The Most Beautiful Border Crossing of My Life (So Far)

THE MOST BEAUTIFUL BORDER CROSSING OF MY LIFE (SO FAR):
I've crossed the Ukrainian border several times now, and each time is unique, but yesterday was my favorite. Sveta is a wonderful human who takes people in need across the border into Poland and onwards to their new home. It can be an abused wife fleeing her husband, an elderly person fleeing a front-line village, a family who've lost a breadwinner, or, in many cases, like the day that I rode with her, a disabled person whom she'd found a place for in the EU.

Sveta took Anna (a Ukrainian internal refugee from Donetsk) and me across the border in record time thanks to Sveta's volunteer status, savvy, and street smarts. She does this a lot. This is her life now after the full invasion.

We stopped at a Wog for coffee, of course, and I began to feel at home and happy to be back in Ukraine.

All along the way while driving, Sveta was working the phone, making arrangements for more humanitarian crossings, advising other humanitarian border crossers, setting up Ukrainian cell and internet service on my phone, and looking out for speed traps, among other things. Sveta is a ball of positive energy, and my mood shifted from my despairing disposition just hours earlier to one of hope.

But my mood truly shifted gears when we arrived in Lviv and met a taxi driver at a parking lot near my apartment rental, who had precious cargo. Ivan (not his real name) is a middle aged man who is almost completely paralyzed, cannot speak (though he can make noises) and someone had arranged for him to take this taxi from his care home some 70 km away, so that he could meet up with Sveta, cross the border and begin his new life in the EU under the care of people who aren't at war daily. Though he couldn't express it, I'm sure Ivan was anxious, scared, and excited about this next chapter in his difficult life.

We struggled, but managed to find space for Ivan's collapsible wheelchair in Sveta's trunk and gathered three plastic bags that apparently contained Ivan's lifetime of belongings.

Then the taxi driver and I each had to grab hold of Ivan's arms and almost entirely carry him as he lurched forward out of the taxi and into Sveta's car. As we struggled the few feet from the cab to Sveta's vehicle, I could feel Ivan's vulnerability, his remaining strength, and the colossal effort it took for him to perform even the simplest tasks. Breathing hard, dragging his feet, trying to help us help him get to the car to his new life. 50% of his being depended on me at that moment. I'm not used to such responsibility.

I was overcome by emotion. I will not lie or pretend to be stoic, as I am a terrible poker player. I have shed tears already on this trip before even crossing into Ukraine. I can't believe my country is betraying me, especially the people of Ukraine, and people like Ivan, by cutting off critical weapons defense systems for Ukraine under a transparently false flag that "we need them here in the U.S." The flip side of sadness is anger, and of love is hate, and I was lashing out at my government, country, and most especially the small but significant % of Americans who caused this situation. Those who have seemingly determined that freedom is not worth fighting for and that empathy is for the weak. "Owning the libtards" is their new and apparently only mission in life. It's just too much fun to consider looking in the mirror to understand why they are so empty and bankrupt, morally, and often financially.

But when helping Ivan to the car, for a few seconds, all of that faded away to an overwhelming feeling of unconditional, life-affirming love. I was helping Ivan, but little did Ivan know, he was also helping me. After Ivan had settled in for the ride, Sveta grabbed his phone and other belongings out of one of his bags, somehow able to interpret his grunts, groans, and head movements to determine what was where. She's good at this.

Sveta is the epitome of a DIY (Do-It-Yourself) humanitarian. She funds this initiative herself, using her personal vehicle and working tirelessly to help Ukraine's most vulnerable individuals escape war zones and start anew.

She doesn't want to work with a larger organization or get bogged down in its politics and bureaucracy. That's already a challenge, just getting vulnerable, dependent people to live in new countries is difficult enough. But she said if she just had an ambulance or an Accessible Van, how much easier her life and her passengers' lives would be. She wouldn't have to cajole her way to the front of the border crossing line daily, to see which border patrol guard is on duty who may know her. And most importantly, picking up people like Ivan, or the 90-year-old gentleman she was due to pick up after Ivan, would be much easier, more efficient, and more comfortable.

As I hugged Sveta goodbye and gave Ivan a sign of love by beating my chest over my heart with my fist a couple of times, I promised I'd work on getting them a vehicle. I was thankful for my sunglasses, as they hid the bags under my eyes, but more urgently, the tears of love and gratitude that were forming.

If you know anyone who can help in this regard, please do let me know.