They placed a sock, a bottle of water from the Azov Sea, and sandals in the urns, like families burying their loved ones without their bodies.

“I lost my husband, but I buried him. There are people whose loved ones died, but they have nowhere to go to grieve: no place at the cemetery, no cross, no plaque with a surname. Just cubes with photos in the city center,” shares Anastasia Yarovaya from the “Veterans Hub” in Khmelnytskyi — a public institution that supports families of military personnel who are missing in action. When the idea of a symbolic burial arose, they worked with relatives to make it happen.

On December 9 of last year in Khmelnytskyi, a symbolic funeral ceremony took place on the Alley of Heroes at a new columbarium wall for four members of the “Azov” regiment (one of whom is a woman), two border guards, one fighter from the 8th Special Forces Regiment, and a soldier from the 128th Brigade.

The deceased were either from the Khmelnytskyi region or their families had moved here from occupied territories.

Prior to this, the court established that all these soldiers, despite their bodies not being found, were deceased. This was confirmed by witnesses. This is the first condition for a symbolic burial. The second condition is the consent of the relatives. If a miracle occurs and the bodies are found, the families will decide whether to bury them or to cremate them and place the ashes in urns with personal belongings.

Widow: “It’s harder to accept that his body is missing than to deal with his death”

It was the beginning of summer 2017. A young man and a girl climbed Mount Pysanyy Kamen in the Carpathians. She had longed to visit this place. Suddenly, the guy grabbed her by the shoulders, turned her to face him, and excitedly said: “Listen, I don’t know how this works, but I really want you to be my wife forever.” He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a ring. He slipped it onto her finger without waiting for an answer.

“It was so amusing: a strong, fearless warrior, a champion of Ukraine in kickboxing and a world champion in Muay Thai — in that moment he was helpless and nervous,” recalls Tamara from Khmelnytskyi happily. The proposal came from Alexey Yanin, a sniper-reconnaissance officer from the “Azov” regiment, whom she had met online not long before but had already grown fond of deeply.

At the mountain, the girl felt as if she was on top of the world: all her dreams came true in an instant. By August, the couple had celebrated a beautiful wedding with a church ceremony on the island of Khortytsia.

“The ceremony was extraordinarily beautiful: I collect vintage folk clothing, so I wore a Poltava bride’s dress, and I embroidered my husband’s shirt myself,” the woman shares.

The newlyweds spent little time living under one roof in the Mariupol district: the man was often on service, on combat missions for 6-8 months. They decided it was better for Tamara and their son Nazar, born in 2019, to stay in her hometown. There, her parents, brothers, sisters, and grandmother would support the young woman and her child. Their future plans included Alexey leaving “Azov,” moving to Khmelnytskyi, serving in the army (he saw himself only in the military), and having another child.

Their world was shattered on February 24, 2022, with the first strikes on Mariupol. Alexey defended the city and confidently wrote to his wife: “We will stop them. I will protect our home, I will protect you and the child. I don’t want them to hurt you; I won’t let that happen.”

On March 10, a bullet pierced his leg above the knee. While he lay in the hospital for three weeks, he didn’t mention the hell he was in to his wife, didn’t send any photos of bombed Mariupol, didn’t record a voice message or video to spare her the sounds of suffering and sights of explosions. When she asked if anything was like in 2014, he responded briefly: “No, this is nothing like that; we haven’t seen anything like this before.” She understood that her husband had been at war for a long time and had seen a lot, but what was happening now shocked and overwhelmed him. Still, he was eager to leave the hospital and return to his comrades.

On April 6, at 19:51, “What did you do today? What did you eat? What fills your days?” — his wife wrote. Alexey replied in one go something like: “I ran through high-rises, hid from a tank, found a handful of candies, and brought them to the kids in the basement. I had some soup for lunch that someone’s grandfather made, and then I ran back to my position.”

This was the last message from the 38-year-old man with the call sign Indian. He read books in every free minute, loved football and the sea, was passionate about weapons, valued true friends, and could be very straightforward when he didn’t like something.

The next day, Alexey Yanin died in a boat that was transporting ammunition across the Kalmiyus River. The soldiers on board were supposed to mine their positions. They were fired upon twice by enemy anti-tank guided missiles. Later, the Russians returned two bodies from the boat for exchange, but Alexey was not among them.

These waits and searches for his body drained the woman’s last strength.

“For me, it’s harder than my husband’s death to accept that his body is missing,” she admits. “I was angry at those who buried the guys from the boat, although they were not to blame. Then I realized I had two options: either go insane or change my worldview so as not to hate this world. I began to comfort myself that he is everywhere with me — in my heart, in the sun, in the wind, in the clouds.”

“But the thought of a burial tormented me more and more. And when the discussions about the columbarium wall began, I agreed without hesitation. I knew I would put water from the Sea of Azov in the urn because there is no earth for him.”

Tamara cried at the funeral and felt like a wife who was truly saying goodbye to her husband. This is the essence of the ritual, she believes.

“I have a photo at home, but it’s important for me to visit the cemetery weekly because that’s where I can cry, grieve, and feel sad,” Tamara adds.

Her son Nazar will turn six in February. He often asks his mother: “Did dad like oranges?”, “Did dad like to be tickled?”, “Did dad like to play with trains?” And after receiving an answer, he says: “Oh, I look like dad” or “Hmm, I take after you.”

He is a smart and good boy. A spitting image of his father. Alexey Yanin.

Father: “I come to the Alley of Glory with a medical gown and sandals”

When Alena’s older sister died of cancer, and then her mother passed away, she was eight years old. The girl constantly asked her father: “Why wasn’t she saved? Doesn’t it happen that someone can be cured?” Nikolai Novitsky tried to comfort his daughter as best as he could: “It’s such a disease, Alenka. Sometimes they can, sometimes they can’t.”

“Then I will treat everyone!” — the girl declared firmly. And she went to study medicine. After college, nurse Alena asked to work in the military hospital in Khmelnytskyi — to rehabilitate soldiers. At a party, she met an “Azov” soldier, fell in love, got married, and followed him to Mariupol like a thread follows a needle. There, she signed a contract with the “Azov” regiment herself. She began her service as a sanitary instructor and later became a combat medic.

Illya was born, but Alena’s life with his father was not working out. The marriage fell apart, and later the woman met her fate. Colonel of the National Guard, Maxim Gridchin.

“They didn’t have time to formalize their marriage. My daughter just showed me her wedding dress,” the father sighs.

A few days before February 24, 2022, Nikolai Novitsky was in Mariupol at his daughter’s request: “Dad, take Ilyusha away because something bad is about to happen here. I know he won’t be lost with you.” — “