All Lyubov Brodovska wanted from the Ukrainian soldiers just freed in a prisoner exchange with Russia was for one to give a sign that her missing son was alive.
Tens of thousands of Ukrainian soldiers and civilians are officially designated missing — neither confirmed killed or captured by the Russians — leaving families in a nightmarish limbo.
“If someone just said, ‘I saw your son.’ Just one word. I would carry them in my arms and kiss them,” she said.
Tears ran down her cheeks as she held up a photo of 28-year-old Oleksandr, who went missing while fighting at the front last year.
Brodovska is one of hundreds of mothers, wives and other relatives that flock to prisoner exchanges, desperate for a sliver of information from those leaving Russian captivity as to the whereabouts of their loved one.
To get the attention of the emaciated soldiers, most having spent years held by Russia, the women wrap themselves in Ukrainian flags with photos the family members they are searching for. Or they tape photos to the walls around the entrance to the hospital where the soldiers are taken for medical checks.
Many hope that a recent uptick in prisoner exchanges agreed at peace talks between the two sides will increase their chances of getting fresh information.
Around 70,000 people — including civilians and soldiers — are currently registered as missing, according to Artur Dobroserdov, Ukraine’s commissioner in charge of the issue.
Soldiers are considered missing until Russia confirms they have them in captivity or a body has been identified.
That is not always possible.
Three years of trench warfare has created swathes of “no man’s land” across the front, where bodies cannot be retrieved, meanwhile Russia says it has thousands of unidentified corpses of killed Ukrainian soldiers.
The International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) and Ukraine’s Coordination Headquarters for the Treatment of Prisoners of War work to trace them.
But families often find comfort and purpose conducting their own investigations, said Petro Yatsenko, a spokesman for the Ukrainian coordination centre.
“This pilgrimage is very important,” he told AFP.
“They want to show to themselves and their loved one — in the future when they will be released — that they were not passive and tried to do anything possible,” he added.
While allowing them to visit the exchanges, Kyiv urges the families not to hassle the newly released soldiers given their fragile condition after years as POWs.
At one recent exchange, Elmira Baranova swayed gently as the buses carrying the freed soldiers pulled into a courtyard.
She knew that her son, Ernest, missing for three years, was not there.
“I don’t remember how many exchanges I’ve attended… I’m tired of being happy for others. Even if it sounds ugly, I’m tired. I want to rejoice for my own child,” she said.
She said her endeavours have not been fruitless.
One soldier told Baranova he had seen Ernest in prison, drawing — a precious detail given her son loved anime.
Officials encourage families to help share any information they gather, but are cautious.
“We want families to have hope, but we don’t want it to be a false sense of hope,” ICRC spokesperson Pat Griffiths told AFP on the phone.
Part of that hope stems from the persistent belief across Ukraine that Russia holds far more prisoners than it has declared.
But Kyiv says that while there can be delays before somebody is registered as captured, cases of long-lost people reappearing are rare.
“There’s a need for us and them to be realistic. It may take years for some families to receive an answer, and for many it may not be the answer they want to hear,” Griffiths said.
None of the soldiers at the most recent exchange responded to Brodovska, who stood next to the hospital entrance kissing a portrait of her son.
She would keep searching for news and continue sending daily messages to her son in a now one-sided conversation on WhatsApp.
“Give me a sign, son, please. Just one sign that you’re alive today,” she said.
“I’ll wait, I’ll go to all the exchanges, I’ll call and write to everyone.”
Tens of thousands of Ukrainian soldiers and civilians are officially designated missing — neither confirmed killed or captured by the Russians — leaving families in a nightmarish limbo.
“If someone just said, ‘I saw your son.’ Just one word. I would carry them in my arms and kiss them,” she said.
Tears ran down her cheeks as she held up a photo of 28-year-old Oleksandr, who went missing while fighting at the front last year.
Brodovska is one of hundreds of mothers, wives and other relatives that flock to prisoner exchanges, desperate for a sliver of information from those leaving Russian captivity as to the whereabouts of their loved one.
To get the attention of the emaciated soldiers, most having spent years held by Russia, the women wrap themselves in Ukrainian flags with photos the family members they are searching for. Or they tape photos to the walls around the entrance to the hospital where the soldiers are taken for medical checks.
Many hope that a recent uptick in prisoner exchanges agreed at peace talks between the two sides will increase their chances of getting fresh information.
Around 70,000 people — including civilians and soldiers — are currently registered as missing, according to Artur Dobroserdov, Ukraine’s commissioner in charge of the issue.
Soldiers are considered missing until Russia confirms they have them in captivity or a body has been identified.
That is not always possible.
Three years of trench warfare has created swathes of “no man’s land” across the front, where bodies cannot be retrieved, meanwhile Russia says it has thousands of unidentified corpses of killed Ukrainian soldiers.
The International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) and Ukraine’s Coordination Headquarters for the Treatment of Prisoners of War work to trace them.
But families often find comfort and purpose conducting their own investigations, said Petro Yatsenko, a spokesman for the Ukrainian coordination centre.
“This pilgrimage is very important,” he told AFP.
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“They want to show to themselves and their loved one — in the future when they will be released — that they were not passive and tried to do anything possible,” he added.
While allowing them to visit the exchanges, Kyiv urges the families not to hassle the newly released soldiers given their fragile condition after years as POWs.
At one recent exchange, Elmira Baranova swayed gently as the buses carrying the freed soldiers pulled into a courtyard.
She knew that her son, Ernest, missing for three years, was not there.
“I don’t remember how many exchanges I’ve attended… I’m tired of being happy for others. Even if it sounds ugly, I’m tired. I want to rejoice for my own child,” she said.
She said her endeavours have not been fruitless.
One soldier told Baranova he had seen Ernest in prison, drawing — a precious detail given her son loved anime.
Officials encourage families to help share any information they gather, but are cautious.
“We want families to have hope, but we don’t want it to be a false sense of hope,” ICRC spokesperson Pat Griffiths told AFP on the phone.
Part of that hope stems from the persistent belief across Ukraine that Russia holds far more prisoners than it has declared.
But Kyiv says that while there can be delays before somebody is registered as captured, cases of long-lost people reappearing are rare.
“There’s a need for us and them to be realistic. It may take years for some families to receive an answer, and for many it may not be the answer they want to hear,” Griffiths said.
None of the soldiers at the most recent exchange responded to Brodovska, who stood next to the hospital entrance kissing a portrait of her son.
She would keep searching for news and continue sending daily messages to her son in a now one-sided conversation on WhatsApp.
“Give me a sign, son, please. Just one sign that you’re alive today,” she said.
“I’ll wait, I’ll go to all the exchanges, I’ll call and write to everyone.”
By AFP