Anna Maxymiw is a writer and editor based in Toronto. Her first book, Dirty Work: My Gruelling, Glorious, Life-changing Summer In the Wilderness, was published last year.
The book of secrets is black and well-worn. It has pieces of paper sticking out of it, and its plastic cover is falling off. The pages are written in different colours of ink, some paragraphs vivid, some fading; at times, the penmanship changes, words are crossed out, addendums appear bright and bold. The book of secrets says: I’m here, we’re here, this is how far we’ve come.
The Ukrainian side of my family is not large. At some point it may have been, but the Second World War fell like a scythe. Families stayed in place and perished. Or they walked across Europe for a chance at a better life; many still perished, but sometimes they got away. Some of mine escaped. A few of them landed in Canada, a few in the United States. But some were lost – six of my grandfather’s brothers, never heard from again, maybe alive, maybe not. The doubt is small like a poppy seed, and it sticks in my throat whenever I see a surname similar to my own.
