We live in the old part of the city, on the street which they call - the street of the elderly. Children were taken away of here; youth rarely visits us. Around are fragments of shells.
So many times life hung in the balance – we lost count. For example, I went out for coal, and my son suddenly said to me: “Dad, wait!” And then there was an explosion - dust, stones, fragments… a dog was killed …
Six months ago, the shell hit our house, only one room endured. And there my wife was bedridden for many years. She is paralyzed and sees nothing. To restore the house, tens of thousands of hryvnias were needed. A meager pension is spent on medicines, how can we survive the fall, we do not know. The roof is full of holes, either wind or rain - everything get into the room and can continue over.
We already gave up. I don’t even know if I will see my great-grandchildren. They stayed beyond the line of demarcation.