Illuminating Faith in the Darkness of Loss: The Story of a Fallen Hero’s Mother
On the Alley of Glory of the Brovary Cemetery in Kyiv Oblast, Vira Tkachenko is gently arranging winter flower bouquets on her son’s grave. A year ago, 43-year-old Andriy, a volunteer and hero, perished in the war, leaving his mother with lifelong pain and pride.
Vira is a primary school teacher who, every day, by teaching children, contributes to the future of the Ukraine for which her son gave his life. In the UGCC Church of the Three Saints, she finds solace by praying for him. Faith in God became the driving force that kept her going in the most trying moments of her life. Her journey is a testament to how a mother’s love and deep faith help her carry on, transforming pain into a source of light.
The pain which didn’t break me
My pain… It is impossible to describe through words. But I keep holding on because the war is raging and many people need support now. I realize once the war is over, this pain will break through with a flood of tears shed by mothers, wives, and children. But now we have no right to give up.
I pray. Every day I pray for the soul of my son, for all the men who will never come home. In our school, there is a corner of memory where portraits of the deceased students are placed. Sometimes, when I check the notebooks by the window, I stop and pray for them as well.
My work at the school also helps me cope. I give myself to the children because I believe that through education we shape the Ukraine for which my son gave his life. Singing in the church choir has become another source of strength for me. When I sing, I feel as though my soul communicates with God. At these moments, I feel that He is near.
I am learning to live, to turn my pain into a driving force, not a heavy burden.
I know that my pain is not exceptional. There are so many mothers just like me who have lost sons in wars over the past centuries and are losing them today! I feel their pain because I carry the same cross. But I am learning to live in such a way that it becomes a driving force, not a heavy burden. I want the people to feel comfortable around me, so that they don’t feel burdened by me.
My biggest dream was that my son and all the young men who are fighting for Ukraine would live to see victory, because they are worth it. They deserve to live in the country for which they gave their young lives. Not all dreams come true, unfortunately. But I know that he is a hero. And I take a lot of pride in him.
Memories of a glowing soul
Andriy was a man who glowed from within. His love for life, people, and everything he did was infinite. When things were going well in his life, he was ready to embrace the whole world. Andriy was a master craftsman, what he probably inherited from his father. Although he had never studied carpentry, he worked with wood in a way that few people after college could do. He was a craftsman who put his heart and soul into his work.
Cycling was another of his great passions. It was not just a sport for him, but love. He would buy expensive bicycles, collect parts for them, repair them himself, and then help others. I remember my son coming to my dacha near Chernihiv in the summer on a bicycle, traveling hundreds of kilometers. The last time Andriy came home from the front, he confessed: “Mom, while riding, I was crying the whole way.” Apparently, there were some premonitions… Now I have his bike at home, and I still spin the wheels, as he always asked me to.
I remember he would always end our conversations with: “I love you, Mom.”
Even in the direst moments, when he was already at the front, Andriy was always himself. Once he called me from Donetsk region when he was “at zero”. He said: “Mom, I have to tell you something you won’t like. I’m not coming back. But I want to bequeath to my sister the most valuable thing I have—my bicycle.” I remember those words as clearly as I do now. I remember he would always end our conversations with: “I love you, Mom.”
Andriy did not attend church, but he was keen to learn about God and discussed it with me a lot. He also loved to read the Bible. I remember him quoting passages from the Scriptures and sharing his thoughts. This was precious to me, because it showed that his soul was directed to the light.
Faith through the horrors of war
Andriy had always been honest, upfront, and valiant. When the war broke out, he did not wait for a call-up—he volunteered. He said: “I don’t want to humiliate myself in front of anyone. I’m going to fight honestly, to defend Ukraine.” His decision was both a source of pride and pain for me. He became a grenade launcher.
After each return from the front, I saw how anguished he was for his comrades who would never return. I remember how he was allowed to go home after returning from the positions near Kyiv. He was exhausted physically and mentally, yet unbroken. His memories of the guys who remained on the battlefield would not give him peace. Andriy slept poorly at night, suffered from injuries, but endured it all for his loved ones and Ukraine.
His heart was beating for the future of Ukraine, which he offered to all of us.
My son said that he had gone to war not for glory or awards, but to defend his home and his land. He went to the front line realizing that he might not come back. But he never complained. His heart was beating for Ukraine, its freedom, its future, which I know he wanted to give to all of us.
When Andriy came home for treatment after the shell shock, he often asked me to recite “Apostles’ Creed” to him. In those moments, he found some solace, but his doubts occasionally erupted: “Mom, I believe, but why does God allow this to happen?” I could not always find the right words, so I said: “Perhaps there is no other way. Ukraine pays a high price to gain freedom.”
