Holding On

Sevierodonetsk was never just a city for Ludmyla Kolesnyk. It was a story — her story. She’d arrived by chance, following friends to college, and somehow the city became her fairy tale. A warehouse keeper, a household manager, her life was about careful organization, about taking care.

Caring for her mother became her world. When war arrived, it wasn’t just about survival. It was about protecting someone completely dependent on her.

The bombings turned their home into a battlefield. Her mother, with severe mobility issues, would scream at her to run, to save herself. But Ludmyla held on. No one would help them transport her mother. Finally, volunteers agreed — for a price that emptied her savings.

Dnipro. Fastiv. A tiny apartment shared with her nephew’s family. Every room, every corner occupied. Another displacement, another struggle to find breathing space.

Kalush became another temporary stop. A single room in a private house, a small yard their only solace. Her mother spent 10 months in the hospital. Her granddaughter found the application to Senior Chudo Village — a lifeline neither of them expected.

“I kept repeating, 'I agree! '” Ludmyla would say. But she didn’t truly believe until the moment she arrived.

At 70, with failing eyesight and the weight of constant worry, she found something unexpected in apartment 1Г.3Б. Warmth. Not just physical, but the warmth of being seen, of being cared for.

Her life advice was simple: “Believe in the future, even when it seems impossible. Preserve family harmony. Cherish each other.”

To Dell Loy Hansen, she would express surprise more than gratitude. A stranger caring for Ukrainian elderly? It seemed almost unreal.

Her plans were humble. No grand designs. Just surviving, just holding on.

In Senior Chudo Village, Ludmyla found more than a home. She found a moment of peace in a life that had been defined by constant movement, by care, by survival.