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Romanova, Olga
Written by А.И. Романова, мама   
Воскресенье, 04 Март 2007
Article Index
Romanova, Olga
Page 2

Age — 26; Russia, Moscow.

‘Olya’ was born on May 13th, 1976, in the evening.  The spring that year had been cold and rainy, and that night there was a powerful thunderstorm.  While I was pregnant, my sister said that if I had a girl I should name her Olga, because it was a pretty name.  Thus was born Olga Romanova, together with thunder and lightening.  And she died with thunder as well.

She was a quiet baby, and I had no grief with her.  When she turned one I took her to the crèche.  Later came kindergarten, then school.  At ten she was already helping me – she would peel potatoes, or cut onions, and she tried to clean house as best she could. 

One day she came home with bruises.  I asked her: “Where did those come from?”  She said that kids were hurting a girl, so she had to help.  That is how she was: always trying to help everyone.  Girlfriends ran to tell her their secrets and their problems.  Olya would help everyone, and act as a referee.  She was a very warm-hearted girl, and her friends called her Romashka (Daisy).

She took piano lessons for nine years in that very same DK.  She was starting to think about where to go next.  At first she wanted to attend the medical institute, but later she changed her mind and went to work at the Red October candy factory.  She worked there for seven years.  She was not afraid of work, and everything was going well for her.

We lived modestly.  Olya never complained, though once she asked that, should we ever have enough money, could she buy a leather jacket? Olya dreamed having fruit, vegetables, and red caviar on the table, I chided her: you want to live rich, but she said to me: not always, but sometimes you just have to.

Now I understand that this was a mandate, so sometimes now I set a rich table: fruits, pickled vegetables, and red caviar.

Olya worked for a while for the post office, then found a job at L’Etuale.  It was there that her labor and life ended simultaneously.

Olya loved children, and loved animals.  We have two cats – Dasha and Knopka (Button).  Knopka fell out an open window while Olya was washing windows, and ran away, and Olya was very worried.  This was in August.  On October 21st I bought her an identical kitten, and Olya rejoiced just like a little girl.  But on the 24th Olya died.

That night Olya and a girlfriend from work missed the last bus and subway train, and so they went to spend the night with another coworker.  There they found out that the DK had been captured.  Olga rushed home (by taxi).  She got home late, all worried and excited.  We sat and talked awhile and then decided to go to bed.  I thought that she had gone to take a bath, but then there she was, all dressed and standing by the apartment door.  She said that she was going to go and talk to them – to make them at least release the children.  I yelled at her, and said she was such a defender!  I said that these were not boys from the backyard whom you can smack on the shoulder and then they would settle down.  She left.  She locked the door with the key, and left.

But they did not understand her.  They took her for an FSB spy and shot her.

After Olya’s death, they started releasing the children.

When we went to identify her, they brought her out on a gurney.  A black plastic bag was over her face.  The doctor said that there was not enough to stitch up.  We identified her from the keys she had, and from her boots.  Her crucifix was gone.

We did not get to bury Olya until October 30th – we could not receive permission from the prosecutor’s office (it was a criminal case).  There were a lot of people at the funeral – friends, classmates, colleagues from work, and a priest.  Olya’s fiancé Ruslan could not get her ring onto her finger, so he left it in her coffin.  He said that he bought it for her, and that it would stay with her. 

Four years after the tragedy, on the day of Olya’s death, Father Nikolai came from the Cathedral of the Sovereign Russia in the city of Zhukovsk, in order to give last rites.  Father said that he would register Olga with the Romanov martyrs, because she was just such a martyr.  Pilgrims still come to Olya’s grave.

We do not know what happens after death, but I feel it.  Olya is with me: she protects and warns me.  I often have dreams where Olya is telling me something.  On the night before her birthday last year, I dreamed that she was complaining to me that her back hurt from cupping.  I went to the cemetery that day, and saw that there were a lot of little flowers, and they were all standing in those tiny bottles that people use for cupping.

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  Comments (16)
11. Written by АЛЕКСАНДРА, on 07-10-2010 11:25
прочитав историю Ольги в моей душе что-то сейчас происходит не понятное.Она очень мужественая…
12. Written by Альберт, on 06-12-2010 16:47
И главное-никто ее не остановил.И никто не понес ответственности,что НЕ ОСТАНОВИЛ ее.
13. Written by Башков Михаил, on 21-09-2012 06:40
(остановить Её было НЕвозможно: Промысл Божий — на То!!!..)
ЦАРСТВИЕ НЕБЕСНОЕ — Св.Угоднице Божией ОЛЕ!!!
14. Written by Елена, on 24-10-2012 00:48
Потрясло до глубины души, я думала таких людей уже нет. Маме очень сочуствую, дочь у вас была замечательная, Царство ей Небесное и вечная память. Всеже непонятно, что в голове у террористов, Что??? Как осознанно молодые люди, которым жить да детей растить, совершают эти чудовищные поступки, зарубая на корню и свою жизнь и жизнь других людей, детей малых???
15. Written by Николай, on 01-11-2013 00:50
Она настоящий герой! Вечная память.
16. Written by Мира, on 29-05-2015 08:34
Потрясло все прочитанное…..Я знала о трагедии…Знала о погибших, но никогда до этого времени не проникала столь глубоко в эту историю…В историю чьей-то жизни…..Мои глубочайшие соболезнования все родственникам погибших….Как их много…Какие все разные…И каждый был дорог….Слов нет…Одни слезы…Сколько загубленных душ…….История Ольги очень запала в душу…Царство небесное тебе Олюшка…Таких как ты единицы…Мамочке твоей сил и здоровья на много, много лет вперед….Как же тяжело это все…

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