Loss: A sculpture by Jane Mortimer, Malone House, Malone Road, Belfast, Northern Ireland. Photo by K. Mitch Hodge on Unsplash. Free to use under the Unsplash License.

Since 2022, journalist Asiya Nesoyeva from Tatarstan has been collecting the final messages that Russian soldiers sent to their loved ones before dying in the full-scale Russian invasion of Ukraine. Holod magazine published these collected letters. An edited and translated version is published on Global Voices, with permission. 

Ildar, 30 years old, Tatarstan, Mamadysh District:

My love, I’ve just been discharged from the hospital, and there have been changes in the unit. The commander’s order: no more sick, lame, or wounded. The guys are even afraid to mention health problems — they’re immediately sent to Kharkiv [the frontline]. A guy from the second platoon had a wound on his leg that started to fester; they didn’t want to let him go, but he insisted. He filed a report and spent five days in the hospital; they treated him with antibiotics and cleaned everything. Upon his return, he was sent to the pit. The guy didn’t make it. Eight guys with similar problems were sent straight into the fire. It seems that everyone here has gone savage; there’s nothing human left. Let’s see what happens to me — my legs hurt too. Tell Mashenka that I love you both very much.

Guzel, the wife of the deceased:

For the last three years, he dyed his hair in bright colors — green, blue, even yellow. Every Sunday, he went to church, and we started going with him. He was mobilized for the war and tried to avoid it, but they threatened him with prison. He died a year after being sent to the front. When I found out, I took a vow of celibacy. Our daughter is four years old; she still waits for her father to come home. I don’t even know how to tell her.

Evgeny, 25 years old, Tatarstan, Cheremshan District:

We’re stationed at the Deep sector. We’re dying in trenches without water or food. Supplies are supposed to be delivered by convoy, but they refuse to go because drones are hitting us day and night. Food and water simply don’t reach us; the convoys die off in droves. In twelve days, they sent us one loaf of bread and a piece of rancid lard for four people using a drone. God knows when the next supply will come. It’s hardest without water in this heat. We put out a zinc bucket to collect rainwater. I think another couple of days, and we’ll start hallucinating from thirst — or maybe we already have. I’m thinking of stepping out to meet a quick death because I can’t take it anymore. Forgive me, Mom.

Darya, the wife of the deceased:

He was a real man. He took on responsibilities and carried them out, fully aware of the consequences. He didn’t look for excuses or shift his duties onto others. He worked as an auto mechanic and was one of the most responsible employees. He always wore blue clothing — we joked that he was always blue.

Evgeny, 33 years old, Bashkortostan, Sharan District:

Sis, thanks for the congratulations. I’m not home; I went to this damn ‘Special Military Operation.’ We had a talk as a family before this, and I said I could handle it because I have five kids. Yeah, I’m managing; everything’s fine during the day with tasks and all.

But when evening comes, it all hits me again. This has been going on for days. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this bad, except for when we buried our parents. It’s really tough. There’s no one to talk to. Tomorrow we’re going on a combat mission.

Liliana, the cousin of the deceased:

His colleagues said he was absent-minded, unfeeling, and lived in his own head. But in the family, we remember him as a good friend and a compassionate person. He had a dog, Malva, that he took in from the street. Malva still waits for him at the door, even sleeps on the rug by it. He was mobilized in 2022: police came to his house at 5 AM, twisted his arms, and took him to the draft office. He never got leave from the war. Two weeks before being drafted, he got a job as a school teacher of computer science and physics. After he left, the school couldn’t find a replacement teacher, and the lessons were canceled for two weeks.

Denis, 22 years old, Komi Republic:

Mom, don’t call the commanders or look for their numbers. I want to go home. Thank you for everything. One day we’ll meet, and I’ll never let you down again. Mom, forgive me.

Elena, the mother of the deceased:

He never showed his emotions; he kept everything to himself. He always aimed for the best results and was upset about even minor failures. In wrestling competitions, he only valued first place, considering second a loss. He was empathetic and felt sorrow for others’ grief. His mobilization in October 2022 was a tragedy for all of us. From the beginning of his frontline service, he refused to go on missions and never wanted to fight, which is why his fellow soldiers beat him.

Alexander, 29 years old, Lipetsk:

My contractor friend from Krasnouralsk was hit by a grenade dropped from a drone. He lost his legs. We retreated. I’ll never forgive myself for this. He crawled to us for six days, but another drone spotted him, and he was killed.

It seems the drone tracked us during the shift change and hit all eight of us. From the commander’s point of view, it hit right on target. Everything hit us perfectly. I’m done for. I hope God forgives me for abandoning my friend.

Zilya, the wife of the deceased:

He played the guitar, smoked a lot, and told stories with such passion that you couldn’t stop listening. He wrote songs and was handy — he could fix anything. He courted me since high school. He was mobilized while I was pregnant. Our daughter was born, but she never met her father.

Roman, 26 years old, Bugulminsky District, Tatarstan:

I guess I’m not needed by anyone. Why don’t you answer? They send us on assaults, and then they abandon the bodies — yes, abandon them — because as the saying goes, ‘no body, no case,’ and the statistics look good for the General Staff. I have no one here. Please answer me, how are you doing, Sveta?

Sveta, the girlfriend of the deceased:

He ended up on the frontlines from a correctional facility, where he was serving time under Article 228 (drug-related charges). He volunteered, hoping to get out early and return to his family. He promised to only earn money legally after that. He died two months after being sent to the front. He loved growing houseplants, especially cactuses in small pots, though he was embarrassed by this hobby. I still blame myself for not talking him out of going to war.