Lydia Virstyuk

Lydia Virstyuk is a very humble and calm woman. Since childhood, she has always cared for others—her brothers, sisters, and mother. But in her old age, she finds herself completely alone, with no one to take care of her.

Ms. Lydia is 82 years old. She was born in the village of Srednya, Kalush district, in the Ivano-Frankivsk region.

She grew up in a large family where everyone knew from an early age what hard work was. Her parents worked their whole lives on a collective farm—her mother as a milkmaid and her father at a brick factory connected to the farm.

Lydia’s childhood was spent right there in the collective farm, working alongside her mother. All the children helped their mother together. Things became even harder when her father passed away.

“My father started falling ill often because of hard labor and eventually passed away. We were left half-orphans,” says Ms. Lydia with sadness.

And at one point, everyone had to suddenly grow up. Little Lidia had one single dream — to get an education and find a job to help her mother “get the younger children back on their feet.”

So, after finishing vocational school, she got a job as a shop assistant. Working in the store seemed special to her: each customer brought their own story, and Lidia listened, remembered, and quietly rejoiced in being a part of someone’s life moments.

There is one dream of Mrs. Lidia’s that never came true. She was never able to create her own family, despite wanting it very much.

“All alone in this world,” sighs the woman. However, she still has a sister among her closest relatives. Unfortunately, they have not been in touch for a long time.

When Lydia found it difficult to manage on her own, social workers took care of her and helped her find shelter. That’s how she ended up in the Shelter.

“It’s cozy here, the workers at the Shelter are the only ones who take care of me,” says the woman. “It’s so good that there’s a place like this where you can rest your head in your old age, where you’re warmed by kind words.”

With the years, books have become her only comfort. She reads as if searching for echoes of her own life in the stories of others. On every page, she finds a drop of solace.

Mrs. Lydia says her story is already written. But, in reality, it’s still being written—in every kind word from the Shelter workers, in every sunbeam that falls on her graying hair, in every book she turns through with tenderness. For as long as there’s even a spark of goodness and hope in her heart, the story is not over.