Andriy served honestly and selflessly. He was “at zero points”. One day they were struck, but he miraculously escaped. He was covered with bags. Perhaps, everything has its due time…
Silence louder than words
I remember the last conversation with Andriy to the last detail. He told me that those days were especially hard at the front. “Mom, you can’t even fathom it,” he said, “Everything is burning, tearing, exploding, just like in war movies. They were then in the palm of the enemy’s hand. I heard his voice, felt fear, but strength at the same time. He was always driven by hope: ‘A few more days, and we will be rotated out, replaced and taken on vacation. I will come home’.
On September 29, I didn’t hear his call for the first time… When I saw a missed call from my son, I immediately called him back and wrote: “Andriy, please text me at least a word”. But there was silence in response. Even then, deep down, I knew. A mother’s heart… I felt this pain, but I didn’t want to believe it.
On September 30, I woke up with a burden. This silence became unbearable. And on October 2, when I received a call from an unknown number, my heart tightened even more. “The military enlistment office is calling,” they informed. I already knew what they were going to say. But the words: “This is not a telephone conversation”—sounded like a bolt of lightning.
I immediately realized that Andriy was gone—I had been feeling it for three days, but I tried to suppress these thoughts. However, deep down I knew, and the military enlistment office confirmed my worst fears.
Andriy died at night, standing guard. He always said that night battles were the worst. A mortar attack broke out, and shrapnel hit him in the head. But he stood to the last. Then the Russians rolled up on an armored personnel carrier, and their onslaught was too heavy—they killed all of our men who were there.
It was the heaviest thing I could have gone through. But, you know, the moment I realized that Andriy was gone, I had no frustrations with God. My first thought was: “God, hold my hand, support me in my grief.”
I prayed for Andriy daily, from morning till night, every free minute. I pleaded for him and all our warriors. But when he died, I knew that he was now in God’s hands, I realized that it had to be so…
Living a life of prayer
When life hit me like a giant wave, I realized that I could not handle it alone. My heart was full of pain and questions, but I knew where to go. I came to the church because I wanted my Andriy to be buried there, at our parish [the parish of the Three Saints of the UGCC in Brovary — ed.] The priests said: “Anytime you request it, we will do all the necessary things.” It was so simple, and yet so genuine.
The church became a place of peace for me. Every morning, I came there to pray for Andriy’s soul, and I knew that I would find comfort in the church. There were no superfluous words, only understanding and sympathy. The people who were there for me during these most distressing days became my real family.
The girls from the choir even accompanied me on my errands when I had to go to the military registration and enlistment office or solve bureaucratic issues. I felt that here, among these people, I was safe. Their help was invaluable, though even more so than that was the invisible, spiritual support I drew from my faith.
I especially remember the words of our rector. Earlier, when we were gathering in the church as a community of “Mothers in Prayer,” I was deeply moved he spoke about Mary standing by Jesus. He said: “’Look at how Mary remained by Christ’s side. See how her eyes met His. How hard it was for her, and what she endured.”
For me, Our Lady has become an inspiration of how a mother can carry her cross with dignity, despite how heavy it is.
These words were with me even when Andriy died. When the most difficult moment arrived-the funeral, the crowd of people, the tears—I kept the image of Mary in my mind. I said to myself: “How about Mary? How did she endure?” It kept me on my feet. I did not wail or collapse, even though the pain was tearing my whole being apart. I am certainly not worthy to even compare myself to the Mother of God, but She became a role model for me. An inspiration of how a mother can carry her cross with dignity, even if it is enormously heavy.
Now, as life goes on, I find strength in prayer every day. I have a portrait of my son at home. I pray a rosary next to it and read the Bible.
Recently, the priest also advised me to recite the Jesus Prayer. At first, I didn’t know how to say it—I could only sing it, as we often did in the choir. Now, whenever my thoughts begin to swirl and the pain feels unbearable, I mentally recite the Jesus Prayer until my heart finds peace. It helps clear my mind and restore balance.
Thoughts of loss persist. But I believe that God is fair. I don’t ask for things to be the way I want them to be, because I realize that His plans are greater than mine. His decisions are right, even if they seem tragic to us. I believe that Andriy is now in His hands, and this faith gives me the strength to move on.
I believe that one day we will be reunited. This hope is my light in the darkness.
Compiled by Vira ValchukPhoto credit: Oleksandr Savrankyi
The UGCC Department for Information
