About my son
The loss of a son in war is an irreplaceable tragedy, a pain that pierces the heart and leaves an unhealed wound. Waves of anguish from the tragedy. It’s a grief that changes life forever, dividing it into “before” and “after.” Words are powerless to convey the depth of despair and sorrow experienced by a mother who has lost her child and a father who was unable to protect his son from death in war.
A son is hope, support, the continuation of the lineage. He is the person you nurture, raise, invest your soul in, dreaming of his happy future. And suddenly, in an instant, everything collapses. War mercilessly takes the lives of our young ones, cutting short all dreams and hopes.
Only memories remain. Memories of his first steps, first words, first successes. Memories of his smile, his voice, his embraces. These memories are the only connection to him, the only thing that remains in this world.
But along with the memories come waves of pain. The pain of realizing that you will never see him again, never hear his voice, never feel his embrace. The pain of knowing that he will never achieve his goals or live his life. These waves of memories come unexpectedly, and you feel like a small sailor on your tiny boat navigating them, struggling to stay afloat.
Surely, this pain should lessen over time. It dulls, but it will remain forever. It becomes part of me, part of my essence. Now I have to undergo a new learning process, to learn to live with it, but I will never forget my loss.
A mother who has lost her son in war is a hero. She has endured the most terrible thing that can happen in life. She finds the strength to go on living, despite the pain and despair. She preserves the memory of her son, passing it on to her children and grandchildren. She becomes a symbol of courage and resilience.
The memory of a son who died in war must live on forever. We must remember his contributions and his sacrifice. We must do everything to ensure that this never happens again. We must cherish peace and protect the life of every person.
P.S. While writing this text, I received a message that our dog, who loved Timur, passed away last night, crossing the Rainbow with him. On the day of my son's death, she fell ill, and on the third day, she died.
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