From the author: In 2000, I left for Siberia. She left a little book from me for her friends and family, calling it “From My Experience.” Today, during the tragedy in Kemerovo, parents were orphaned again. I hope to ease the suffering at least a little with what I went through. ILYUSHA December 2, 1995 was Saturday. In the morning, as always, I walked him to school and, according to family tradition, went to the window, looked after him and waved. He didn’t look back, apparently because he met a neighbor whom we all disliked. Then I went to work, noticing how low the clouds were and how gloomy it was outside. And for some reason it sounded in time with my steps: He is on his last lap. He is still my friend. And why do I have this grief - to let him slip out of my hands? While working, I longed to go home, but something kept me from going. And then it became empty, and there was no need to go home anymore. I went to the Central Market to buy soap. For some reason there was only one variety - “Balsam”. The first thing I saw when approaching the house was a dark bedroom window, which had never happened before. Then - a crowd of people, and Sashunka from the fifth floor sitting in a police car with his head bowed. And then - the daughter’s cry: “Mom! Ilyusha drowned!” And that's all... SAVE OUR SOULS This could have been bequeathed by the drowned boys. The tragedy occurred on Saturday, December 2, at 4 pm, on one of the so-called Angarsk ponds in Volgograd. But simply in a half-flooded ravine, surrounded by reeds. It was the first truly frosty day this season, and the water was covered with ice. Children are children - I wanted to renew the ice and ride on it. Several boys of different ages rolled out from the shore and rolled deeper into the ravine. Deciding to play it safe, we made a hole near the shore to check the thickness of the ice. Apparently, this hole became fatal. During one of the “races” the ice cracked and the boys fell through. Almost all of them got out. According to eyewitnesses, only one person failed to escape immediately - 11-year-old Stas Manucharov, who soon went under water. 15-year-old Ilya Slovesnov was already climbing to the shore when one of the boys rolled back to the ice hole. ... At such moments a person hardly thinks about what is good and what is bad. How to do the right thing and what not. The automatic mechanism is triggered by what? Upbringing? Nature? Spiritual nature?.. No wonder they say that a person is known in trouble - only there he is one to one, as he is. Ilya, gathering all his strength, pushed the boy rolling toward the ice hole to the shore. For him, this push had tragic consequences - the boy again found himself in the ice hole. Friends tried to help, but, as luck would have it, sticks broke and pieces of ice broke off. Literally immediately, men from neighboring houses rushed to help, but in vain. This icy puddle had a depth that even the Volga could envy - about 5 meters. Meanwhile, it quickly became dark. The firefighters who arrived, poked the bottom with hooks, and left with nothing, having pulled out only Ilya’s hat and Stas’s mittens. It is unnecessary to describe the state of the boys’ parents. It’s clear that the dead guys didn’t seem to care anymore, but their loved ones, family – they’re alive! In response to their attempts to urgently find some kind of help so that their sons would not lie overnight at the bottom of this dirty icy puddle, they heard, to put it mildly, an indifferent answer - not earlier than Monday. No, of course, we are as we were and remain so “ scoops” and are used to being sent everywhere possible. But there must be some kind of line if we consider ourselves to be “humans.” It turns out that there is no such line. As usual, in this situation, all possible and impossible acquaintances and connections began to arise out of alarm. Let us not assert indiscriminately that all the officials who could have helped in this trouble remained indifferent to it. But as the “rescue” progressed, simply amazing facts emerged: for the city administration, for example, it turned out to be difficult to findthe corresponding car (and then what can she do?) ... Whether by chance or not, the boys ended up next to each other at the bottom, and on the boat they lay, as if hugging each other, reaching out to each other - as if in those terrible moments when out of nowhere no helping hand was extended to them, this hug became their last earthly consolation. Ilyusha Slovesnov was a quiet, thoughtful boy, by nature, apparently artistically gifted. I dreamed of becoming a sailor, read a bunch of books about it, drew ships “with millimeter accuracy,” studied all the seas and oceans. The first thing to fall out of the stack of his drawings was... the sinking “Varyag.” It is pleasant and bitter to realize that this fifteen-year-old boy, in a moment of grave danger, acted like a real man. The water took him as a worthy sailor. Well, to clean souls - and a clean place in the next world. Who knows, maybe it’s these children’s souls that God turns into angels, who then perform difficult service to help us sinners. We only think about sin at