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War is a relentless force that leaves no aspect of life untouched, weaving itself into the fabric of daily existence and reshaping even the most intimate connections. This story, written from the perspective of a mother, a wife, and a professional, seeks to capture the enduring effects of war on relationships, identity, and resilience.
“Froggy, I’m thinking of getting an AR-15. I want to learn how to shoot.”
“I thought hunters knew how to shoot.”
“That’s different. I need to learn how to shoot in warfare.”
“Come on. They won’t dare.”
The day began with a summons. My husband, part of the territorial defense forces, became a company commander. I was left with our three children, glued to the news, unable to leave the house.
During those first weeks, my emotions spiraled between resentment, anger and despair. The injustice felt suffocating. My husband, a father of three, was not supposed to be sent to war. Why him?The days were a blur of rage and survival. The uncertainty of his safety permeated every waking thought.
Every day began with checking his messages: “Good morning, everyone, everything’s fine.” A short, reassuring phrase that became a lifeline. But the thoughts came anyway. What if he’s injured? What if he loses a limb? His eyesight? His mind?
In autumn, the war claimed its first victim from his company. Standing at the military burial field during the funeral, I couldn’t help but think: “I don’t want my husband to lie here. I want my grave to be next to his.”