Chapter Twenty-Eight

Increasingly, I began to wonder where my home was. Increasingly I caught myself thinking that when I was in Alaska, I missed everything I left in Ukraine. When I came to Ukraine, I wanted to go back to Alaska. How could that be? Why was I here? Of course, since I met Mike, life was good, but my mind was tortured by doubts and my heart was heavy. Though now there was no reason to doubt the prediction of that old man from my distant youth. I thought of him so often that he seemed to become my family. I always thought of him with some trepidation, fear, and at the same time with warmth and hope that he would be right. It turned out he was. Who was he, that strange old man? It seemed to me that I knew who he was, but my guesses seemed incredible. Tell me, who can know exactly what awaits us in the future? Only something as old as the universe itself, exhausted, but kind and wise—Life itself! My Life!

I had everything. I was loved, rich as I’d never dreamed of, but why did I feel so bad? And then, on St. Tatyana’s Day, January twenty-fifth, I felt as sad as never before. Acting flakey, I yelled at Mike, stamped my feet, threw everything that came within easy reach. My terrified husband, (“What a monster have I married!”), tried to calm me down. My Lord! What am I doing? I thought, and ran out into the street, not forgetting to bang the front door loudly. An extraordinarily beautiful January was outside. Minus twenty-five Celsius. Everything was covered with thick, sparkling snow that was glowing somewhat unreal due to Christmas illumination on the houses around. But I didn’t see the beauty of the winter evening, didn’t feel the January frost. What is wrong with me? I thought. Where am I going? And more importantly, why?

I had nowhere to go and no reason for that. Crying, I was jogging in circles around the block. When I finally got exhausted from senseless running I calmed down a bit. I sat down on a park bench.

“God, please, help me,” I prayed. “I have everything. Everything! A wonderful man, a warm house with plenty of food, clothing, jewelry, and a car. I have never lived so well. Teach me to be grateful to the man who gave me all of this, grateful to all that I have in my life, to life itself. Why is it so hard? Why doubts and uncertainty are eating me up inside? Where are you, my dear guardian angel? Tell me what to do? Where to get the strength?”

Tears were rolling down my cheeks, turning to ice the second they touched the ground. And then I saw my car, driving near to me. I got up from the bench and went towards Mike. He saw the movement and drove close to me.

“Thank heaven I found you. Please, let’s go home. Please.”

I got in the car, feeling like I was the worst person on this earth. We drove home in silence. I went towards the front door, when my husband stopped me.

“Wait.” He gently took my hand and opened the door. “Look, you’ve painted this door. You’ve made this Christmas wreath and hung it here. To the right of the door hangs a picture of the truck with a prayer for the driver. For me. It wasn’t here until you came to this house.” We went inside and he said, “You’ve made this collage devoted to my late mother, father, and your relatives and put it on the wall. Our kitchen, with everything in it, was decorated by you. Our portraits and photographs of the children and grandchildren, and everything else in this house, wherever you look. Your hand touched all of that. Now tell me, how will I live without you here, without all this? I love you so much. I’m trying so hard. I see that you feel bad, but I do not know why. Tell me what I must do to make you feel better Tell me, I’ll do it.”

There was so much warmth in his words, so much of true love. He sank into a chair with me on his lap, and buried his face in my chest and hugged me gently and firmly.

“I do not know,” I whispered, “I do not know.” But I felt the terrible pain and sorrow leaving me. Everything started moving into place, it became clear and understandable.

I hadn’t lost anything, but only gained. I had my homeland, Ukraine, where I was born and lived for more than half of my life, and where I could go at any time. My children, grandchildren, and friends were waiting for me there. Here, in the United States of America, I had my husband, a man with whom I was going to live my second, better half of life. He was sharing with me his second half of life and all that was in it, I was sharing mine.

Perhaps this is what they call sharing your grief. I guess you must truly love a person to feel him or her that much to be able to take away part of his heart pain, and perhaps even physical pain. I hugged him back and whispered, “Thank you, my dear. I love you too. Forgive me. I don’t know why I’ve felt so bad. But now I know, now I can handle it. Thank you.”

The next day I felt sick and weak, though there was no pain, no sorrow anymore. So I decided to stay home. I still felt a little sad, but it was a different kind of sadness, bright and rewarding. God had helped me. Made me wiser. My angel, through Mike, gave me the hint. I was doing everything correctly. I worked hard, loved, missed my family and friends. I dreamt. I realized it was okay to laugh when I felt joyful, to cry when I was sad or hurt. This meant that I was alive. As the singer Vysotsky said, “I breathe, and therefore, I love; I love, and therefore I live!”

I love and therefore I am alive.

“Polina, can I have your car? I need to go out,” Mike asked.

“Of course. Why do you ask? You always take my car when you needed to.”

I wondered why he wanted to take my tiny car. Outside the snow was knee-high, so it was easier to take the pickup. But I forgot about it the second he left, devoting all of myself to cooking dinner.

He returned home in forty-five minutes and sat down at the computer. He didn’t say where he went, what for. I didn’t ask. After dinner, I went to the garage, not turning the lights on. Suddenly, something alerted me. Something was wrong. I walked over to the light switch and turned it on.

“Oh my goodness!”

Instead of my little Saturn, shimmering with its mother-of-pearl, there was parked a magnificent snow-white car. A Cadillac! I got frozen to the spot, and as soon as I was able to move again I rushed into the room where my husband was sitting in his favorite chair and intently pressing keys on the keyboard, as if nothing had happened.

“Where? Where’s my car?” I cried.

Mike beckoned me to come closer. I did, and he put a key in my hand with a warm smile.

“Here is your car.”