There are certain places in life that feel sacred simply because of what they represent:
A home.
A classroom.
A playground.
Places where we are supposed to be safe. Places where life is meant to bloom, not break.
Last week, Kryvyi Rih, Ukraine — President Zelensky’s hometown — was the target of a missile strike. At least 18 lives were lost, including 9 children.
According to BBC News, some of the children were killed while playing near a playground. Others were at home with their families when the missile struck.
The youngest wounded survivor was only three months old.
An image of a quiet, empty swing hangs in my mind.
And I wonder — how do we hold so much grief in a world that seems to be moving faster and faster past it?
When I began 108 Klicks Around the World, and later alongside my dear co-author Kateryna “Kitty” Voloshyna, it was with the hope of capturing resilience — the ordinary and extraordinary ways human beings endure, rebuild, and hope.
Born in Ukraine, Kateryna has spent her life traveling across her home country and beyond, writing stories that feature strong women, unique characters, and the kind of vibrant life that refuses to be extinguished.
She currently lives near Kryvyi Rih, making this loss feel even more deeply personal.
Sometimes, resilience starts with something even more simple: remembering.
Refusing to look away.
Honoring the lives that were lived — and the lives that were lost — with full attention.
This is not just a Ukrainian tragedy.
It is a human tragedy.
And when a playground becomes a battlefield, the grief crosses all borders.
It is easy to become overwhelmed by global news. It is tempting to scroll past headlines and retreat into our own safer, smaller worlds.
But the measure of our humanity is not how much we can carry — it is how willing we are to care, even when the hurt is far away.
I do not share this to offer solutions.
I share it to bear witness.
To honor the lives lost in Kryvyi Rih — children who should have had decades more to swing higher, dream bigger, live fuller.
When we slow down, even for a moment, to remember them, we participate in something ancient and necessary.
We acknowledge that every life — no matter how far away — is part of the fragile, beautiful web we all belong to.
In memory of the children of Kryvyi Rih.
May their light, though stolen too soon, continue to call us toward compassion.
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