A letter to my fallen son… My son, keep calm, we know everything…the position had already been occupied, you were alone, everyone was retreating…

Barsegh Gishyan, Davit Gishyan’s father, posted a letter addressed to his son.

A letter to my fallen son

… I saw your birth and death. One happy day, the doctor called me in to see you, my newborn son. One day, when you were 19 years old, I was called in to recognize your dead body. When that damn door opened, you were lying on your back; I could recognize you from a very small part of your head, even though I hadn’t seen you. I asked to take you down and leave me alone with you for ten minutes.  I caressed you and, then, dressed you. There was also a bloody military jacket on your naked body, that I had seen in my dream. At the moment of your death, I felt a strong muscle shock, I could barely breathe, the bloody jacket appeared in front of my eyes like a vision, and you called me twice with a sighing voice. I asked them to give me the last clothes on your body, as a memory from my son but then, they said that they couldn’t as they were attached to the criminal case. You were lying in a peaceful sleep in front of me.

Your childhood and your end coincided on your face; in eternal sleep, your face had the same childlike expression of childhood, and in an instant, your 19 years passed past me and, that drove me crazy. I knew it was the end; I would not see you again; it was you and I, father and son in Heratsi mortuary; I loved and caressed you, your hair, your eyebrows, your eyelashes for the last time, I kissed you, opened and closed your eyes. I ran to Heratsi again at night. there was nobody; I knocked on the doors and said I needed to see my son. I stayed alone with you another 8-10 minutes; I cherished you again. I knew that in the morning, would be what happens to every fallen soldier but it wasn’t even eight and I ran to Heratsi for the third time already, like a madman I wanted to see you so badly, one last time. They thought I was crazy and told me that they took you to the mortuary but it did not matter I told them I needed to see my son. A little bit later, they brought you back and I asked them to leave us alone but they did not; a person was standing in the distance. And this was the end; I cherished you one last time; I wanted to give you the love and caress that you wouldn’t get any more; I wanted you to know that you reached us.

The rest were formal procedures, funeral procession, accompanying police cars, Yerablur, clergies, prayer, and honor guard firing.

When they were pouring earth on you, I was standing in the pit and not letting stones fall on you; your uncle pulled me out. And finally, until the last moment of my life, an eternal memory of the childlike and youthful expression of your face, in your eternal sleep… also an ocean-like bottomless feeling of guilt for the loss of your nineteen-year-old blossoming life, that you were nineteen years old, seriously injured, lying under the feet of two azeri men much older than you. Also, a great pain, why you went back to the position captured by azeris but the position was already captured, you were alone and everyone was retreating ??????????

I know you could not imagine leaving the labyrinths of your soul at the top of the mountain, in the dark night, wounded or killed and going down. I adore your kind, pure, candid, and great soul. You were reading Remarque: “A time to live and a time to die,” “All quiet on Western Front,” and you remained a man in the fierce war of blood and life, like Remarque’s solder. You are the right, I can’t judge what happened in the woods at the edge of the mountains on a dark night.

We stay long next to you in Yerablur, some people, also your friends of your position, appear next to you at night and they said what happened. I want to tell you to keep calm, we know everything… I know you should have said that all this shouldn’t have been written, that this should have remained within our family but what I can do, I wrote …. Excuse me, my son…

It is so hard without you, I miss our conversations, and I endlessly kiss the pillars that you filled and was supposed to become your house. Now I am scared to open the doors. Why am I writing all this. ?????????…

My Davit, my son, the other side of Tricolor, Yerablur, Anthem, Guard of Honor, are the labyrinths of Torture, Sin, Repentance, and Soul Salvation. After you, we are in those dark and semi-dark labyrinths, there are many families of people who were 18-20 years old and have not seen life…

And I am writing about those labyrinths not to go crazy so that those who haven’t seen anything, will understand the hell we are going through (to be continued) …