funerals. And time is running out...E. Imerekova, “Komsomolskaya Pravda”, December 8, 1995 “AND ONLY MY HEART BROKE” Very sad. Very painful. On December 2, 1995, Ilyusha Slovesnov died. He was not our correspondent; he only came to our editorial office once, helping to distribute our newspaper. We were just going to collaborate with him, knowing from his mother that he draws well. Now we know this ourselves, because after the funeral we sat in his room and looked at Ilyusha’s drawings. He really could have been our artist. His nature endowed him with this talent. Ilyusha studied at an art school. He carefully made sketches, drawing out all the details of the ships (this was his favorite topic) and thoroughly studied the history of the Russian fleet, indicating all the parameters of the ships, who commanded them and when. He also loved car work. And he succeeded in this too - one of the few had an excellent grade. Teachers and classmates remember Ilyusha warmly and cordially. He was not a good boy, an excellent student, but he was the one who was the soul of the class. He tried to solve his problems himself. That's what his mother taught him. Therefore, when difficulties arose with English, he refused the services of a tutor and decided to prove that he himself could catch up. However, without all these advantages, he was dear to his mother and loved by her: Ilyusha was just her son, who, despite his childhood, was caring and understanding like a man. Now he is gone, and my mother says that Ilyushin’s death took her heart with it. We, the editorial staff, know Lyudmila Borisovna Slovesnova well. Being a psychologist, she selflessly helped our juniors, conducting classes in training groups and consulting with parents. She also raised her son and was worried that he would be able to help out a friend in difficult times. And that time has come. The tragedy happened a few meters from Ilyusha’s house. You can see the pond directly from the windows of the house. It is constantly covered with sand, but the undercurrent creates deep pits. In winter, it attracts children with a thin crust of ice. The pond is framed by random piles of earth, from one of which six boys slipped. Four escaped, but two - Stasik, eleven years old, and Ilyusha, no matter how hard they tried, could not get out. Moreover, Ilyusha tried to help Stasik to the last. Only a day later they were raised from the bottom of the pond. When I told this terrible story to one little girl, she asked with childish spontaneity: “Why, why won’t anyone fill up this hole?” But really, why? Probably for the same reason why the rest of the city is dug up and unkempt. And moreover, human life, by and large, turns out to be dear only to close people. It is more important for statesmen to stake out a warm place for themselves, and each of us is remembered only during election marathons. This is how life and death walk side by side. Newspaper “Novaya Ulitsa”, December 6, 1995* * *For 40 days the four of us lived: Olga, me, cat and dog. Olga and Ilyusha’s father experienced his grief somewhere in his own way. We were doing renovations andin the evening they mourned Ilyusha, again saying goodbye to him... “Evening sacrifice”... On December 16, on Olga’s birthday, her friends came to her to congratulate her and grieve. On December 20, my birthday, we left home, and when we returned, there were flowers near our door. For the New Year, we decorated Ilyusha's monastery with pine branches and Christmas tree decorations. There were two concerns: repairs, and so that the snow would remain as long as possible. The snow melted only in April. On the 39th day, my mother arrived. And I rushed around the apartment, suffering from powerlessness, the inability to help my son pass his exam. He survived it. GOD-DESIGNED MEMORIAL 40 days ago, a friend of our newspaper, psychologist Lyudmila Slovesnova, had a great misfortune - her 15-year-old son Ilya tragically died. Then, in early December, the story of two drowned boys made the rounds of many newspapers. But life is vain, and other tragedies and sensations shake the pages of publications and our imagination... But what remains? What remains is not only grief and memory in the souls of relatives. There remains some meaning for us. Today, on the fortieth day since the death of her son, Lyudmila asked to speak. We are publishing her confession not just out of sympathy for the misfortune of a friend. In our opinion, the words of a person who has shouldered the burden of such a loss are needed by many today. After all, there are more than enough losses in our lives today... LATELY I often remember one old song. It’s a wedding, but it’s as if it’s about what happened. The loach is spreading over the water. A young guy, a young guy is waiting, “give it to me, give me what God has destined for me.”