“Ukraine Stayed in Me”: Ihor’s Story

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💙💛 By Olena Gadomska

Ihor Lotocky was born in Canada to a family of Ukrainian emigrants who, after the Second World War, found refuge in North America. This is a story of his roots - of people who lived through war, camps and an ocean, yet did not lose themselves - about a professor killed in a classroom and a mechanic who opened a workshop on a new continent. About grandmothers who taught, Christmas with twelve dishes in a crowded home, and a boy named Ihor who grew up between the garage smell of grease and the pages of Shevchenko, only to choose, when war thundered again, a different front: helping Ukrainians who fled to Canada from russia’s [1] war of aggression.

Family branches

Both sides of the family came from villages and small towns near Lviv (Ukraine) - his mother, Marika, was born in the town of Hrymáiliv, Ternopil Oblast (sometimes heard as “Rymaliu/Rymaliu”) in 1935, and his father, Jaroslaw, was born in the village of Novosiltsi in Lviv Oblast in 1925.

Life seemed to have only one direction up. Two grandfathers and two grandmothers stood behind them like four sturdy columns. On his father’s side, professors: his grandfather Julian taught at a school, and his grandmother Olexandra was also a teacher. The house smelled of chalk and books.

At that time in Hrymáiliv, Ihor’s future mother was growing up. Her father, Joseph (Ihor’s grandfather), was a skilled mechanic who could fix any machine. The workshop fed the family, and he came home black with grease and smiling, because he knew how to bring any engine to order.

His parents’ childhood in Ukraine passed in the warm atmosphere of family holidays, church traditions, a big extended family, and participation in PLAST - a youth organization that instilled love for the homeland and strength of character. At school, his father gravitated toward technology, his mother toward sport, especially table tennis. Later, already in Canada, Ihor’s mother would play for a team in Manitoba and win a table-tennis championship.

In time, both parents studied at universities - not the same one, but in cities close enough to meet. It was there, and also through mutual friends and studying in nearby university towns, that his mother and father met, began to see each other and kept in touch.

“We lacked nothing,” they would recall later. They would not finish university in Ukraine. Fate cut that happiness short.

The Second World War: forced labour camps and survival

War burst through the door. It didn’t knock - it broke the locks. Both branches of the family tried to save themselves.

The first blow was a shattering message for his father’s family - the professor-grandfather was killed right in the school where he taught. After the funeral, the grandmother and her daughter stayed in Ukraine, and the son, future father of Ihor, had to go into the unknown.

His mother’s father (Ihor’s grandfather) gathered “everything at hand,” closed the workshop and the house, and led the family through Poland. “It’s only for a little while,” neighbours said. But “a little while” stretched into years.

They stayed in Poland for a time. Then they ended up in Germany, where they were detained - fate split them between uncertainty and camps of hard labour and inhuman conditions.

Ihor’s maternal grandfather and grandmother were each sent to a camp separately and did not see each other the entire time they were there. They knew nothing of each other and could not establish contact.

His mother and her two brothers (Ihor’s uncles) were sent to another camp: the boys were too young for the front and studied, while she was forced to work at a munitions plant - adding powder to rockets amid explosions and air-raids.

“Every day I was afraid it would be my last,” his mother later recalled. Bombs rained from the sky, shrapnel flew even during lunch, and once a piece of metal wounded her arm. Every day, she feared it might be the end. But she persisted and made it through hell. His grandfather would describe that experience in one word - “barbarism.”.

“They were helpless. They couldn’t do anything. They didn’t know whether to stay, to go, or to hide. They had never gone through anything like it. No one thought it would last for years. They simply thought perhaps the invasion was over. Like Ukrainians today who flee russia’s war,” Ihor says.

After liberation: Canada

When the war ended, it was time to reclaim life. His mother’s family was freed from the camp and, for a time, remained in Germany. Ihor’s grandfather, a mechanic, took any work he could in Germany, repairing cars to earn a little money. Every mark went into a box for the future. At last, he saved enough to buy steamship tickets. All the passes and certificates were kept in the family like silent witnesses of their road to a new world.

His mother’s family reached Canada first: they arrived by ship and settled in Winnipeg with Ukrainian acquaintances.

