Threads of Connection

Raisa Klymenko, 67, and her mother Lyubov, 88, were more than just family. They were survivors, bound together by something deeper than blood — a shared history of resilience.

Kurahivka had been their world. Raisa, a vocational training instructor, had moved back to the village after retirement to care for her mother — a former machine operator who had spent her life working precise, demanding jobs. No children of her own, Raisa had poured her entire world into her mother’s care.

War doesn’t announce itself. It creeps in quietly, then suddenly roars. When Maryinka fell and troops began advancing, they knew it was time to leave. Fear became their constant companion — would anyone come to help them? Would they survive?

Renting in Kyiv, then moving to a modular town in Brovary — each move was a negotiation of survival. Two pensions kept them afloat, but barely. Raisa worried constantly about her mother’s fragile health, her “bouquet of age-related conditions” that made every move a challenge.

Senior Chudo Village wasn’t just a new home. It was a miracle.

“We’re living like we’re in paradise, ” Raisa would say. Gone were the days of outdoor toilets and wood-burning stoves. Now they had everything — warmth, comfort, safety.

Her life advice was simple but profound: “Unite with others. Choosing loneliness means never seeing life’s true potential. Forgiveness brings inner peace. Clear your heart of negativity.”

To Dell Loy Hansen, they would offer more than gratitude. They would speak of hope restored, of dignity returned.

Raisa’s dreams now centered around her mother. Travel was a distant wish — she couldn’t bear to leave Lyubov’s side. Instead, she found joy in small things — helping in the greenhouse, supporting other residents, creating small connections.

In apartment 1.1, they found more than shelter. They found a community. A chance to breathe. A moment of peace after years of uncertainty.

Their story wasn’t about being victims. It was about holding onto each other, about finding strength in connection, about surviving — and then, unexpectedly — thriving.