that he was a humanitarian worker here, which instantly brought us hugs and more offers of drinks.

The women told us that they’d opened the tiny clothes store as a sideline to their longstanding family business selling furniture.

Most of their customers are the wives or girlfriends of men who are away fighting on the frontline so the store is fast becoming a place for women to come and share their stories and receive emotional support.

The younger woman, who could speak some English, told us that her partner, who is in the Ukrainian army, is now being held captive by the Russians. She has no idea where he is or what’s happening to him. No way of contacting him.

She was wearing a beautiful set of rosary beads around her neck and she told me that every day she prays for him and his safe release. 

I was blown away by her sweetness and grace in the face of such horror and fear and I instantly felt choked up and her mother’s eyes filled with tears. I said that I would pray for him too and the young woman disappeared off into the back of the shop, returning with a set of rosary beads for me and a beautiful black beaded bracelet for my son.

We all hugged again and any language barrier I’d been feeling melted away in our embrace. In that moment we were all fluent in the universal language of Love.

I left the store feeling so moved by what had happened and once again in awe at the strength and warmth of the Ukrainian people.

And I was so glad I hadn’t been able to pay for the dress the first day I tried.

At the time I’d felt so dejected and like nothing was working out. But now I see that it was all working out perfectly so that my son and I could have had that incredible experience and meet those incredible women.

Later that afternoon my son and his lovely partner got married in the registry office before an intimate group of close family members, standing in front of the bright blue and yellow colours of Ukraine. 

And as I watched on in my beautiful Ukrainian dress and my gifted necklace, I got a flashback to my son as a happy little boy of around two, and it blew my mind that he was now standing here a grown man, a humanitarian worker in a country at war, where he’s found the most incredible woman to build a future with.

Once again, I choked up and my eyes filled with tears.

In spite of it all, life - and love - continue. And always will.

Until next week, sending so much love to you all.

Siobhan