The Resilience of Ukraine’s War Widows

KYIV—More than two years after Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, at least 70,000 Ukrainian soldiers have been killed in the war, by some estimates. They leave behind possibly tens of thousands of widows, who join others who have lost spouses and partners in the conflict since Russia annexed and occupied Crimea in 2014.

As the heads of devastated households, these women have become the sole providers for their families, responsible for finding shelter amid widespread destruction, raising children alone and keeping them safe amid conflict. Some are so young that they are setting out on adulthood in mourning. Ultimately, they will raise the generation that will rebuild Ukraine and shape its postwar trajectory.

Widows from the group Patrons for a Soldier pose for a portrait in Lutsk, Ukraine, on Feb. 10. Women from the region gather twice a month in a community where many have lost husbands and partners in the war.

The level of support these women receive varies by case. In Ukraine, military widows are entitled to financial compensation from the government. They may be eligible for other funds from local authorities, depending on the region they live in, in addition to financial assistance available to internally displaced people in the wake of Russia’s invasion. Their children are usually eligible for some support as well.

Stories of bravery and sacrifice are common amid war, but they often focus on men and militarization. The courage that Ukraine’s widows show in shouldering grief and economic recovery while raising a generation of children without fathers seems to define the resilience of Ukraine itself. The silent battle that these women face reflects the true cost of war. Here, five Ukrainian women share their stories.

Oleksandra Potipko, 29

Dnipro, Ukraine

Oleksandra Potipko rests at her parents’ home in Dnipro, Ukraine, on March 14, as she prepares for her daughter’s birth.

Ivan tried to enlist to fight the day after the war started, but there were already too many volunteers. They told him to wait for conscription, and in March 2023 he got the letter. He always said [fighting] was necessary because he had to protect us: If the war reached our house, he could not protect us alone, but on the front line with the guys, they could repel enemy attacks together. He was fighting near Marinka, Donetsk. I can only envy his courage and sense of purpose.

A photo of Ivan Potipko, who was killed in the summer of 2023.

Ivan had always dreamed of having a child, especially a daughter. We started planning for a baby the spring he joined the military, and we got married in June. Two weeks later, I took a pregnancy test, and it was negative. Ivan was sad but said maybe it was for the best as it would be hard to be alone with a child while he was fighting. The next day, he was dead, and the day after that, I found out that I was pregnant after all. In March, I gave birth to a daughter—Ivan never knew she existed.

Potipko’s newborn daughter rests on her chest just after her delivery in Dnipro on March 25.

Natalia Tsiba, 32

Volodymyr, Ukraine

Natalia Tsiba poses with her children, holding portraits of Serhiy Tsiba (left), her second husband and the father of her two younger children, and Alexander Vasilevich (right), her first husband and the father of her two older children, at their home in Volodymyr, Ukraine, on Feb. 11. The children range in age from 1 month to 13 years old.

I had remarried in 2018. I met Serhiy through mutual acquaintances. He soon became a second father to my children, and we had a daughter, Anya, in 2020. Serhiy had been in the military most of his life. It was his vocation—he gave everything to service and was awarded orders and [decorations]. He couldn’t imagine his life without the army and fought Russia from the first days of the full-scale invasion.

Tsiba embraces her two younger children, 4-year-old Anya and 1-month-old Mykola, at their home in Volodymyr on Feb. 13.

We didn’t see each other for a long time, so I decided to brave Kupyansk, where there was heavy fighting, to meet him. He was against it, but I didn’t care. I got pregnant there. He would say, “I’m afraid I won’t get to kiss your tummy,” so two months later, I decided to brave the trip again. While I was on my way, he was killed in a car crash. It was last June, and at that moment, I felt I had died with him. Only my children saved me.

I am fighting a legal case to get compensation for his death, which I have not received yet because he was killed in a car accident rather than at the front. My son, Mykola, was born in January. What hurts the most is that he will never meet his dad or feel his love. I pity other children because mine had the best fathers in the world.

Ivanna Sanina, 25

Kyiv

Ivanna Sanina takes a swig from a bottle as she visits the grave of her partner, Christopher James Campbell, a Foreign Legion volunteer from Florida, in Kyiv on March 3.

I met Chris when I was volunteering for the Vilni Foundation, which helps the military with supplies. It was love at first sight. He was calm, balanced, and quiet—modest, even. He was a man of action, not words. It was summer, and we would walk around the city looking at historical sights; he would always say, “That is older than my country!” He taught me English, but we didn’t need language to understand each other.

