Hi, everybody! My name is Illia. I am 9 years old and I`m from Chernihiv. The last month of my life was spent in a bomb shelter with my family. My hometown was hourly bombed by Russian troops. In mid-March, we wanted to leave. But we didn't make it — a Russian bomb exploded next to my family, we didn`t have time to take shelter. Mom, dad, and I were injured. I died even though the whole day doctors were fighting for my life. My parents survived.

Since I was a small child I liked it when my mom read me stories. Her voice was enchanting. I grew up into an active boy and did gymnastics. I used to demonstrate my exercises to my mom so that she would repeat them after me. My dad and I used to work out on horizontal bars together. 

A few months before my death my parents signed me up for hip-hop dancing classes to give my energy an outlet. I was so happy, especially when I went on stage for the first time. We wanted to win a cup, our teacher promised that she would take us to the competition in spring. But you know what happened to me and my spring dreams... 

In school, my teachers found me curious, gentle, and sensitive. They called me "Illyusha". I was friends with many of my classmates. I wanted to be a part of all after-school activities — I participated in class events and went on school trips. In my free time, my parents and I went on walks in the city, we had picnics, camped in the woods and on the river bank. I liked to throw pebbles in the water. I would always find myself a nice branch and whoosh it around — like a real ninja sword. 

They kept my death from my mommy and daddy for a few more weeks because they were in critical condition after the bombing. Their bodies slowly recover from the attack but their hearts are filled with sorrow for me. They still don`t know how to keep living without their Illyusha.