"I will create a club for men who have lost sons." Andrei Onistrat shares his journey of life after loss.

Ostap Onistrat died a month before his 22nd birthday near Uglidar. He voluntarily joined the Armed Forces of Ukraine in June 2022. He participated in combat operations as part of the Air Assault Forces. Later, he served as an aerial reconnaissance specialist in the 68th separate hunting brigade, where he fought alongside his father. He was buried on June 6, 2023, at the Kyiv cemetery "Berkovtsy." He was posthumously awarded the Order of "For Courage" III degree.

"This is impossible to endure"

I remember when it happened, I arrived at the morgue, and they didn't want to let me in, saying, "No, no, you can't look at this." But I went in, saw, and understood everything. From that point on, I felt the need to bury him physically as soon as possible. After all, it's a point. A point that will move to the cemetery, where I will go and cry.

I was aware of this during those endless two days between the moment I entered the morgue and the time of the funeral. This terrible process must simply be endured. I wouldn't say "lived through." Because this is not life; it's just existence, moving from one point to another.

After the burial, I... accepted it.

To survive or live through this is impossible. You just have to live with this ocean of pain. There are no universal stages [of grief — ed.]. It's not like a cold or the flu, where you have a sore throat, then a runny nose, a cough, then you drink something — and eventually, it all passes.

A few days ago, I was at the cemetery. Although I can't stay there long... It's quiet there, and depending on the wind, you can hear the sound of flags. And my son looks just as smiling in the photograph. Since autumn 2022.

The physical fact of burial matters. I can't imagine how to live if someone is a prisoner or missing... You don't know; you have no physical confirmation of death. That is, he may be somewhere, or he may not be. It's an even scarier story.

How loss has changed me

I was silent, thinking that everyone understood everything I was thinking. Although this is a big problem because each of us has our own brain, and we perceive events differently.

Some said I became more sentimental. That I can cry over memories... I will still be doing that in 20 years.

I became more cynical. Toward the enemy. I have no problems taking someone else's life. Completely cold-blooded. It's a bit different than just a desire for revenge. It's fundamentally understanding that we are on the right side.

I lost a comrade two weeks ago. How many have I lost already? Many. Nearly a dozen close ones. And I have this feeling inside: "Here's another one."

When I was at the cemetery, I accidentally saw the grave of a boy who died in May 2022. I didn't know he was buried in the same spot as Ostap. He used to work for me as a lawyer. I saw a large bas-relief and remembered how he died. I wasn't at the funeral, but he was probably one of the first casualties among the close ones. At that time, I was already in service.

On the grieving of men

Traditionally, women are more sensitive to psychological help and rehabilitation. But you know, it's like there are men who think that applying cream is purely a female thing. In reality, our skin is absolutely the same, and it responds the same way.

From the perspective of help – I don't know... I don't need any help. Valya urged me to see a psychologist. And I said, "Listen, I don't need this."

I visited a psychologist 3 or 4 times. But I don't see it as therapy... Well, I participated in some conversations. But I didn't have the feeling that I couldn't live without it.

When the war is over, I will create a club for men who have lost sons. I believe we will have much to talk about. Because it is very important, at least for me, to talk to someone who can understand the depth of loss.

"Don't tell me words of sympathy"

I occasionally meet people I haven't seen in a long time, and when they say words of sympathy – I don't want that to be the start of our conversation. It hurts me.

I can talk about it with some close friends, but it should be my initiative. It's definitely not someone I haven't seen for 10 years, and then they meet me and say: "Dude, my condolences."

Just yesterday, I met two people — and had two different reactions. One started with words of sympathy, and I immediately wanted to run away from him; I didn't want to continue the conversation. The other guy subtly mentioned he knew Ostap, that he had been with him and fought alongside him. And that felt comfortable.

Conversations with myself: what did I do wrong?

I have many conversations with myself. At one point, I supported Ostap's decision to join the army. And I am searching for an answer to the question of whether I did everything right with him. I'm looking for subconscious mistakes that could have led to this event.

He had been dreaming recently of joining an assault unit. Because he felt a lack of "action" in his work. And I deliberately didn't want to let him go because I thought it would be unsafe. So... I think about everything. It's hard to convey and difficult to describe.

But I also think that joining the army changed Ostap. Changed him radically. And perhaps, that was what he needed to fulfill his mission.

Would I do it again? In my dialogues with myself, I come to the conclusion that I probably would. But I have no answer.

I try to distance myself a bit and look at the process from the outside. As if it's not about me, but about someone similar to me, and I evaluate his actions concerning my son.

I have many fantastic memories... Over the past year, I communicated with him an astronomical amount. I experienced so much with him... Or maybe that wouldn't have happened. Maybe we would have remained somewhat like strangers if this hadn't occurred.

Now I'm thinking about how to live with the fact that losing a son entails a specific attitude toward me and advancement in service. This is also hard because it turns out that I am now, to some extent, receiving benefits as a result of my son's death. And I continue to serve.

One of my comrades in the 68 brigade, who was with me when it happened to Ostap, said: "I understand everything. I just don't understand why you came back?" I said, "Listen, I couldn't not come back."

But the paradox is that... he also died.

How soldiers cope with loss

Every soldier has gone through several stages of service. At each stage, there were comrades left in various units.

If it's a close person — you are told: "Such-and-such has died, the funeral is on such-and-such date." You go — and you go. You mourn, remember something, and come back. And any combat person has these people just like me. Or maybe even more.

Overall, everyone copes alone. Occasionally, we might recall some episode from service. Something funny. I remember those roads from Kharkiv to Balakleya... There were funny conversations... Vanya entertained us because it turns out he had completed a course in erotic massage. He vividly described how it all happened to him. We laughed, joked. Those are pleasant memories... But he's no longer here.

There are people who just can't handle it and are overwhelmed. But this usually stems from a certain number of events that then layer on alcohol, etc., and it becomes overwhelming. Considering that I don't drink, I don't have such problems. Probably, this is one of the factors that helped me cope with this story.

"Here, advice cannot be given"

When my comrade lost his son, he asked: "How do you live with this?" I told him: "It won't go away. Focus on those who need you now. Think about the good, about what you can give to your other children, grandchildren. How can you care for them?".

That's what I advised. But he has other children, many grandchildren; he has things to do. And I just know the person. Not everyone has such a situation. There are people, for example, who are lonely. So, advice cannot be given here.