I buried my only son in a shell crater. Victor was 48 years old. He helped to restore the gas pipeline that was broken by shell fragments. The shelling started, and a piece of shrapnel hit him in the head.
My son was transported from hospital to hospital, operated on and released. Two weeks later, he died in my arms. And there were shootings in the local cemetery at that time. So I buried my son near the house, in a shell crater. Every day I went near him and cried. Victor was reburied only six months later. I'm still crying. I was left, alone, it's hard for me.