I Am Left Alone... Farewell to Mariam, Siranush, and 4-Year-Old Marat in Yeghvard

Black-clad women and men walk silently and seemingly mechanically through the streets of Yeghvard, their eyes reddened with tears, toward the building where a stream of people continues to flow and numerous wreaths are laid from friends, relatives, and complete strangers. Despite the crowds, a stone-cold silence reigns, broken only by the sound of a woman’s sobs from within the building, gradually escalating into heart-wrenching wails. In the center of the hall lies a small white coffin, with golden-haired Marat smiling from a photograph. On either side are silver coffins: one holds his pregnant mother, Siranush, and the other his aunt, Mariam. All three died in an explosion at a shopping center. This was reported by Sputnik Armenia. A journalist from the media outlet attended the memorial service for Mariam, Siranush, and 4-year-old Marat.

“How are we going to go home? Who will run, call my name? Hey grandchild, wake up! You little rascal, my sun. We don’t want to live without you,” shouts a middle-aged woman (presumably Siranush's mother-in-law). “Siranush, this shouldn’t have been an occasion for gathering. Do you hear? We were waiting for joy, for the birth of a child, not for this grief, this pain,” says the grandmother, embracing the coffins in turn (they are closed because the bodies were disfigured by the fire). She recounts that on the day of the tragedy, the sisters had gone to Yerevan with Marat to shop for the child. The little one was soon to be born. The girls were very close and solved almost all issues together. Mariam, as the elder (she was 30), always helped Siranush, who was two years younger than her sister. Siranush also took care of her sister as best she could. Mariam was unmarried and often took Marat out for walks so her sister could rest.

“My sweet babies. Why you, why us? My God, why?” the girls’ mother utters in a barely audible voice, exhausted. A man standing by the wall looks at her, trying to stifle the tears welling up in his throat, but he can no longer hold them back. He is the father of Mariam and Siranush. He tries to stay strong, biting his lips, but every time he gazes at the coffins, tears stream from his eyes. Occasionally, his gaze stops on the photograph of his smiling grandson, then he sits down and clenches his fists in helplessness.

“My dear children, you are now always together, but how are your parents supposed to live? God, why are you so cruel to us?” says the girls' grandmother. The number of people gradually increases, and the wailing becomes more agonizing. The long-haired girls continue to smile from the photograph as before—one with dark hair, the other with light hair. On the other side of the wall, a shaved-headed boy is suffocating in tears. He is Siranush and Mariam's brother. He was allowed to come home from the army to say goodbye to his loved ones. He stomps his military boots into the ground and, with all his strength, embraces a man who approaches him. “My sisters are gone. I am left alone...”