The war began and we did not hide anywhere. We just came out into the corridor, the stairwell. We were told it was the war. Shelling began. I had a shed here that burned down. My late son kept a cow back then and it used to be a good shed. My neighbour and I did not sleep all the night. We were on the run. The neighbour ran up to me and said: ‘Your shed is on fire.’ The roof was hit. The whole roof is leaking. The shed was damaged.
We left the place and lived in a small room for four or five months. We were buying some coal. I used to go to the wood line for firewood until soldiers told me:
‘Grandma, you cannot go there. God forbid, if you get blown up on a mine – that would be it.’ I said: ‘Well and good. If I am blown up, I hope I could be killed right away.’
We came back here, entered the house and found four bullets lying here. It is good that we were not here. And if we had been here, we would have remained here forever.
It is cold. How can we spend the winter here? What will it be? In addition, my husband is so ill, how can we [live]? I cannot warm myself up. We put on our warm jackets and warm underwear. Yet, it is not possible. The radiators are cold...
We hope this war will end soon, God willing. How much more can we take? How many years of life are left for us, retirees? We were not paid our pension allowance. We visited Artemivsk many times. Oh, Lord forbid.
If it were not for the humanitarian aid, I don’t know what it would be. We did not have a shop. I did not have water.
The war was going on for two or three years and so I was bringing water from the forest to our five-storey building. We needed water for washing clothes, for washing our hands etc… My arms and legs no longer function properly. This hand feels as if it is made from wood, as if it is paralyzed. I cannot hold even potatoes in my hands.
I had two sons. I used to work on the railway and it was a hard job. I travelled and lived without proper living conditions. My son used to work on the railway and my other son still works there. And my first son was sent on a business trip somewhere behind Donetsk, to Volnovakha… He was brought back to me in a wooden coffin from there. Nobody told me anything, who killed him, where from. I still don’t know who killed my son till now. I had a good son. He was hard working and a non-drinker.
Every night and every day I wait to hear that there is no shelling. When there is no active shelling, I say: ‘Lord, thank you. Lord, send us some support and protection, so that the war would be over soon.’ Who needs it what they have made?
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