My sister says: 'Well, it’s your own people bombing you'

My relatives — former relatives now — live in Kursk. We used to have a very good relationship. But the war and their brainwashed minds led to the point where they no longer exist for me.

When my son was killed, I called them, crying. My aunt said: “Well, so what? A lot of our people have been killed too.” She couldn’t process that her grandson had been killed by a Russian shell.

He was in the Kraken unit. It’s a military unit under the Main Intelligence Directorate of Ukraine’s Ministry of Defense. At first he served as a driver in the transport battalion, then transferred to the assault company. Those are the guys who go into battle first.

I spoke with Andrii by phone on September 5. He said: “Mom, don’t worry. We’re not on combat missions right now.” Before each deployment, he’d stop by so I could bless him.

On the 8th, Andrii’s father calls me: “Are you home? Come outside.” He told me Andrii had been killed. I screamed, fell to the ground. “How do you know?” — “I was at the morgue. I saw the body.”

On September 12, we arrived at the cemetery — there were many soldiers, maybe 100. At some point, missiles started flying. Someone cried out: “Get down!” and we all dropped to the ground.

At that moment, I said: “Son, I’m about to join you.” But then it went quiet.

Later, an acquaintance who works in the police told me that two missiles had hit the cemetery grounds and hadn’t detonated. Andriusha and his guys must have been protecting us. If those missiles had gone off, everyone at the funeral would have died.

My son went as a volunteer to Pisky, Donetsk Oblast, back in 2014 when he was 18. Without my knowledge. He came back much more mature, proud.

I understood that if a full-scale war started, my child would pick up a weapon and go to defend our country. And that’s exactly what happened.

Meanwhile, my cousin — businessman Roman Aliokhin — is a sponsor of the Russian army. He’s constantly running fundraisers for the war. He has a Telegram channel called “Kursk Truth-Teller.” He thinks he’s telling the truth.

He sent me information about American biolabs on the grounds of the Kharkiv oncology hospital (the Kharkiv Regional Center of Oncology — SP). It’s a Soviet-era building; the place hasn’t been renovated in ages. No matter how much I explained that it was all untrue, nobody listened.

I can’t accept this. These aren’t uneducated people who can be easily manipulated — these are thinking people. My cousin’s wife has a Cossack song ensemble called “Vereya.” And my cousin has his own orthopedic prosthetics business.

Planes are flying over us, the whole building is shaking, and my cousin’s wife says: “Well, it’s your own people bombing you.” Meanwhile, her husband said: “I sincerely ask all Ukrainians for forgiveness for everything Russia is doing.”

Before the war, a client from Russia contacted me for legal help in Ukraine. We continue working together.

For a lawyer, there are no distinctions of skin color, language, or religion. If we can do something to protect someone within national law, we will.

When my tragedy with my son happened, she was very supportive. She and her husband didn’t fall for the propaganda.

But people who committed war crimes on Ukrainian territory — I will not defend them. If a person chose to collaborate with the occupation authorities, I won’t help either. The lawyer is powerless here, because the client has committed a deliberate unlawful act.

As a lawyer, I believe punishment should be determined by international law. But as a mother who lost her only son, I believe that for the people of that country to understand what we feel, they must live through what we’ve lived through.

It’s unclear whether they’ll understand. The media shows that wives and mothers over there are worried about payments. That’s how most of them perceive the deaths of their family members.

When Andriusha was gone, life lost its meaning. At first, I just wanted to drive to the cemetery, lie on his grave, and never get up.

I found my anchor in supporting his unit. I organized a fundraiser — we raised 280,000 hryvnias (about 7,000 dollars). I bought them two vehicles, a thermal imager, thermal socks, metal plates, mugs, spoons, three night-vision scopes.

This past New Year’s was torture for me. When people sent me greetings, I couldn’t even respond. My son and I always used to go pick out a Christmas tree together, and then on March 8 we’d throw it out together — it was our tradition.

My first birthday without my son is coming up. I know it’ll be the same thing again: people will call, congratulate me, but holidays have already left my life.