On the way home

It’s hard to imagine life anywhere else. I’m from here, from Donetsk region. I was born in a village, lived fifty-seven years in the city, and worked at a factory until retirement. I love these places.

My son loved our city too. We live in a private housing sector, and the fastest way to the centre is through the ravine. When he grew up, from high school on, he’d always rush through that ravine to meet his friends. They played guitar near the community centre. There were always people walking there, even having picnics, children running around.

My son, Sasha, was killed near Bakhmut. Almost three years now. He died for this land — he wanted our cities to live on. The ravine was mined for a long time, maybe a year…

I didn’t go there. And recently a friend told me the sappers had cleared it. I went for a walk. My legs remember the path, the pits, even the stones — we walked there so much. It is all native land.

My soul felt lighter — as if everything is fine, and I so want it to truly be fine. As if Sasha and I are simply walking home together.