Maria, Sevastopol / Kiev / Transcarpathia

Now we are in the Transcarpathian region, in the village. Family friends used to rest here once, contacts remained. They called and agreed to hold our seats.

The days were even going too fast somehow… It seems that 2-3 days have passed, and already more than two weeks. My stomach started to ache. I found a clinic with ultrasound in a neighboring city, we went there. Throughout the pregnancy period, I tracked in apps: this week it’s the size of a sunflower seed, and this week it’s the size of a plum, so we both knew perfectly well what we should see on the screen. But when the device touched my stomach and a picture appeared on the screen, we immediately realized that this was the end. Our child’s heart stopped beating about a week ago.

For some reason, we were sure that everything would be fine with the pregnancy. Even before the war, they planned to gather a family in April and arrange a “gender party” with balls of beige and chocolate colors. I said that if he survives after all this, he will be a very strong and strong-willed child. And he didn’t survive.

We mourned our grief. It’s almost gone now. Everyone says that we need to try to move on because where we are now is relatively safe. Although, what kind of security can we talk about on the Titanic, which has already met its iceberg? When the siren goes off at night, the Trivoga app recommends going down to the shelter. But we have a field here… My husband and I hug each other tighter and stay in bed. And so we lie, like those old men from the Titanic.

I do not know how you can live as if there is no war. There is a mountain about 30 minutes away from us. And I could walk there, but… I can’t. I can’t turn on music when I’m cooking. I can’t laugh. I also eat with difficulty. Somewhere out there people are dying, suffering from hunger, locked up… How can I “live a normal life” when so many thousands of my fellow citizens have not had this normal life for almost 3 weeks?!

I have nightmares. An atomic bomb falling on our block. Severed children’s hands that knock on the window.

I’ve always considered myself Russian. The basis of my national identity was simply trampled, mixed with mud, drowned in the blood of innocent Ukrainians. And I will never forget or forgive it. And also — I will never celebrate Victory Day again. This holiday was taken away, desecrated, dishonored! I’m only happy about one thing: that my great-grandmother and great-grandfather did not live to see these days.

It was the war that deprived me of everything I had earned for many years, my home, my city. She tore my family away from me, who remained in Sevastopol. Took the life of my unborn child. He can take away my beloved husband at any moment. Deprived me of my national identity. Destroying my country.

We comfort ourselves with the fact that no tyrant has ever ended his life well. And we really hope that the freak who has been raping Russia for the third decade, and now has begun to destroy Ukraine, will soon die in the most terrible agony!

I would like to believe that we will live to see this day