The Voices of Ukrainians

One day, last year, I was walking down the hall of the orphanage  school.  As I rounded a corner, I saw Alina sitting on the floor and crying.  I still don’t know what was wrong, but I just sat with her and put my arm around her.  She would slide away, or push me away, but I just gently and persistently stayed there. Eventually, she found her composure and left.  I didn’t even know how to ask, “What happened?”   Now I do.  Last week, I saw that Vadeem was crying.  I went and put my arm around him and he pushed me away.  I stayed though, and asked, “What happened?”  It was a little slurred through the tears and I only understood about 50% of the words he said, but I’m pretty sure his mom had said she was coming to visit, and didn’t. That happens a lot.  So, I hugged him, told him I was sorry, and for the 100th time wished I could take a kid out of that place. Last year, with Alina, I felt sad, but I didn’t know what was wrong, so I couldn’t really empathize.  Now, I’m starting to u