...... Now I’m walking, I come across some signs and I think that someday they made sense to me. Now only one thing matters: my son’s life path is over... This path was short, just fifteen years... The more time passes, the clearer the cruel truth becomes, the meaning of the words “never”, “never return” December 2 and change what happened...And the more time passes, the clearer another truth: the most difficult teaching is learning to live without the person closest to you, without your beloved son. This study is the most terrible. And the more time passes, the clearer another truth is: our beloved, my beloved son, left suddenly, tragically. He understands how hard it is for me now. And he took full responsibility: now he is responsible for me. And he’s worried – just as I once was worried about him. He gives free rein to my hands, protects the clarity of my thoughts. And most importantly, it gives me the strength to live, protects me. IN THE LAST moment of his life, he conquered fear. He fought with it all the time. I suddenly learned that he either climbed the water tower to overcome his fear, or climbed on the roofs. And finally he won. But I paid very dearly for this victory. And now I also have no fear. He defeated him - that’s why I don’t have it either, but there is only a goal and meaning: to preserve the memory of my son and do everything to make the life of my loved ones beautiful and long. And the memory of my son is bright and pure. Just like himself... Many people came to see him off - adults, children. I remember the words: “The boy lived only 15 years, but left behind so much purity and light that many adults do not leave behind.” ANOTHER TRUTH that I realized: things outlive their owners. His favorite model cars remained, which he could play for hours. Models of ships that he collected himself... And most importantly, his drawings remained: sketches, paintings and his favorite ships... He guessed my childhood dream. When I was a child, I dreamed of the sea. He also dreamed of becoming a sailor. He knew the history of the Russian fleet, the fate of each ship. It may seem funny: he felt a fierce hatred of the Japanese for destroying the Pacific squadron. He didn’t even wear the Japanese watch he was given for his birthday. Japanese, after all... I replayed the Battle of Tsushima in my imagination - and Makarov and Rozhdestvensky remained alive in it... And the Russian fleet was also intact... I didn’t have time to read “Tsushima”, only “Port Arthur” - now my task is to do it for him...This year Ilyusha has another passion - for cars. The last week had been full of joy for him - as if life had finally decided to give him many pleasant moments. One of them: he rushed home from school, from classes at the CPC, and excitedly told how he drove a car on a simulator. At first he “drove” cautiously, and then he increased his speed to 120... ILYUSHA KNEW TO JOY, he complacently accepted all the good things that happened in his life. He really was pure and open-hearted. He decided to become a driver. And shortly before the incident he suddenly asked: “Mom, could I become a psychologist?” - "Why not? The boy is intuitive. And you always find the right, clear words...” He always knew what to say. He has matured VERY MUCH over the past year. Grew up, got stronger. And my soul has matured. I often told him about Erickson, the American psychotherapist, about how he shifted responsibility for certain matters onto his growing children. And if someone forgot about their duties, then he reminded them of them in a very unique way: sometimes he would wake you up at night and force you to take out the trash... One evening last week, at about ten o’clock, when Ilyusha was getting ready to go to bed, he suddenly looked at the trash can: should I take out the trash now or tomorrow?... And he pulled himself together: “We need to take it out now”... I asked him: “Ilyusha, do you seem to be growing up? Or are you afraid that I’ll wake you up at night?..” He replied: “It’s neither this nor that...” I think every person has a premonition of his death, even if it’s so sudden. The son left without leaving behind any unfinished, dirty deeds... One more thought, come to me now: death and life are one thing. For me now there are no words “later” or “tomorrow” - there are words “now” and “today”. Because “later” and “tomorrow” may not exist. He was destined for death at sea. Each sailor has his own water. Not the Baltic, not the Barents Sea... Water – water everywhere. And he left silently, the 15-year-old captain... I am proud that, without hesitation, I rushed to save. Pride - and sorrow. Very great grief. I now know that there is no greater power than the power of grief. True, my strength also comes from the fact that part of it is the strength of my son. I carry his strength, like a woman carries her child under her heart for nine months. Only I will wear it until the end of my days. There were a LOT of different thoughts these days. Including about your work. There was a desire to abandon it and do something else. But Ilyushin’s question, shortly before his death, about this profession is perceived differently today: as if he was trying to strengthen me on my path... And I will work. And if you are in despair and if your strength has left you, I will do everything that depends on me to help... And Ilyusha is my help. He is my wisdom and my strength. SHORTLY before December 2, Ilyusha composed a parable. I even wrote it down