His father came alone and first found work in Hamilton at RCA Victor - assembling radios and televisions. Friends from Winnipeg passed along the word that his future wife, Ihor’s mother, was in Canada; he saved for a ticket and took the train to Winnipeg. There, on new soil, their paths crossed again - they married in 1953 and stayed with his mother’s family. Canada astonished with opportunities, yet the unknown was a little frightening.

In 1954, the young couple and the whole family moved to Toronto. In 1955, Ihor was born. His name was another symbol of preserved identity. “Ihor” is a Ukrainian name his parents kept as a sign of respect for their heritage, even under the pressure of assimilation. In a setting where most people bore English names, Ihor always stood out. It became part of his pride: to be Ukrainian, even far from Ukraine.

The first 10 - 15 years were all “work-work-save,” with no luxuries or vacations. The big family lived in one house that was a bit too small for them.

“It was wonderful because we all lived together. And, you know, it was always busy. Something was always happening, and everyone was running around. There were always friends or neighbours in the house, always. Or at supper, there were always two or three extra chairs set for people who weren’t our family. Maybe people from across the street dropped in, or just friends we knew,” Ihor recalls.

A new home: work, language and family traditions

Ihor’s grandfather (his mum’s father, a mechanic) and a friend from the German camp - a Jewish man - opened an auto service shop in Toronto. They worked six or seven days a week. They were so honest that before long, they were servicing police cars. The shop felt more like a club - people came “for a repair and for a chat.”

“I was very close to my grandfather on my mother’s side. He took me to work; sometimes he let me drive even though I was 13 or 14. At first, I sat on his lap because I couldn’t reach the pedals,” Ihor says.

He smiled, remembering one story: one Christmas, the house was packed with guests sitting in different rooms at different tables. In the end, no one could drive Grandma to the midnight Liturgy. Then the police showed up with lights flashing. Not to arrest anyone, but to give Grandma a friendly ride to church on time, beacons on. She was crimson with embarrassment, and later the whole community retold it as a funny anecdote.

“My grandfather came home late at night, all in grease from the cars and tired, and just sat down, you know, had supper alone because he was late. I always wanted to sit at the table, and he would tell me about mechanics, and I understood nothing. Because to me, mechanics were well, I didn’t care what was inside a car, I just wanted to drive it,” Ihor recalls warmly.

Grandma

Only Ukrainian was spoken at home, so Ihor went to a Canadian school without a word of English and, of course, felt very lost. His saviour was his paternal grandmother - a professor to the core, who moved to Canada later than the rest of the family.

Grandma prepared Ihor for Saturday Ukrainian school and opened another world to him every day, mostly stories about Ukraine, from Taras Bulba to Taras Shevchenko. Ihor wasn’t always thrilled with the lessons - outside, his friends were playing hockey.

“I always watched the clock because all my friends were playing hockey in the street and I was at Ukrainian lessons.”, Ihor says.

In the end, thanks to Grandma and his own persistence, Ihor entered the Saturday Ukrainian school and spent four years there studying history, Ukrainian language, religion and geography.

“I always went to Grandma’s after school to sit with her. I miss those moments now. Grandma knew what she was doing and why -so that Ukraine would stay in me,” Ihor says.

Mum and Dad

Life demanded endurance from his parents, too - his father kept working two jobs and continued at RCA assembling televisions and radios. His mother learned English right upon arriving in Canada, kept the household, continued playing table tennis for the Manitoba team and even won a championship. She could sew clothing, so she always had beautiful outfits for herself and for her sons.

His mother fell ill with Parkinson’s very early, around age 39, and spent the rest of her life in a wheelchair. She could help only by cooking for the family. So the everyday chores fell to his father. They were tired, but didn’t complain.

At Christmas and Easter (Julian calendar), dozens gathered at Ihor’s parents’ home; tables were laid in every room and even in the garage. They kept the traditions of twelve Lenten dishes: Kutia, fish, Borshch with “ears,” Varenyky[2] and more. Friends and neighbours were always near; the door - wide open.

“There was always a separate table for the kids. Because there were so many people. I’ll never forget the twelve dishes at Christmas, every year. All twelve - Kutia, fish, Borshch[3], yushka. We still make Borshch; it tastes great,” Ihor says, and adds, “Sadly, no one can make Borshch as well as my grandmother.”

