Refugee Week: A Mother, a Backpack, and a Promise
I know my recent posts have leaned a little heavy, but honestly, the world feels heavy right now. I usually reach for humor to get through the madness, to make sense of the chaos, to soften the blow. But this week, there’s nothing funny to be said. With Refugee Week approaching, I keep thinking about what it must be like to be a mother forced to flee, running out the door with your child and a backpack, leaving behind your life, your people, your past. I can’t pretend to know what that truly feels like. I’m not clutching my kids while sprinting toward a border. I’m not wondering if I’ll ever be allowed to return to my home. But I can imagine. And maybe that’s the point, to imagine hard enough that it stirs us to care.
If I had to leave my house tonight, in the dead of night, with only a backpack and my two boys in tow, having to leave my Hubby behind… what would I choose to bring?
Would it be the chicken centerpiece on our dining room table, that has housed chocolates for the last three generations?
A photo album of my boys first years, our wedding album, my mother's wedding album?
The small silver box containing a few of Mum’s ashes?
If Son#2, had to pick one stuffie out of his collection of 98, how could he possibly choose? He loves to say “each one is a memory”, how could he choose one memory?
How would Son #1 feel if he had to leave his beloved surfboards and PlayStation behind since they clearly cannot fit in a backpack? Definitely no room for a hair dryer and grooming supplies...😳
Or, would I just go for the essentials our marriage license, passports, birth certificates, bank details, etc...
Now imagine not choosing, imagine having to.
In April 2022, Tetiana and her 11‑year‑old son Art fled Dnipro (more of her story here). She packed two backpacks with passports, some clothes, bread, cereal bars, nuts, and water, all they would bring to make a quick escape. Art grabbed one single photo that fit in his pocket. Nothing else. Just one photo to remind them of the life they were leaving behind. Her husband Val, was legally bound by presidential decree to stay behind in Ukraine.
Tetiana had heard stories of people trying to flee having to abandon luggage that didn't fit on the train, at the station so she and Art just left with their backpacks.
By the time they reached the US weeks later, through Poland, then Germany, and finally Boston, Tetiana was asked by an officer if she needed help carrying any luggage. She responded that she only had a backpack.
Tetiana and Art are two of the more than 5 million Ukrainian refugees (recorded beyond Europe) who have fled the country since the war began in February 2022, according to the latest United Nations figures.
What This Means for Refugee Week
This week isn’t about sorrow. It’s about resilience, courage, and empathy. When I look around my home, I see a lot of “stuff”, much more stuff than we "need", but in a backpack, only the essentials survive. In their choices, Tetiana, and countless other mothers forced to flea, teach us to cherish what truly matters: family, memories, and hope.
And yet, this year the U.S. is pulling funding from several refugee programs, citing that it’s not in “America’s best interest.” But what about the interest of being human? It’s easy to scroll past stories of refugees lining up at borders or being resettled in camps. But what if we paused and pictured ourselves there, as mothers, sisters, daughters, aunts, clutching a child’s hand with no map, no certainty, and no clue where safety might be. The question isn’t if we should care. The question is how can we not?
A Question for You
If you had one minute to pack a single photo or object—to hold onto your past and fuel your future—what would it be?
This Refugee Week, Let’s Do More
This Refugee Week, I want to do more than reflect. I want to raise money for Artscape, an incredible organization creating art programs for refugees, that I collaborated with through my volunteer work in Lithuania with WAKE a few months ago. Through painting, storytelling, music, and creativity, they offer a vital lifeline, giving refugees space to connect, to be seen, and to begin healing from the trauma of war. Art won’t rebuild homes, but it can rebuild hope.
If you’re moved, please consider supporting their work. Because while we may not all know what it’s like to flee our homes, we do know what it’s like to feel scared, alone, and in need of something beautiful and stable.
Thank you so much to those who have already donated, it means more than you know. Your generosity helps make art, connection, and community possible for people who’ve had to leave everything else behind.
And now, let’s end on a hopeful note (because this is still me after all). We may not be able to solve global conflict with a hug and a piece of chocolate, or a meditation session, but we can create spaces of belonging. We all want to feel like we belong.
Let’s help make that dream a reality, one paintbrush, one story, one warm welcome at a time.
For the past few months, 9 year old Olia from Ukraine has been coming to Artscape’s Creative Missions workshops every Tuesday. Like the other children she’s met at the Refugee Reception Center, she never expected to find a safe space after school—a place where she can create, explore, and feel free to be herself. Read more about Olia here.
This is Theatre Director Loreta Vaskova who joined Artscape’s Creative Missions right after Russia invaded Ukraine and has been leading theatre workshops for children and families in seeking asylum.
“Before this, I had never worked with asylum seekers. My only understanding came from media reports. Through this work, I saw the reality firsthand—the long, exhausting process of paperwork, the living conditions in refugee centers. There are a lot of misconceptions about these people. Some say they don’t need help, that they already get too much. To those people, I’d suggest visiting the Naujininkai refugee center or attending an Artscape event to see the conditions for themselves.
And don’t even get me started on education—many of these children miss entire school years because their families are constantly moving between countries. It’s not that they’re economic migrants. Most left their homes because it simply became impossible to live there anymore.
Before this, I was just an observer. Now, my understanding—and my empathy—has grown much deeper.”
Read more about Loreta’s story here.
Thanks for all that you are doing to help women around the world cope with "real world" problems. As for the one thing for the backpack, I have a folder called "Important things" which has birth certificate, marriage license, old passports and a piece of art my son created years ago that says along the top in kid's handwriting "Dad, Mom, Kid" above the sketched figures and underneath in teacher handwriting the words of the kid: "A family can be a dad, a mom and a kid. The dad and kid have blue eyes, the mom has brown eyes." The one piece that just had to survive the annual art folder purge. (reference to a recent post)
Your care and dedication inspire me. Thank you for sharing these stories. It’s so hard to know what I would do if I faced these challenges. I’d like to think my practical side would win but I just can’t stop thinking this should never happen. To anyone. Ever.