Adulthood denied: heartbreaking stories of children robbed of their future by Russia

On June 1, as the world marks International Children's Day, the aspirations of all children for a joyful future come to light. They yearn for opportunities to receive an education, pursue their dream careers, start families, and enjoy weekends visiting their parents. Tragically, due to the relentless aggression from Russia, not all young Ukrainians will have the chance to fulfill these aspirations. According to verified data from the UN Children's Fund UNICEF alone, nearly 1,500 children have suffered injuries since the start of Russia's full-scale invasion of Ukraine, with one-third of them losing their lives. If given the chance, what would these children convey about themselves and the day they met their untimely fate? This compilation of stories has been made possible through the contributions of their grieving relatives.

"I don't even have a name. My life ended before it even began"

The unborn child of the Zamchenko family

Kyiv

17.10.2022

Greetings! In this photo, you will find my parents, not me, exuding pure joy and radiance on their wedding day. It wasn't long after that my mother became pregnant with me, their beloved child. However, the joyous anticipation of my arrival was short-lived. Tragically, on October 17, their lives took a devastating turn when an enemy drone struck the very building they called home.

Amidst clearing the debris, rescuers made a heart-wrenching discovery: my parents, forever locked in a tender embrace. At that devastating moment, my life came to an abrupt halt within my mother's womb. That fateful day marked the loss of five lives, and I, their unborn child, became the sixth casualty.

My parents were filled with immense responsibility and treated my existence with utmost care. They had eagerly planned for my arrival, and the news of my mother carrying me in her womb was a source of great joy for our family. Witnessing my parents' happiness during those early days of pregnancy brought unparalleled joy to my future grandmother.

During the initial weeks, as my life was gradually taking shape within my mother's body, she endured the challenges of morning sickness. However, it eventually subsided, offering a glimmer of hope. My father stood steadfastly by our side, ensuring we had everything we needed, tenderly caring for my mother and lovingly stroking her growing belly—an extension of his affection for me. In a matter of weeks, our family was eagerly anticipating the revelation of whether I was a boy or a girl. But my heartbeat ceased at four and a half months, tragically coinciding with the drone's destructive impact on our home.

My mother, Vika, never experienced the bliss of motherhood nor had the opportunity to hold me against her nurturing chest in those precious moments after birth. My father, Bohdan, who often envisioned himself as a proud and doting father, was denied the chance to relish even a single day in that cherished role. I never had the chance to feel the warmth of my parents' loving hugs and kisses, nor was I bestowed with a name. My life was cut short before it could truly begin.

"After my death, my dad turned gray in a matter of days"

Marharyta Haponenko, 8 years old

Bezruky (Kharkiv Oblast)

21.06.2022

Hi, everyone! I am Marharyta, originally from Kharkiv Oblast. At just 8 years old, tragedy struck me on what should have been a joyful occasion - my birthday celebration. Little did I know it would be my final one. The tranquility of our surroundings was shattered when enemy shells mercilessly landed in our yard.

During the afternoon, I sat on the doorstep, engrossed in reading a book aloud to my mother, who was inside diligently tending to the dishes. All was calm, until that devastating moment when over 10 cluster munitions descended upon us. Tragically, one of the fragments pierced through my heart, swiftly extinguishing my young life. My aunt also suffered injuries and succumbed to them 10 days later. My mother, thankfully, emerged physically unscathed from the ordeal.

In both character and appearance, I was a mirror image of my father. He bestowed upon me my name. However, I shared a deep bond with my mother as well - we could converse about any topic. I was an obedient daughter, causing no trouble for my parents. Dancing and singing were my passions, and I delighted in attending performances. During my free time, I painstakingly crafted bead paintings, finding solace in such meticulous work. Our home was always filled with animals - parrots, guinea pigs, and chinchillas. I aspired to be a veterinarian, dreaming of healing and caring for creatures big and small.

My life was brimming with friendships, and my leisure hours were often spent exploring with my companions. Together with my parents, we ventured to Kharkiv, where I relished visiting the central park. Its vastness and beauty captivated me. We harbored aspirations of going on a vacation as a family, but alas, time eluded us.

Now, my parents have relocated to another village, compelled to leave behind our decimated home following the air raids. My mother shares that my father aged considerably within a matter of days after my untimely departure. The pain and loss they endure are indescribable, as words fail to capture the magnitude of their anguish. Every weekend, they make a solemn pilgrimage to my resting place, the only opportunity they have to be near their beloved daughter.

"My body was in the basement of a bombed-out house for about two months"

Anna Sokolova, 9 years old

Mariupol

20.03.2022

Hi everyone! I am Anna Sokolova, a 9-year-old from Mariupol. Throughout the relentless bombardment of our city by the Russians, my mother Yana and I sought refuge within the confines of our home. Despite attempting to leave Mariupol on two occasions, we were thwarted by the enemy's actions. After one particularly intense assault, our apartment was left with shattered windows and doors, prompting us to seek safety in the basement for the first time. My mother meticulously counted the shells that struck our house and the surrounding area—there were no fewer than 17 that day.

In the early hours of the morning, around four o'clock, our building tragically crumbled. The concrete slabs above the basement collapsed, entrapping me beneath their weight. Despite my mother's valiant efforts to rescue me, her attempts were in vain. She managed to escape the basement and save another surviving girl, but I remained trapped, awaiting help that never arrived. The men my mother desperately called upon couldn't extract me from the rubble. Eventually, the entire entry section collapsed, leaving me and five others buried within that makeshift shelter.