We were together for nine months, and we planned to marry and have children. He wanted to be Ukrainian and would call me his “sunflower.” He was brave like a Ukrainian and stubborn. I taught him Ukrainian, and he would speak it every day.

I saw Chris three days before he died last April. He knew he was going to die. His brothers in arms from the 3rd Battalion said the last thing he said was, “Today I will die.” He was serving in Bakhmut, and it was a bloody mess at the time. I can’t explain the sort of animal scream I let out when I heard the news.

He wanted to be buried in Kyiv so Ukrainians would see the U.S. flag alongside European flags and others in the cemetery and would understand that the whole world stands with them. I don’t want to be a victim of this war. I don’t want to cry anymore or let Russia beat me. They want to demotivate us, to make us suicidal—many of the widows consider it. Chris told me he wanted me to continue if he was jailed, so I have no choice. It’s what he wanted.

Sanina takes part in a weeklong camp during a Hospitallers Medical Battalion combat medic course in Dmytrivka, Ukraine, on March 15.

Sanina and other trainees practice a medical rescue during the combat medic course in Dmytrivka on March 15.

Viktoria Lisna, 35

Kharkiv, Ukraine

Viktoria Lisna feeds her daughter, 20-month-old Ursula, at their Kharkiv apartment on Jan. 27. Ursula, born a month before her father’s death, has Down syndrome.

We had our first child during COVID. Vlas named her Yolanda. I fell pregnant again three months before the war started. We were told the child would have some medical problems, and the doctors and my parents urged me to terminate. However, Vlas said, “We have two daughters now.”

Kharkiv is on the border with Russia, so we knew we had to leave from the first day of the invasion. Vlas took us to the Hungarian border, but after seeing pictures of the destruction, he felt he had to do something; he wanted to protect us. He returned to Kharkiv, and the next day, he was at the draft office. He said he was not on the front line, but that was a lie. He didn’t want to worry me because I was pregnant.

Lisna hugs her two children, Ursula and Yolanda, 4, at their apartment in Kharkiv.

When I gave birth, I tried to urge him to take leave, but he didn’t want me and baby Ursula—who has Down syndrome—to return to Ukraine. I can’t forgive myself now for not coming to see him. One month later, he was killed. A rocket hit the communications bunker where he was working in Vuhledar, Donetsk, killing 13. I thought we would live happily ever after and be together until our 80s. I never had a chance to say goodbye. He never held his daughter.

I feel as if I have been through everything. I was a refugee and the mother of a disabled child, which is hard to adjust to. Now I am the widow of a soldier. I stay in touch with other widows, and we try to support each other. Yolanda is now 3 and a half, and she asks about Vlas every day. I tell her he is waiting for her at the end of the rainbow.

The gravesite of Vlas Lisna is surrounded by flags flying over the graves of other soldiers killed in the war at a cemetery in Kharkiv on Feb. 3.

Alevtina Palyga, 43

Kharkiv, Ukraine

Palyga holds her daughter, 20-month-old Aryna, at their apartment in Kharkiv on Jan. 25.

The unit Sasha was with was encircled by Russians during an enemy assault, and there were a lot of explosions. He was killed. It took a long time to find out what happened to him. At first, we thought he was missing. It was three weeks before his body was retrieved as it was so dangerous. One of the two men who went to collect it was killed. The body was headless, so he may have been tortured. I think about this. There was no chance to really say goodbye as the casket had to be closed during the funeral ceremony.

Palyga grieves at her partner’s grave at Kharkiv’s military cemetery on Jan. 25.

We were not married. We had been planning it—we had a date and rings. The wedding was organized for a few days after he was killed. Because we didn’t marry, I don’t get widows’ financial support. We have a daughter, Aryna, and she gets some money. Sasha’s unit also helps me a lot. My oldest daughter is a refugee in the United Kingdom, and it’s scary here in Kharkiv, on my own with a small child.

The situation gets worse every day. Now the attacks are as bad as they were at the start of the war, and Aryna and I sleep together in the hallway. It’s so hard with no one to support you or be at your side.

Aryna holds a photo of her father at her home in Kharkiv on Jan. 25.

Read More

Fear and Hoarding on Ukraine’s Eastern Front

Ammo shortages are costing lives and time.

Dispatch

|

Oz Katerji

The Children Russia Tried to Steal

Tens of thousands of Ukrainian children have been deported to Russia. Liza Batsura made it home.

Report

|

Amy Mackinnon