Elena’s story is one of heartbreak, loss, and unanswered questions. She is a grieving mother, mourning the death of her 18-year-old son, Valentin, who was killed while serving in the Russian military during the ongoing war in Ukraine. Like many mothers in Russia, Elena is struggling to come to terms with the loss of her child, especially as she seeks answers about the circumstances of his death. Desperate for clarity, she even wrote a letter to Russian President Vladimir Putin, demanding to know why her young son, who had barely begun his military service, was placed in a combat situation. However, her questions remain unanswered, leaving her with only pain and frustration. “What were our children doing there?” she asks, her voice heavy with anguish. “ Whoever says they are obligated for military service, what do they owe? What did my son take from the Motherland to pay a debt with his life?”
Valentin’s story is a tragic reminder of the human cost of war. At just 18 years old, he was conscripted into the Russian military as part of his mandatory service. Elena had not wanted him to enlist so soon; as a standout student and head boy at his school, he could have deferred his service to pursue further education. But Valentin was eager to serve his country and insisted on joining the military. His decision, made with youthful idealism, ultimately cost him his life. Valentin was deployed to the Kursk region, near the border with Ukraine, where he was stationed during a time of heightened tensions. It was there that the war came to him. In August, Ukrainian forces launched a cross-border incursion into the area, and Valentin was caught in the violence. Just a month after the incursion began, he suffered a fatal shrapnel wound to the head. For Elena, the loss of her son is incomprehensible. “They were taken from home, from a mother’s nest, and brought to some unknown place, where there is shooting,” she says, her voice trembling with tears. “What kind of warrior is he? He’s not a warrior.”
Despite the official narrative that views Valentin as a hero who died in service to his country, Elena finds little comfort in such labels. For her, the loss of her child is a devastating reality that no title or recognition can ease. All she has are questions—questions about why her son was placed in harm’s way, why the Russian government promised that conscripts would not be sent to combat only to break that promise, and why her son’s life was taken in a conflict that feels far removed from the life they knew. “I want only one thing—for all children to come home,” she says, her words a plea to those in power to bring an end to the senseless loss of young lives. “I want them to hear us and give us back our children in the same state we gave them, not cold.”
Elena’s grief is profound, and it lingers in every corner of her life. Her apartment in Rybinsk, a small town 160 miles northeast of Moscow, is filled with reminders of Valentin—photographs of him in his parade uniform, his blue beret resting on a shelf, and countless memories of the bright, ambitious young man he once was. Yet, despite the overwhelming evidence of his death, Elena still holds onto the hope that her son will one day walk through the door, alive and whole. “I still wait for him to come back home, even though I saw his body,” she admits, her tears flowing freely. “I still can’t believe it.” Her pain is compounded by the thought of what could have been—of the grandchildren she might never meet, the milestones she will never witness, and the future that was stolen from her family. “Sometimes I sit and think about who my grandchildren could have been,” she says. “It’s impossible to live like this. It’s not life.”
Valentin’s death is just one of many tragic losses in a war that has claimed the lives of countless young men, their futures cut short by conflict. The Russian government does not publicly release casualty figures, but estimates from the UK suggest that more than 750,000 Russian troops have been killed or wounded since the full-scale invasion of Ukraine began three years ago. These numbers are staggering, but they are made all the more personal when we look at the faces behind them—faces like Valentin’s, whose life was lost before it had truly begun. Elena visits her son’s grave at a cemetery on the outskirts of Rybinsk, a 20-minute bus ride from her home. The cemetery is filled with the graves of other servicemen, each marked with flags, a poignant reminder of the scale of the loss. Valentin’s grave is next to that of another serviceman who died on the same day he did—a harsh testament to the toll this war has taken on families across Russia.
In a country where criticism of the war can lead to imprisonment, Elena is determined to speak out, no matter the cost. She wants to prevent other mothers from enduring the same pain she feels. “It’s rare for anyone to speak openly in Russia about the war,” she acknowledges, but she is willing to risk everything to ensure that no other family suffers the same loss. “I just wanted to take the whole world and turn it upside down,” she says of the moment she wrote to Putin. Though her letter went unanswered, Elena remains steadfast in her resolve. She wants the world to hear her story, to understand the human cost of this war, and to demand that leaders take responsibility for the lives they are sending into combat. “I want only one thing—for all children to come home,” she repeats, her voice steady and resolute. For Elena, this is not just a plea; it is a mission. She hopes that by sharing her story, she can bring about change, ensuring that no other mother has to bury her child, no other family has to endure the same unbearable grief.
