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06.01.2026
When Dad Watches Over from Heaven: the Story of Five-Year-Old Mariika
Five-year-old Mariika’s favorite toy is a snail with a sad smile. She takes it everywhere with her. No matter how much her mom has tried to persuade her to sew on a cheerful smile instead, Mariika refuses. She says it is her “sadness snail.” Every night, the little girl hugs her toy and whispers to her father, “Dad, come back.” It helps her feel calmer, because Mariika believes her dad is always nearby, watching over her from heaven.
Mariika lives in the city of Oleksandriia with her older brother Mykhailyk and her mom, Olha, in a house that was once her parents’ shared dream. They began building it before the war: it was meant to be spacious, two-story, with separate rooms for each child.
The first years of living there were filled with plans. Mykhailyk became interested in wrestling, Mariika had just been born, and Olha was on maternity leave. Dad, Yevhen, worked and took jobs away from home, doing everything he could to make his children happy. He managed to build the first floor before Russia’s full-scale invasion began.
The first years of living there were filled with plans. Mykhailyk became interested in wrestling, Mariika had just been born, and Olha was on maternity leave. Dad, Yevhen, worked and took jobs away from home, doing everything he could to make his children happy. He managed to build the first floor before Russia’s full-scale invasion began.
I knew he would go. I understood I wouldn’t be able to stop him. I even hid his documents and asked him not to leave us right away—to at least donate blood, help here at home. But on February 25, 2022, I woke up, and he was already gone. He left early so I wouldn’t see it,
Yevhen served as a machine gunner. He fought in the Donetsk, Mykolaiv, and Chernihiv regions and took part in the liberation of the Kherson region. Before Bakhmut, he was stationed in the settlement of Pidhorodnie, and during an assault, he did not abandon his position. He was killed by shrapnel that struck the gap between his helmet and body armor. The evening before, Olha spoke with Yevhen on the phone. And at three in the morning, he messaged: “I may be out of touch. Kisses. I love you.” Those were his last words to his wife and children.
At the time, Mariika was only two years old. Mykhailyk was six. He remembers that day well. He remembers his mother’s tears. He remembers how everything suddenly upended. And he remembers the questions that had no answers.
Mykhailyk remembers everything. He screamed, cried, asked why it happened, why we prayed so much, and God didn’t hear us. I didn’t know what to tell him. Mariika was only two then; she was so little. We show her photos of her dad, tell her about him, but it’s hard to say whether he lives in her own memories,
Mariika, her mother says, was her father’s little pearl. Yevhen was convinced they would have a son and was genuinely surprised to learn they were having a daughter. He loved her endlessly. He never got to see Mariika fall in love with acrobatics. Now she can already do the splits and stand on her head. She’s a cheerful, lively girl. She loves being close to her mom and misses her dad deeply.
Mykhailyk is nine now. He was a long-awaited child; his father had waited for him for years. The boy resembles him greatly. He has practiced kickboxing since the age of five. He is smart, quick-witted, responsible, though sometimes mischievous, like any child. He has a lot of energy and many questions about life. And a heart that had to grow up far too early.
After her husband’s death, Olha’s life narrowed down to daily survival for the sake of her two children. All her energy goes into Mykhailyk and Mariika, into being both mother and father to them at once, into protecting them and keeping them safe.
Mykhailyk is nine now. He was a long-awaited child; his father had waited for him for years. The boy resembles him greatly. He has practiced kickboxing since the age of five. He is smart, quick-witted, responsible, though sometimes mischievous, like any child. He has a lot of energy and many questions about life. And a heart that had to grow up far too early.
After her husband’s death, Olha’s life narrowed down to daily survival for the sake of her two children. All her energy goes into Mykhailyk and Mariika, into being both mother and father to them at once, into protecting them and keeping them safe.
The children are afraid of shelling. Sometimes in their city, drones are not just heard, they are visible. Once, a Russian Shahed drone nearly flew into a nearby building, and the children saw it. Since then, during air raid alerts, Mariika may ask, “Mom, will we wake up in the morning? Will you protect us?”
Those words make everything even harder for Olha. She understands: if she breaks, it will be even scarier for the children. So she holds on, even when she has only a drop of strength left.
Those words make everything even harder for Olha. She understands: if she breaks, it will be even scarier for the children. So she holds on, even when she has only a drop of strength left.
Yevhen always used to say, ‘You’re strong.’ And people often tell me, ‘You’re strong.’ But no one knows the price of that strength. Not letting your children see you cry. How much it hurts. Sometimes I don’t know where to find the strength to go on. I didn’t choose this life. But my children are the reason I live. I have no right to give up, because I have them,
But there are moments when even the strongest need support. Olha is deeply grieving her husband’s death. At the same time, she must stay strong for her children: not cry, not break down, not show her weakness, because Mykhailyk and Mariika are already in so much pain.
It was at that moment, when her inner resources were almost exhausted, that Olha decided to go with her children to the autumn CAMP+, a 21-day program by the Voices of Children Foundation for the families of Ukraine’s defenders who have lost a loved one, or whose loved ones are missing or held in Russian captivity.
For Olha, CAMP+ became a space of acceptance and safety, a place where she didn’t have to stay tense every second, where she could speak openly with a specialist and share experiences with women who were also living through loss. The children felt the change too: in a safe environment, it was easier for them to relax, play, create, and communicate with peers.
It was at that moment, when her inner resources were almost exhausted, that Olha decided to go with her children to the autumn CAMP+, a 21-day program by the Voices of Children Foundation for the families of Ukraine’s defenders who have lost a loved one, or whose loved ones are missing or held in Russian captivity.
For Olha, CAMP+ became a space of acceptance and safety, a place where she didn’t have to stay tense every second, where she could speak openly with a specialist and share experiences with women who were also living through loss. The children felt the change too: in a safe environment, it was easier for them to relax, play, create, and communicate with peers.
It was so good. The women were wonderful; it felt like we were among our own. There was no awkwardness; I was among my people, and I could be myself. I didn’t have to be ashamed or think about what to say. The psychologists were great. Those three weeks flew by. Such a good community: all so different, yet all connected. I wanted to listen to every story, to empathize and support. The children loved it too: Mariika made crafts and attended workshops, while Mykhailyk spent time with kids his age,
Alla Shyrshyna, project coordinator, says that knowing that you are not alone is crucial. CAMP+ helps families gradually return to life: when a mother receives support, it becomes easier for the children, too, and the whole family finds stability. Even after the program ended, Alla stayed in touch with Olha, continuing to support and help her.
After returning home, Olha once again immersed herself in everyday reality. The unfinished house still weighs on her at times, filled with memories: every corner reminds her of Yevhen and the plans that never came true. Yet this home holds what matters most—care for the children, love, and faith that there will be more light ahead.
After returning home, Olha once again immersed herself in everyday reality. The unfinished house still weighs on her at times, filled with memories: every corner reminds her of Yevhen and the plans that never came true. Yet this home holds what matters most—care for the children, love, and faith that there will be more light ahead.
More than anything, Yevhen wanted the children to be happy and smile more. I realized that communicating with women like me is a new way to understand, make new connections, use new words, and have new experiences. No matter how hard or painful it is, we must hold on for the sake of our loved ones. These deaths cannot be in vain. They are watching from heaven, and they are helping us. We must move forward, for them and for our children. Raise good people. Be both father and mother to them.
In 2025, 80 families—188 people—completed rehabilitation through CAMP+. The program has been recognized at the national level and approved as a methodological recommendation for specialists working with families who have experienced loss, trauma, or forced displacement.
You can support children and parents affected by the war with a donation.
You can support children and parents affected by the war with a donation.
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