CAPTIVE OF HIS HOPES

My youngest son Arman was 13 in 1992. 10 days I was not at home, I drove soldiers to Hadrut. When I returned, my friends said: “Your Arman ran away, went to Krasnoselsk. Go after him, he is very young”.

Months passed, a year, too, but no news from him.
Soon it will be 20 years. My mother died with the name “Arman” on her lips. My wife also didn’t endure. Last time, being infirm, she asked: “Any news from Arman?” I shook my head…

But I live and I’m still waiting, I don’t lose hope. I sent my four sons to serve in the army, and I had a hope – maybe they’ll bring news from their brother. My 5th, the youngest son Arman will go to the army in November. I want him to go to Karabakh. Maybe he’ll bring some news…