Over time, thanks to work and saving, his father bought the house; the mechanic-grandfather moved in next door, and another uncle on the other side of the street.

“My parents always told me: never take anything for granted. And don’t think you’re lacking anything, because many people don’t even have what you have. So don’t take anything for granted; family and community must stick together, work, and help those who have it harder. And that’s exactly what I’ve been trying to do lately,” Ihor says.

Youth and identity

His father always pushed him toward sports, though he himself wasn’t an athlete. As a child, like his parents, Ihor was an active member of PLAST - the Ukrainian scouting organization founded in 1911 that to this day raises youth in the spirit of patriotism, Christian values, self-discipline, love of nature and public service. Through PLAST, Ukrainian identity was and is passed down in the diaspora from generation to generation.

PLAST, SUM, the Ukrainian church - all this was the environment in which he formed. In PLAST, he first tried volleyball. Later, he played for a Ukrainian team in Toronto, and later still, he created his own - SA Ukraine. With the team, he won the Ontario championship and later the Canadian one as well. They became the first Ukrainians to win those tournaments without a single loss.

“The first time I played volleyball was at a PLAST camp - it was a sports camp with track & field and lots of games, but volleyball hooked me and never let go. In Toronto, PLAST had its own team and played in a league with three Ukrainian clubs - PLAST, SUM and UNO - so there was constant rivalry among us, and later we competed against other city clubs too.

In high school, I joined the school team and improved quickly; then I moved to St. Michael’s, a private boys’ school where all the teachers were priests, and even our volleyball coach was one. He soon realized I understood coaching as well as he did, and sometimes better, so he asked me to take the team under my wing - we won the school championship that same year, and I knew volleyball was ‘mine.’ There was basically no professional volleyball then, so I kept playing for school and privately for PLAST,” Ihor says with pleasure.

After an injury and a difficult operation, Ihor ended his active athletic career and began coaching. He became a coach at the University of Toronto and at George Brown. His goal was to reach the Olympics, and he nearly did. But participation in the 1980 moscow Games fell through because of Canada’s boycott.

In time, Ihor stepped away from coaching.

He says there is one significant thing he still regrets - “I never did go to Ukraine. I wanted to, but my father wouldn’t let me: our surname, Lotocky, was in the Soviet authorities’ black lists.’

Before independence, it was far too dangerous - he feared the same thing could happen to me as to some of our relatives: after coming to Canada or the U.S., they went back, and no one ever heard from them again.”

When Ukraine became free, the desire only grew - we had a trip planned for three friends. But on the eve, one of them tragically died in a car crash, and the trip shattered like brittle glass.

War in Ukraine

When russia launched its full-scale invasion of Ukraine on 24 February 2022, Ihor’s first impulse was to pack, line up visa papers and go help, but family and friends persuaded him to stay: “You’ll be more useful here.” He himself understood he was not a fighter and couldn’t shoot at people, yet inside he burned with passion and anger.

He met the news with tears and disbelief, then with 24/7 scrolling of news, the constant “is this true? What’s happening?” At first, it seemed the bombing of Kyiv was a one-off horror, but when explosions and deaths became daily life, pain and guilt settled in his chest: here he had peace, a home and everything needed, while others were fighting for their lives.

“I couldn’t believe it was happening… I thought about all those poor men and women and children who are now fighting for their lives in Ukraine,” Ihor shares.

In the end, he accepted his loved ones’ argument to help in Canada, assisting newly arrived Ukrainians fleeing the war, because it would be faster and more effective.

The volunteer front

After the first weeks of agonizing news from the homeland of his Ukrainian roots, Ihor began looking for where he could be useful - he spoke with friends in Toronto, including the community of the Ukrainian Canadian Congress (UCC), and on Facebook, he came across the newly created Grassroots Response to the Ukrainian Crisis (Grassroots).

Seven to nine people the first in-person meeting, convened by Grassroots founder Stephanie, discussed urgent needs to shelter Ukrainian families.

At the same time, Ihor joined Region of Waterloo - Help for Ukrainian Victims, led by Beth Finnegan: they turned a warehouse into a free “shop” with clothing, food, baby items and hygiene products.

