In the wake of Russia's invasion, thousands of senior citizens like Zinaida Gyrenko have found their twilight years upended.
Once settled in retirement, Gyrenko, now living in a shelter, reflects on the chaotic moment when bombs rained down on her village, an experience that marked the beginning of an uncertain future. Her memory may be hazy, but the deafening sound of the attack and the moment she realized she was still alive remains vivid.
"It was so loud. Everyone fell to the ground. I was lying there. Then I opened my eyes again, and I thought: I'm still alive," Gyrenko, born in 1939, told AFP.
The invasion launched by the Kremlin more than three years ago has disproportionately affected Ukraine's seniors.
A quarter of Ukraine's population is over 60, but they accounted for nearly half of the civilian deaths near the front last year, according to the United Nations.
The elderly are often the last to leave frontline territories, citing a lack of money, strength to relocate, or simply the reluctance to part with their homes.
Gyrenko lived in the village of Zaoskillya in the eastern Kharkiv region until May of the previous year. Russia had been advancing on the nearby town of Kupiansk, raining bombs on settlements in the vicinity.
She now resides at a dormitory-turned-shelter for senior citizens called Velyka Rodina, meaning "Big Family," in Kharkiv city further north.
Gyrenko is grateful to her carers for looking after what she calls the "second-hand" residents. She said she could no longer remember her exact age: "I'm from '39. You do the math."
She shared that she had worked in the rail industry her whole life.
"I've loved the railways very, very much, ever since I was a child," she said, her blue eyes welling up with tears.
Dignity in retirement
The shelter’s founder, Olga Kleytman, said the needs of elderly people were immense.
In Kharkiv alone, she estimated that 32,000 seniors who had fled their homes needed assistance.
There are only eight public retirement homes in the Kharkiv region, which Kleytman said were insufficient to meet the demand.
Authorities have not provided financial support to her establishment, which had 60 residents at the end of March and relies solely on private donations.
"They have worked all their lives, and they deserve a decent old age," the 56-year-old said.
"This is about our dignity."
An architect by profession, Kleytman told AFP she had plans to expand.
Since most of the seniors come from rural areas, she wants to create a large vegetable garden with animals to reproduce the village "smells and sounds."
One of the residents, 50-year-old Sergiy Yukovsky, who had both legs amputated after an accident at work, used to live in the countryside with his younger brother.
His brother was killed by a mine while "fetching wood" near the village of Kochubeivka, also in the Kharkiv region.
"I don't even know where he is buried," Yukovsky said. For a year, he lived alone before being evacuated to Kharkiv city.
The future is bleak, he confessed, but added: "Ukraine will have it all, and Putin is an asshole."
Hopes for the future
In another room, 84-year-old Yuri Myagky lay in bed facing a window.
He was from Saltivka, a Kharkiv suburb that was bombed heavily when Russian forces were attempting to capture the city at the start of the invasion.
"Has Ukraine been divided?" Myagky asked, confused—like so many others—by the twists and turns of the conflict.
Since September 2024, Gyrenko has been sharing a room with Olga Zolotareva, 71, who grumbled when her roommate lost the thread of their conversation.
For 28 years, Zolotareva looked after people with learning disabilities in the town of Lyptsi, not far from the Russian border.
When the invasion began, they were evacuated, but Zolotareva stayed.
In May 2024, when Russia launched a new offensive on the Kharkiv region, she was in her house when "there was a strike."
A shard "from I don't know what" broke her right leg, she said, showing her scar.
As well as peace, she hopes to be able to walk normally again.
That, Zolotareva said, and to have "the smell of a man" around her. She misses it a lot, she told AFP.
Gyrenko said she remained optimistic despite everything.
"Happiness, as I understand it, means not being hungry, not being without clothes, and not being shoeless," she said.
"I'm not those things."