in my notebook then so as not to forget. “On a tree, somehow perched, a man was sitting. He was a philosopher and poet. He spoke and shouted, but no one paid attention to him. Until he fell.” This parable seems to be evidence of providence. But you realize this too late. How often and too late do you realize the value of human life. Newspaper “Mig” In the first year of life without him, nothing became impossible for me, everything I planned was possible. But how I missed him. And I'm still sad. When it’s especially difficult, I ask the Virgin Mary for help - she knows what it means to lose a son. LOSS Have you ever, by chance, found yourself at the wake of a stranger? And from the stories of others, imagine his world? And at some point suddenly feel bitterness from not having met him during his lifetime, feel how spiritually close he is to you and how great the pain of this loss, unknown just an hour ago, is for you? And memories of your own losses will come flooding back. And such aching tenderness will pour out for your loved ones, and at the same time you will feel such a helplessness - to save them from the blows of fate. There is only one thing left - to love them, to love. Those gathered that December evening in the hall of the Children's Art Gallery were united by the memory of a fifteen-year-old boy Ilyusha Slovesnov. He was not a studio member of the gallery, but that is where his mother turnedfor help on the anniversary of the death of his son... a holiday dedicated to the 300th anniversary of the Russian Navy. By the way, by a strange coincidence, gallery director E.V. Olova received her first youth award for the film “Battleship”. Ilya dreamed of the sea and dreamed of becoming a sailor. “Seasickness” was inherited: from my grandfather and uncle. He knew the entire history of the Russian fleet: the names of ships, the names of admirals, dates of battles and ship rigging. He built, sculpted, painted ships... The boys invited from the young sailors' club in pressed dress uniforms personified his unfulfilled dream that evening. Excitedly, they talked about the fate of the first Russian ship "Eagle", and the symbolism of the St. Andrew's flag, about the great battles. Ilya could also list the taboos of the “sea wolves”: do not raise your hands to seagulls and albatrosses, do not go to sea on Friday, especially the thirteenth, and do not light a third cigarette from one match. “Hallelujah!” - Rachmaninov and Bortnyansky sounded performed by the Philharmonic Chapel under the direction of V.I. Primak is Ilyusha’s godfather. And those who listened to the divine sounds were united by a spiritual connection. Then the sinless world of childhood shone forth in a song set to music from Tchaikovsky’s “Children’s Album”: “The Morning of a New Day.” “My boy,” trembled the lips of a fragile woman, who suddenly so clearly felt the invisible presence of her son - a light breath in this hall warmed by light sadness. Lyudmila Borisovna Slovesnova is a well-known psychologist in the city. Those who once found it difficult to live come to her. Among them were “Afghans”, “Chechens”, difficult teenagers, orphaned soldier’s mothers. And now she herself faces this inescapable mental torment. The experience did not make it easier for her to work with those who had suffered similar things, and did not give her any greater right to help them in moments of mental turmoil. People themselves give her this right, turning to her. Based on her own experience, she knows how valuable the participation of someone who knows this first-hand is... A CONVERSATION with Lyudmila Slovesnova is not only an analysis of a professional psychologist, but also a confession of a mother’s heart. American scientists have found that the loss of a loved one causes in the remaining changes even at the physiological level: the composition of the blood, metabolism changes... We are talking about the fact that “he died and part of my soul died with him.” And it’s especially difficult when death is sudden, premature, tragic. What happens to a person’s soul in moments of grief? - This is really very important to know both for the one who survived and for the one who, by force of circumstances, happened to be nearby. Because it’s difficult for both. Over the course of life, a person changes, but the greatest changes occur precisely at the moment of loss. Even outwardly, these seem to be completely different people - before and after: the facial expression, the eye, the gait, the way of thinking changes... The first, most terrible moment is a state of shock, when you don’t understand anything, there are no tears, no screaming, no moaning, you don’t feel pain, and you utter some ordinary words - “it can’t be.” And such strangeness comes over you, as if all this is not with you, but somewhere out there, and you don’t even understand how you got here - the sense of reality is lost. And in this state two completely different phenomena are observed. Or you feel a sudden extraordinary influx of energy and the ability to perform an action that would otherwise be impossible. Or - severe weakness, when you are unable to move, people irritate