Grigory Burban is my father. Both of us loved each other very much. Every summer we would go on vacation. The days we spend together were the most wonderful ones.

My Dad wanted me to get a good education and be a good specialist in computer science. He was very happy and proud when I won two times in a row the Los Angeles Science Fair. He wanted me to grow up strong and healthy, practice swimming and tennis. We loved to play tennis together. Whenever I had problems he always helped me. Even though he was usually busy on business trips he still made time to come to my birthdays. Those days were very special in our home. He promised to come to my next birthday, but now I know that he will never come. I lost my Dad and my friend.


Written by David G. Burban, son,
by website www.norostjustice.org

Our son followed the principle of “hurry to do something nice”; it was his norm in life, business, and hobbies. He did not know how to say ‘no’. When people asked him for help, he said, “I’ll try,” and as a rule he did help.

Like many young people these days, ‘Grisha’ was trying to find his niche. His plans included a ‘beautiful business’ so that the world of art was more accessible to many, and so that people were nicer. He never succeeded, however.

One more thing: he was certain that one could agree always agree and about everything, and he considered this to be the most dependable way to achieve a goal: “There’s nothing you can’t agree on, you just have to know how, and want to do it”. And Grisha knew how, possibly because he was equally comfortable and home and overseas. He always brought home a mass of new ideas and friends from every trip.

Unfortunately, the Russian authorities had different ideas about values and priorities, and chose a violent means to rescue the hostages at Dubrovka. The negotiators were replaced by special forces, the negotiations with a ‘harmless’ gas, and so our son and another 129 hostages paid for “the authority of Russia in the international arena” with their lives.

In 2003, shortly after the tragedy, we received a letter: “I have written a poem about your son from the materials posted on the www.nordostjustice.org web site. I am sending this to you. I hope that it is close to whom he really was.”

Back then we were still in shock from our grief, and never really thanked to the author who was able to describe our son in a few verses, to tell about his indomitable energy and desire to help others. Now we would like to give thanks, and a low bow, to the author. Excuse us, but, as they say, better late than never.

Written by Luba and Mark Burban, his parents,