My wife and I both woke up at the same time — to the wail of sirens. And even before the air raid sirens had ceased, I heard a rumble echoing nearby in the sky. It could have been an anti-aircraft missile or aircraft. But we didn’t dwell on it then because the moment I heard the rumble, I leapt out of bed, scooped up our daughter, and dashed into the corridor. Later, we learned that all the Shaheds had been brought down, leaving only one circle above the park — our park. We were already on alert. When something goes down so close, the walls tremble. But we were spared the ordeal. Thankfully. Where that Shahed ended up — nobody knows. We joked later that perhaps it plunged into the park’s lake or flew off into the distance.
These nights have become part of our routine now. And when you wake up in the morning after a peaceful night, you always have this thought lingering in the back of your mind – today, Russians have let us catch some sleep. Even though our little one had taken away that luxury from us two months ago. Yet, waking up to her cries is a whole different experience compared to waking up to sudden explosions.
Navigating to the basement with a baby is the toughest part, despite ours being rather comfortable, furnished with sofas and armchairs. We’re not the only ones there. Typically, there are about two dozen of our neighbours. The baby gets restless, crying for cover – everyone is on edge. But to her credit, she only kicks up a fuss in the first ten minutes. After that, she settles down. At least on the few occasions, we’ve had to go down. Sometimes, we just head out into the corridor instead.
And on evenings when our daughter is fussier than usual, my wife occasionally remarks: “Maybe we’re in for an eventful night tonight.”
Perhaps our little one has a premonition and gets jittery. But that’s doubtful—Russians could shake things up any night, especially now, given the challenges encountered by the guardians of our children’s peaceful sleep, the Air Force soldiers. And every night, just like any other parent, you catch yourself anxiously scrolling through your phone before heading to bed, making sure no Russian Tu-22 bombers have been spotted at Russia’s Olenya airbase.
But come morning, as you step outside, you’re greeted by the sight of blossoming trees, once winter’s bleak branches now lush with vibrant greenery. The sun shines brightly, or perhaps there’s a gentle drizzle. And in the park, where the Shahed made its nocturnal flight, particularly in the lake where, in our imaginations, it might have crash-landed, turtles leisurely swim about. They clamber onto a rusty iron pipe jutting from the water, resembling a fragment of a rocket.
