Late Again
October 13, 2023
Shortly before my mom passed away, she encountered a skunk with an empty dog food can stuck on its nose. She wanted to help but wasn’t sure how she could without getting sprayed. She was heading into the church for a meeting, and someone called out to her to leave it be and she did. She told me later that she felt like a hypocrite going into the church when she was too afraid to help what was surely the “least of these.” I told her, I for one, was very glad she didn’t try, as I would have had to give her a tomato juice bath, just like when her Irish Setter got sprayed. (To be clear, Ted the dog was not trying to be a good Samaritan - he was actually going out of his way to antagonize the skunk).
I wrote my mom a children’s story about the skunk, titled “Late Again”, which ironically, I didn’t finish in time to ever show her. A very long decade passed with the story stashed in a desk drawer, until a couple years ago when I thought my grandchildren might enjoy it. I asked my sister if she would illustrate it, but she said no - as did a couple of other artist friends. They all said that illustrating was an art unto itself, and that I needed an illustrator - a children’s book illustrator.
So, I went online in the fall of 2021 and checked out freelance illustrators for hire and found one in Ukraine. I loved her work, and she seemed like she would be easy to collaborate with. It was before the war and all I knew about Ukraine was that I liked how they raised honeybees! Admittedly it wasn’t a lot to go on and by the time I decided to offer her the job, the Russian Army was gathering on the Ukrainian border so I waited, thinking it would all blow over in a couple weeks. Weeks turned into months and when the Russians actually invaded, I sent Nataliia a message and some money- it was our first contact. I told her I had wanted to hire her but the money I was sending was just a gift, and that I hoped it would help her get somewhere safe.
She thanked me in an email from “on the road near Kyiv” as she fled to Slovakia with her children. She said all she could take with her was a knapsack and iPad and that the money I sent would help her buy clothes for her two children. She said despite “these hard times” she had much to be grateful for because, “unlike most of the women fleeing the country, as long as there is internet wherever I end up, I can still work and provide for my family.” I told her at some point I wanted her to illustrate a children’s book for me and that she should contact me when she was safe, and the time was right.
She wrote from Slovakia and said she was ready to work and that “now more than ever” she would appreciate the distraction. I sent her the story but by spring the shelter where she was staying closed, and she said she was heading back to Ukraine. It was months before I heard from her again.
When she started sending the preliminary sketches and colored illustrations, I watched as the story I had written magically came to life. Every day I’d check to see if she’d sent anything, which she often did after she put her kids to bed. “A quiet night!” She’d cheerfully write. “No rockets or drones”. Sometimes the illustrations came in the middle of the night, and I’d ask if she was ok. “Yes, we are fine, but the kids are restless from the constant sirens and explosions, so we are spending the night in the basement of our apartment building.” Some nights they’d sleep in the hallway outside their apartment – “where there is no glass to shatter. The bombs are far off but our windows rattle so much I’m afraid they will explode.” She sent pictures of her 5-year-old daughter sound asleep sitting with her back against the wall, and of her 7-year-old son grinning as he peered out from under a blanket covering his head. “We are fine” she wrote “and if we survive all this, nothing will ever frighten us again.”
The process of creating this book took on a life of its own and though I am thrilled that it is finally done I have no intention of ever profiting from its creation. All the proceeds from the sale of the book will go to Save the Children’s “Fund in Ukraine.” More than anything, I hope my grandchildren love the story. I’ll hold them close and read it to them as many times as they’ll let me. We’ll sit outside, under our brilliant blue New England sky and enjoy a quiet autumn breeze. We are as far from drones and bombs and shattering glass as we could possibly be, and from a life I pray to God they’ll never know.
