My mother told me how she came to visit my father in the hospital. They had a small child, he was three years old. And there was hunger, the Siege... And my father gave her his hospital rations. In secret from the doctors and nurses. She hid it, took it home and fed the child. And then he began to faint in the hospital, the doctors understood everything and stopped letting her in.

Then they took her child away. They did it on purpose, with the aim of saving children from starvation. They gathered them in orphanages for evacuation. They didn't even ask the parents. He got sick there and didn't survive. And they weren't even told where he was buried. And then people I didn't know worked in the archives and found documents on my brother.
And this is indeed my brother. Not only the address from which he was taken matched. The first name, last name, patronymic, year of birth matched. And the burial place was indicated: Piskarevskoye Cemetery and even a specific plot.

«We cleaned attics, carried sand and water, covered wooden beams with fireproof paint. We were taught first aid and how to sound an alarm», she recalls. «We collected bottles for Molotov cocktails».

«One day, my mother was let off work early and came home exclaiming: 'They've added bread! They've added bread!' My father did not react; he was no longer getting up. My mother sent me to the clinic to call a doctor and say he was dying. A woman came out of the clinic and said: 'Well, everyone is dying. Calmly and quietly, go home.' The doctor came only after my father's death»