She tells of how everywhere, she saw memorials: rows of photographs of fallen soldiers, cemeteries awash in yellow and blue, adorned with flowers and personal mementoes—keychains, stuffed toys, images of children and pets. “It feels so strange to memorialize a war that is still going on,” she says.

“All those we met were united in their grief and loss: loss of loved ones - killed or missing in action; loss of those who fled the country; and loss of life as they knew it and of their communities as they knew them”.

Concern for the soldiers is also tangible, she adds,” It  just spills over into seemingly normal life, you know, in every conversation that you have, especially of course, amongst their families.”

Other overwhelming feelings were of “sheer gratitude to be alive, and conversely, gratitude for those who had died for their country, for their freedom,” she adds, as well as “Great worry for the uncertainty and the future was another feeling across the board.”

Pervasive fear
Beyond the immense grief, there is a pervasive fear. “Men hesitate to go out,” Danielle notes, “afraid of being conscripted and sent to the front. Among the seven million Ukrainian refugees who have left the country, many have fled to avoid military service. This fear has transformed daily life, making even basic tasks, like finding workers, difficult.”

The separation of families is another profound wound. The JRS official recalls her meeting with Marta, a Caritas worker who poignantly describes reality: “It’s like a rocket exploded in every household.” Husbands, fathers, and sons have left—either to fight, to flee or to find safety elsewhere—while women remain, caring for children and the elderly, burdened by uncertainty.

“Again,” Danielle continues, “something a young man said really stays with me. He said ‘our lives are divided into before and after; before 24 February 2022 and afterwards. Everything changed on that horrible day. And we don't even know how to live now anymore’.”--Vatican News