June 22, the day World War II started for the Soviet Union, is the Day of Remembrance and Mourning in Russia.
This is my grandfather, who just turned 17 at the time, 4 months after the war started. It’s a tiny photo that came to my posession a couple weekes ago, kindly passed on to me by my cousin twice removed during a big family gathering.
War is not parades. War is not showing it to someone. War is 17 year old boys wearing military uniform, killing and being killed. War is broken lives of an entire generation.
On the day of her discharge from rehab, following knee surgery to repair a broken patella, my 93-year-old grandmother settled in a lift chair in her home that belonged to my grandfather, who died in 2011. My grandparents had been married for 67 years.