Life after loss: who shelters the solitary

In February 2022, Ukraine did not have a rapid placement system for displaced people. By June, according to the U.N., 6.6 million Ukrainians had lost their homes — moving to other regions or abroad. But the most vulnerable were older adults and people with disabilities. Because of shelling, occupation and flare-ups at the front, many were left without support from social workers. Their rescue depended on volunteers and caring people.

There are currently only eight facilities in Kharkiv that can accommodate people with limited mobility. One of them is the “Velyka Rodyna” or “Big Family” shelter. It is already at the limit of its capacity and has no funding from the state. Its founder, Kharkiv resident Olha Kleiman, saw the scale of the problems firsthand. Her friend, who was in a wheelchair and lived on the 16th floor, found herself without any help from social services in the first days of the invasion.

“Not a single representative of social protection called her to ask whether she needed help, even though she has no legs. So they didn’t call anyone,” recalls Olha Kleiman.

Then Olha and her team began to search on their own for people who could die without outside help. Through word of mouth, they found those who needed rescue. Sometimes they had to force doors open with tools — the residents were in such critical condition they couldn’t open them themselves. This is how Velyka Rodyna began to take shape.

A shelter for those unwanted by the state and by family

They decided to set up the shelter in an old workers’ dormitory. No one had lived there for a long time — only cockroaches, centipedes, and dampness. The rooms had to be scrubbed by hand. The first residents were elderly women from the front-line areas of the Kharkiv region.

“Those grandmothers lived in the basement for several weeks. When they were brought here, they were shocked that there was still a place where there was a bed with linen and where they could afford to sleep,” Kleiman recalls.

Among the first residents of the shelter was Tetiana Bekariuk from Vovchansk. Her husband was killed when a rocket hit their house. Tetiana tried to dig him out; because of that she suffered burns to her face and hands and lost her hair. The first thing she asked for at the shelter was a room without windows.

Nelia Levadna lives here as well. Despite her age, she sings, dances along, recently bought a smartphone and actively discusses news from Ukraine and abroad. “She has come alive, she’s radiant,” say the social workers. But in recent years Nelia Ivanivna has lived through the greatest shock and the greatest loss of her life — her son Serhii. For a long time, she did not know what had happened to him after he went missing at the front. At that moment, she herself was in occupied Kupiansk, from where she was evacuated to Velyka Rodyna after de-occupation.

“Serhii fought in the ATO, he volunteered to serve when the invasion began. He died when he went to repel the Russians from Kivsharivka. Now my life is in my smartphone: I watch our boys, where they are, how the front is moving. I even read about Trump to know what to expect,“ says Nelia Levadna, adding jokingly that she is simply ”living life” with her new friends in the shelter.

Editorial note: In Ukraine, “ATO” stands for Anti-Terrorist Operation, the government’s official name for the military campaign against Russian-led forces in parts of Donetsk and Luhansk oblasts from April 2014 until April 2018, when it was reorganized and renamed the Joint Forces Operation (JFO).

Hellish experiences and life after loss

Serhii Yukovskyi also spent half a year under occupation. He has no legs. He lost them at work, long before the invasion. After that his brother, with whom Serhii lived in Mali Prokhody, helped him in daily life.

“Every night everything flew: rockets, drones, artillery shelling. And when the Russians came in — my brother and I adjusted fire on them. We were going down the street (my brother was pushing me on a cart), and in one of the yards the Russians had set up a lot of equipment. We went back home, I say: ‘Call your friends in the army, there is information.’ We called, explained in detail what and where was standing… Not even 10 minutes passed, and then it came! Everything there was blown apart, thank God,” the man recalls.

His brother’s life was cut short because of the war. He is now buried in haste — under occupation it was impossible otherwise. Now the Velyka Rodyna resident has two dreams — to rebury his brother in a cemetery and for the war to end. However, he has no plans for life “after.”

One of the oldest residents of the shelter is 91-year-old Olha Zhadan from the Luhansk region. In 2022, a few days before Russia’s full-scale invasion, she came to Kharkiv to consult a doctor. She stayed with her daughter, and when the first rockets flew over the city, she even said goodbye to life.

“My daughter and granddaughter ran to a shelter, but where could I go? I had a hip fracture, I couldn’t get up. I told them to run, and I would die here… And then it got really bad — they brought me here, and they themselves went to Vinnytsia. There they got into an accident and were injured. Now it’s hard for my daughter to care for me; I’m staying here. At first I cried a lot because I wanted to go home, to the Luhansk region. And now I thank the girls for taking me in here,” Zhadan says.

Living on the edge, but with principles

Sixty people live in the shelter, half of whom are bedridden. They receive round-the-clock care. Their diapers are changed at least four times a day, they are fed with a spoon three times a day, and their blood pressure is constantly monitored. Those who are able to go out are taken on trips to parks, zoos, and Sunday services.

Some of the residents have no families, while others have been abandoned by their relatives. Some have been rejected by their children, who have chosen to emigrate or live in Russia. Their pain is the deepest, Kleiman says.

“It’s not enough for us that our boys and girls simply eat fresh food and watch TV. We need them to feel as if we are their family. Because this home is not for dying, but for living,” she adds.

Velyka Rodyna does not take money from residents as a matter of principle. Pensions remain with the residents. Some save up, others fulfill childhood dreams — for example, buying a smartphone or a doll.

However, the shelter’s operation requires about half a million hryvnias (approximately $12,500) every month — for salaries, food and residents’ leisure. There is no support from the city or the region; they were even refused help with paying for electricity. The dormitory’s third floor stands empty; to open it, money is needed for repairs and new staff.

Life, not waiting for death

When residents receive pensions or other payments, they try to save. Some are only now fulfilling childhood dreams, such as buying a smartphone or an expensive doll they longed for as children.

“Every day, our residents lose some of their abilities. Little by little, they turn into big children with no future. They return to childhood. They feel comfortable there,” explains Olha Kleiman.

The founder of “The Big Family” adds that tens of thousands of displaced persons find themselves in a helpless situation, in need of shelter and care. However, there are not enough places in shelters or long-term care facilities. Therefore, pensioners have to wait months for their predecessors to die in order to take their place.

Text: Alina Yevych
Photos: Ivan Samoilov

Adapted: Jared Goyette

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