A Story with No Ending

Introduction
War is a relentless force that leaves no aspect of life untouched, weaving itself into the fabric of
daily existence and reshaping even the most intimate connections. This story, written from the
perspective of a mother, a wife, and a professional, seeks to capture the enduring effects of war
on relationships, identity, and resilience.
2021: Prelude
“Froggy, I’m thinking of getting an AR-15. I want to learn how to shoot.”
“I thought hunters knew how to shoot.”
“That’s different. I need to learn how to shoot in warfare.”
“Come on. They won’t dare.”
February 24th, 2022: The first day
The day began with a summons. My husband, part of the territorial defense forces, became a
company commander. I was left with our three children, glued to the news, unable to leave the
house.
The weight of resentment
During those first weeks, my emotions spiraled between resentment, anger and despair. The
injustice felt suffocating. My husband, a father of three, was not supposed to be sent to war. Why
him?The days were a blur of rage and survival. The uncertainty of his safety permeated every
waking thought.
A constant state of waiting
Every day began with checking his messages: “Good morning, everyone, everything’s fine.”
A short, reassuring phrase that became a lifeline. But the thoughts came anyway. What if he’s
injured? What if he loses a limb? His eyesight? His mind?
The first death
In autumn, the war claimed its first victim from his company. Standing at the military burial
field during the funeral, I couldn’t help but think: “I don’t want my husband to lie here. I want
my grave to be next to his.”
The burden of survival
In the winter his battalion was moved to Kreminna. The place used to be a nature reserve with
lush pines now all turned into charred stumps. My husband, always protective, shared little.
Desperation drove me to check his messages one day. What I found was a video of one of his
soldiers captured by the Russians, naming my husband among his commanding officers.
Eventually, he was demobilized after the remnants of his company were withdrawn from the
frontline. He returned home, miraculously with only two concussions.
Life after the frontline
Though physically unscathed, nothing is truly the same. He resumed the rhythms of family life,
attending school functions and teaching our son to ride a bike. I watched for signs of trauma, but
he remained the man I married–resilient and kind.
Yet, the shadow of war lingers. The awareness of how close we came to losing each other has
deepened our connection. Petty disagreements seem absurd now. But the memories of loss–of
others’ losses–are never far away.
Every time there’s a POW exchange I scan the list for that young soldier’s name, and it’s never
there.It’s been two years.
A fragile hope
On the morning of my son’s seventh birthday, drones and missiles attacked our city. As we
rushed to the basement, my husband, unbelievably, counted the explosions.
“Is it like this on the frontline?”
“No, Froggy. It’s much worse.”
Conclusion
This story has no ending. It is one of countless others–stories of bravery, grief, resilience, and
loss. Stories that must be told again and again, in the hope that by bearing witness, we can create
change.