He opened his wallet and showed a picture of his wife, and “his boys.” Pointing to three, killed defending their homeland. “All gone.” He shook his head, eyes glistened. “Tears cannot be shown.” Google doesn’t translate pain well. He can’t let go of the what he has seen. He is unable to cry it out. “I can’t sleep at night.”

Within minutes of when we had met him, he was hugging us. Google translated our love of Ukraine, and appreciation of his sacrifice.

An hour or more, more hugs, an invitation to go mushroom hunting with him, some drinks, a look at our bikes.
I gathered he must have been a lower level leader at the front. What he had seen was written on his ruddy face. He was now reassigned to the border patrol. I think we were looking at the broken soul of PTSD. His eyes were filled with pain and his voice desperate for relief. With Google between us we could offer little more than hugs. Some days that may be enough. He smiled some, even laughed.