As the only daughter of my devoted parents, I was the center of their universe, and they poured all their love and energy into nurturing me. Recognizing my talent for drawing at the tender age of four, they enrolled me in art classes. I could spend hours immersed in creating, bringing images from my imagination to life on paper. I also enthusiastically joined a dance class and, of my own accord, enrolled in a modeling school during my first year of elementary school.

Computers fascinated me, and I relished honing my skills in that domain. My mother promised to enroll me in a computer class as a birthday gift when I turned ten. I adored learning, finding school to be a breeze. I would even sketch comic book characters between the rows of math problems. Perhaps destiny had intended for me to become an exceptional artist?

My lifeless body remained in the basement of that bombed-out building for approximately two months until the opportunity for a proper burial arose—not in a cemetery, but on our family plot. My mother occasionally reminisces about my unwavering desire to remain a child, as I would express to her. The thought of growing up never held appeal for me—I relished the innocence and joy of childhood. Regrettably, the chance to mature and experience adulthood was unjustly stolen from me.

"I only wanted to help, but I was killed..."

Vyacheslav Yalyshev, 14 years old

Odesa

05/02/2022

Hello! I am 14 years old, I am Vyacheslav from Odessa, a city on the shores of the Black Sea. The enemy killed me at the beginning of May 2022. Then my military mother warned that rockets were coming at us, so we should take cover. Grandma and grandpa went down to the shelter, and I went to warn the old neighbors about the danger. When I ran out of the entrance, a Russian rocket hit the house, I was covered with a huge block. I just wanted to help, but I was killed...

I come from the town of Kramatorsk in Donetsk region. Since childhood, he adored the railway and everything related to it. Together with his grandfather, he liked to ride trams, for trips he chose only trains. And even at home you could find dozens of wagons. Mom joked that we could open our own railway line.

I studied responsibly, teachers remember me as a calm and well-mannered student who was always ready to help. I did not ignore the requests of adults - I always wanted to be useful.

I liked watching movies. Together with my mother, we had a tradition of buying goodies, snuggling up and watching horror movies. The love of cinematography grew into shooting own videos together with friends. I organized the filming, thought out the scenarios and distributed the roles among my friends.

In the middle of February 2022, I celebrated my last birthday. I was so happy: my mother traditionally prepared homemade pizza, we decorated the apartment, invited my friends. On that day, we laughed and danced a lot together... Who knew that a full-scale Russian offensive would take my life in a few days - as well as other Ukrainian children and teenagers. Now I have my mother, father and older brother. All of them are military - they stand to protect the Ukrainian sky. I'm also now somewhere on it among the stars.

"I was buried in the yard of our dacha"

Ivan Ivanov, 15 years old

Kyiv Oblast (near the village of Myrotske)

04.03.2022

Hia! I'm Ivan, a 15-year-old from Kyiv Oblast. Regrettably, I lost my life in early March during a desperate attempt by my mother Iryna to evacuate me and my younger sister Dasha from our occupied village. It was a harrowing moment as bullets rained down on our car, and amidst the chaos, Dasha huddled on the floor. Those were the final moments of my existence.

When we eventually left the car to continue our journey on foot, I discovered that one of the enemy bullets had pierced my heart. The pain was unbearable, and I felt as though my left arm had been torn away, losing control of it completely. Despite my best efforts to keep up with my family, I repeatedly stumbled and fell. And so, I remained alone in that field, approximately a kilometer away from our dacha.

My parents had longed for a son, pouring all their love and hopes into me. When my sister Dasha arrived a few years later, I gladly took on the role of her protector and caretaker. I made sure she had everything she needed and often looked after her when our parents were away on business.

According to my mother's recollections, kindness defined my character. I was always willing to share and give whatever I had to my friends. I had a natural affinity for phones and computers, spending hours engrossed in playing games. My mother used to say I had "golden hands" because I was skilled at crafting various paper weapons, such as rifles, assault rifles, and pistols, when I was around 10 years old.

Academics didn't capture my interest at that time, and I had yet to decide what I wanted to be when I grew up. However, the enemy ruthlessly extinguished any possibilities when they targeted our car. It was at that moment that I realized, as the only male in the vehicle, it was my duty to protect my family. Instead of hiding, I sat upright in the backseat, resolute in my resolve to shield them.

Following the tragic incident, my body lay in the field for several days until my mother could retrieve it. Initially, I was laid to rest in the yard of our cherished dacha, where I had grown up. With the help of our neighbors, we dug a grave and crafted a makeshift coffin. When the enemy was eventually driven out of Kyiv Oblast, they solemnly reburied me in the Bucha cemetery.

My memory lives on through my mother, father, and younger sister. They often ponder what might have happened if I had taken cover from the enemy's bullets like Dasha did. Would it have saved me? And on January 23, we would have celebrated my 16th birthday…

This text was prepared by Memorial, a commemorative platform dedicated to sharing the stories of civilian victims and Ukrainian soldiers who lost their lives to Russia. It has been shared with hromadske, a news organization, to shed light on the casualties suffered by Ukraine. To report information about Ukraine's losses, please complete the forms provided for fallen military and civilian victims.

Authors: Natalia Kulidi, Maria Morozova