you, you want to lie on your face and not see anyone. It can be present in one person. The inability to react normally to what is happening is precisely a normal reaction. This is exactly how the psyche is saved at the first moment, closing itself to feelings: by giving vent to physical strength, or by completely taking it away. Then something even more terrible begins - the reaction after the action: the shock passes, the realization of grief occurs. That's it, it happened. And nothing can change. And then feelings and emotions take over, and they are different, including the most terrible, deep ones, and there is no middle ground in the experiences. In our everyday emotional life, we are usually the same and balanced: a little better, a littleworse mood. In a state of acute grief, feelings are brought to the limit. And these can be very powerful manifestations of anger, resentment, aggression, despair, malice. Especially when you hear attempts to motivate what happened: it is for the good and salvation of the one who was lost, what God took away, foreseeing that it will be more difficult for him to live in this world. It is quite possible that this is the case, I don’t know. But people do not understand to whom and when they say this... And then aggression falls on both them and God: where is your power, Lord, if you knew, but did not help him overcome difficulties, but took his life? And here the biggest difficulty arises in communication between those who are worried and those who happen to be nearby. It turns out that not everyone may be nearby. Consolations like “don’t cry, he’s better there” are in fact a denial of your right to grief, your feelings, no matter how violent and black they may be. And for me personally, this was an additional shock - the rejection of my behavior by people who were kindred to me in spirit with such an aggressive manifestation of feelings. There is a break in life into “before” and “after”, and not everyone to whom their soul gravitated moves from that life to this one... And what should you do with these feelings: curb them with medicine or by force of will? Or will they fade away on their own? - It is necessary to recognize these feelings, no matter how destructive, terrible, rude, or wrong they may be. In psychotherapy there is a diagnosis for this - “acute situational reaction”, that’s all, and no assessments. Feelings must be released because they have unprecedented, including destructive, energy. And, if artificially suppressed, they will burn the soul completely. You need to allow yourself everything: scream, yell, sob, punch the wall... The intensity of this manifestation of grief will decrease: the peak cannot last long. But the pain and grief will not go away. Another thing is that people are afraid: if we stop outwardly showing suffering, it will be like oblivion, an insufficient manifestation of our love for the departed. Nothing like this. There are many illusions in the world: love, affection, happiness - they pass. Only grief is inescapable and stays with you forever. Because grief is you. But you can’t get away from yourself... Grief intensifies, and so does the feeling of guilt. Especially when you imagine a person dear to you in his inconsolable moments, when he was offended. And even if he was consoled, forgiven, treated kindly by you or others, only the grievances inflicted on him are remembered, and not his own. To what extent do ritual actions correspond to the state of loss? - Death has always evoked fear, and a person sought to decorate its face. Our rituals are one of the tactful ones, therefore they have been preserved since ancient times to this day. And each of us has knowledge about them at different levels. A funeral service, farewell to home, mourning, mass, days of remembrance, anniversaries - all this helps to tune the soul to the painful act of farewell, accustoming oneself to the irreversibility of what is happening, giving those who remain a perspective on life. People are never prepared for grief and do not know how to behave. They feel one thing, but circumstances confront them with the need to live and work. As a result, over time, a moment comes when a person is left alone with his grief... - Grief cannot be shared with anyone. This is simply impossible. It is impossible for anyone else to worry the way you do. And here it is important to have a very clean, stable and very close person nearby. Anyone else can simply be crushed, because as yet unknown forces are connected to this. A man in grief is absolutely black. And you need to remember this when you go to someone with your trouble. You need to go to someone who can either sincerely cry and grieve with you, or strongly support you in another way. This is no longer perceived as pity, but as empathy. - Often, loss is associated with a search for someone to blame: in oneself or in others. And then a person is burned by hatred, directed at himself or at the whole world. Cases of insanity due to losses are not uncommon. What is normal in the process of experiences and attacks of grief, and what are symptoms of the disease? - In such cases, a sharp violation can occur