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The procession

Late in 2022, I was driving to visit our friends in the outskirts of Kyiv.  As I neared their house in a more residential area, I watched as, ahead of me, about 30 kids crossed at the crosswalk.  This was the middle of a school day, so I was immediately curious what they were doing.  As I watched, they joined 50-100 people who lined the side of the road.  Some had Ukrainian flags, some had flowers.  It was a somber group.

Something was happening, though I didn’t yet know what. 

The light turned green, and I drove forward along the crowd with the other cars.  We kept our speed down.

As I approached the end of the line of people, I saw two things.  A police car came around the corner, driving slowly with lights flashing.  Behind the police car was a military personnel vehicle with flags flying on both sides.  

At the same time, on my side of the road, at the end of the line I saw a man in the crowd step forward and throw a small dirty mat onto the road right at the outside line for my lane of traffic.  He fell heavily onto his knees on the mat, hands on his heart.  His eyes were fixed on the personnel vehicle, and even drive past at 5-10 mph, I could see the grief on his face.  As my car passed between the two of them, I felt I was trespassing on something sacred.  


It didn’t take long to figure out what I had witnessed.  

The war had just claimed one of this suburb’s young people and his body was being returned.  The people of the town had turned out to honor one of its son’s or daughters.  

My friends, Anya and Bogdon live in this community.   They have both told me how much this was has drawn the community together.  When the full scale invasion started, and everyone was afraid of Russia sweeping across the whole country, their town banded together and built fortifications.  They formed a militia, and once that initial threat passed, that militia went and joined thousands of other units to help push back Russian forces.  Many of those are still on the front lines.  

Those who went to fight left behind their jobs, their families, security, comfort and so much more.   And yet, hundreds of thousands have volunteered to go and defend their neighbors against an army that has committed brutal atrocities in every settlement that they have occupied.  

When I think back to that man falling to his knees in mourning, I am deeply moved.   When I told my wife that story for the first time, I had a hard time getting through that part of the story.  

That man may have been watching his son with whom he would never have another conversation.  He may have served with this soldier before coming back home.  He may have family in liberated territory and simply wanted to show his thanks for family that was rescued.  He may have been thinking about his wife and daughters who would have been at risk of being raped and killed if Russian forces had not been prevented from taking Kyiv in the first days of the war.  

There are so many reasons for this man to mourn so visibly.  And while I felt like I was trespassing on something sacred, I am very grateful for that glimpse of the weight of the loss of each fallen solider.  I need and want to remember what this war is costing regular Ukrainians and regular Ukrainian communities.  


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