“Zhivtsa, sir, I don’t want to die do when you still love”

Notice that the older you get, the more I begin to love small children and to spare the elderly. Children — it is clear, he became a grandfather. In this age of communication with the child is experienced much sharper than before. As for the elderly, so I’m not getting any younger. Can the impact of latent desire, then to me also has anyone regretted.

Photo: Cristian Iohan Ştefănescu / Flickr

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Priest Alexander Dyachenko

I remember that I was asked to give communion to one elderly man. Was a Great post, requests for communion has accumulated a lot. I highlighted the day for the rites and run. Had hoped to come to this grandfather at eleven o’clock, and only got to twelve. His daughter, believing that the father will not come, began to feed his father. I’m in from the hallway, you see the kitchen and the old man with a spoon in your mouth. He had seen me, and realized that hurried lunch, and cried from helplessness. Most children cry and the elderly.

I kissed him all sick inside. Has approached, has pressed it to itself:

— Father, don’t cry. Tomorrow, early in the morning, before the service will come to you and admit. I promise, don’t cry.

A similar feeling I experienced seeing her father. Blinded, crushed by sickness, he found the strength to get up and meet me. A two generation. First the famine, then three years under the fascist. Shot by the Germans, passed through a penal battalion, he as a boy was part of the winner in a conquered Berlin.

What it is: after decades of selfless service to the Fatherland to hear at the end of the century, as if your whole life is one big mistake and the service of false ideals?

In the troubled nineties dad left for a few years in voluntary seclusion, lived in the country without radio and Newspapers. Dug in the earth, bred of rabbits. The shutter has learned to pray and, unlike many of his peers came to faith. Now here again, overcame themselves and stood up. We hugged each other.


Grodno. Going on the bus on the familiar route. View slides on the facades of the houses and somehow stops on a low trehalase with a Bay window. There are a dozen. And then it hits me: why, in this house lived my old friend Igor, in school we used to call him Goga.

The last time we saw him in 1988, twenty-five years ago. He then got married, and I went to congratulate him in their new rental. Remember how Igor took with me from his pocket a gold chain and gave it to his young wife.

At the time, studying at the Institute, I wanted to introduce him to a good girl from our yard. Gogh in “real” leather jacket came to our yard on the crackling “Java”, but her mother did not allow them to meet. For a couple of days after my call she developed mad activity, found out about my friend all that you had to learn, and came to the conclusion that Igor they are not a couple.

The bus was pulling out, I jumped out of it at the last moment. Went to the house and thought, and what I hope? Twenty-five years have passed. Maybe Gogi already live there. Entered the yard, asked a counter, he replied: “Yes, Yes, the apartment number nine.”

Click on the button of the intercom and hear a young male voice:

— Who do you want?

— If your last name Wroblewski, it seems, your dad.

My dad died in the ninety-ninth.

And then, catching a familiar note, I asked:

— Igor, are you? I’m Sasha Dyachenko, when you and I were in the same class….

The answer was muffled, “Oh”! Climb the stairs and meet me on the third floor a man running. As was the shirt and shorts and ran.

— Sasha! Where are you so many years? On the “Classmates” you, and of our about you no one really knows.

Then we sat in a kind of cellar, adapted for the café. Swirled around young people, and we were talking, anyone not paying attention. Still, after not seen for a quarter century! We had something to talk about. Those who surrounded us at the time, was hardly more than twenty. They managed to be born and even grow, until we saw each other. Gogh asked:

— Remember that girl that you wanted me to meet? I wonder how developed her fate?

— She died. Married badly, and for women it is very important that loved her.

— It is fate. You remember my wife? We have two years divorced, she was too fond of alcohol.

I reminded him about the gold chain.

— It it also cut.

He walked me to the entrance of her father’s house.

I remember your yard. And the trees remember. Then they were not so big. Often think: why do people plant so many trees? They grow up quickly, in the cities it becomes a real problem.

— And remember, in our school, near the cliff grew a huge poplar? We have had two of their favorite tree. We climbed in, sat on the branches, talking in the air with their feet and laughed.

I think they still are, although poplar fairly thinned out. There will be time, go to school, look for felled trees were used. By the way, why don’t you shave?

— Because I’m a priest and obliged to wear a beard.

— The priest?! Wow! My great-grandfather on the mother was also a priest. He died in 1939, after the annexation of Western Belarus. And I’m not even baptized. Met a woman. She goes to Church and convinces me to be baptized. I something pull.

— Consider yourself lucky to have found a believer. I think she’s right. Though, because you’re the great-grandson of the Martyr. The cross, then I can pray for you in the altar, and you, going to Church, going to put a candle for me. And we will always be there.

We hugged each other.


Early in the morning, my funeral. Bury the old man, before I with the grandmother was anointed and received communion.

— How they lived, father? In the works, just bees. Three grown children, and neither smoke or drink, thank God. Also all the work. With my grandfather we lived together for sixty years. Hurt? You! All his life he felt sorry for me.

Then the old man is sure to remember the war. Remember the hunger, fear, hard work on the farm.

— Fifteen years for us, and worked for the main. I’m hungry and we’re moving more work to begin. And then avidly:

Bay, my rifle, so smart!
Bay, rifle at the enemy!
If necessary, I rifle
Sharp sword will help!

Then hug with the girls, cuddle up to each other and cry…

Here the Lord blessed him with longevity. My mother — continues grandma, lived one hundred and three years. The oldest was all around. I asked her, how did you live so long? What is the secret? She laughs: “I’ve never envied anyone. Don’t be jealous, and you’ll be happy.” Only zazevalsya too, sir, I do not want. We must die when you are still in love, not when you’re all in trouble.


People learned to live a long time. And constantly invents something else, just to prolong his earthly existence. Life is monotonous, in least in the elderly, but they are afraid to die. In the childhood they were taught to fear death.

Once, talking with a grandmother. Her mother Anna was the last elder of our Church before it was closed. Grandma still remembered a time when every man in their village had its own pre-laid by the coffin. They were kept in the barn.

Suddenly, the children sent for hay, were afraid to walk to the barn. Become frightened of coffins. They went to school, took them to the pioneers taught that there is no God. And we know: where there is no God, there begins the fear. Only Anna with her daughter was not afraid and gradually coffins from all over the village migrated to the barn.

With this grandmother, we spoke often. From her I first heard about father Sergius Fodele, they were friends with Sergei Iosifovich. At the end of her life she took monastic vows.

By the way, about the coffin. When perestroika began, and we rushed to build the capitalism, the same mother that did not allow the daughter to meet with my friend Goga, where it went and brought out a coffin.

— Even in the garage stand up, the bread does not ask. If Volodya, my husband will die first, I’ll bury him right. But if he will have to bury me, I’m in this mess for sure without a coffin will remain.

Only the first in their family died the same girl. The mother insisted she went for an unloved man. Gave birth to a sick child, again at the insistence of the grandmother surrendered to the shelter. To give birth was no more, took to drinking and died not old. Soon, not moving separation with her daughter, departed this life father.

Elderly mother now lives in one apartment with his son. These two genuinely hate each other and all strive in any way to poison the existence of “neighbor.” Garage sold as unnecessary, and the coffin was moved to her mother’s room . She was old and often sick and almost never leaves the house. Nothing the grandmother is not happy, left no friends, no attachments. Only the coffin, the only thing reminding her of a time when she was still alive and she was happy.

From the book of the priest of Alexander Dyachenko “Sholei. Simple and complex stories about people”, published by the “Nike”.

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