Thanks to his contacts in the medical field, he began securing large batches of aid like a thousand blankets and six hundred backpacks, which he took responsibility for: part he distributed to families locally, the rest he loaded into containers and sent to Poland, directed by his friend who owned a bar in Kyiv and, during the war, volunteered in Polish shelters and asked not to ship directly to Ukraine.

Later, he joined a third non-profit initiative as well - one that cared for animals and pets, because war affects everyone.

Today, Ihor volunteers with several organizations: Grassroots, Region of Waterloo Response for Ukraine and Miss Dixie. His house turned into a warehouse - receiving goods, furniture, hygiene items, and children’s toys. All for Ukrainian families who arrived in Canada with nothing.

“I empathize with Ukrainians today. They also came with nothing and did not know what awaited them on the other end, like Ukrainians who have fled the war today. My family, too, came with just one suitcase per person,” he adds.

One such family was Natalia’s. She arrived pregnant, without her husband. Ihor helped her find housing, fully furnished the apartment, and provided food and essentials. When her husband arrived, a baby was born - and Ihor became the godfather. He remembers with emotion how Natalia, a modest woman, refused to take more than she needed.

“I am proud to be Ukrainian. Starting life in Canada was a very, very hard time for my family. But they received help from so many people along the way; they brought with them that mentality and passion to help others when people came. So for me now - it’s exactly the time to act and help Ukrainians who are starting life from scratch in Canada.”, Igor concludes the conversation.

Continuation

In Ihor’s family today, no one forces language or customs - his daughters, Adrianna and Lana, themselves took an interest in Ukraine, in traditions and dishes they saw at gatherings on both sides of the family.

His elder daughter, Adrianna, having watched since childhood as Grandma and Mum “set up” several hundred Varenyky, first bought Christmas fare at a Toronto establishment where everything was made by the book: Borshch by the bucket, Varenyky, “Ears,” Holubtsi. Later, she decided to learn to cook herself: the first attempts were unsuccessful, but persistence and dozens of tested recipes paid off - now Ukrainian dishes turn out brilliantly.

His younger daughter is just as curious, though she has other interests; all of this continuity grows not from compulsion but from natural curiosity and love for family culture.

At Ihor’s home, they still celebrate Christmas and Easter with traditional dishes, bake Paska[4] and decorate Pysanky. He has a large collection of Ukrainian artefacts enough to outfit a museum of Ukrainian culture.

All of the family helps with his volunteering: his Czech wife - Dana, and his two daughters, both actively support the initiatives.

A parental testament

The story of Ihor’s grandparents is a path from the pre-war outskirts of Lviv through Polish borders, German camps and post-war factories to Winnipeg and Toronto. It’s loss and dignity, coercion and choice, hard work and an open heart. A mechanic from a small workshop, a professor killed at school, grandmothers who taught, a mother-athlete and a father-technician at RCA Victor - together they built a new home in Canada without losing their roots. Their legacy is not only the houses next to each other and the big family circle, but also the simple rules that hold a family together: work, keep the language and traditions, help others and never take good for granted.

Ihor’s story is not only about volunteering. It is about preserving heritage, continuing tradition, and a sincere, human act of love for a people he has never physically seen, yet has always felt a part of.

END.

[1] The author deliberately writes the word «russia» in the text with a lowercase letter. This country does not deserve a capital letter.

[2] Varenyky are Ukrainian dumplings, similar to pierogi, known for their half-moon or crescent shape and various fillings. They are a national dish of Ukraine, made with dough and typically filled with savory or sweet ingredients like potatoes, cheese, meat, or fruit.

[3] Ukrainian borscht has been included in the UNESCO List of Intangible Cultural Heritage as a Ukrainian dish. This happened in 2022, after collecting borscht recipes from different regions of Ukraine, which proved its Ukrainian origin. This iconic beet soup is made with beef, cabbage, potatoes, carrots, garlic and dill. Then served with a dollop of sour cream and rye bread.

[4] Paska is a traditional Ukrainian Easter bread, known for its rich, slightly sweet flavour and unique decorations. It's a sweet, egg-rich bread, often studded with dried fruits and topped with a marshmallow-like frosting and sprinkles. Paska is traditionally taken to church for a blessing on Easter morning.