Grief Without End

Hundreds died in the Beslan school siege. But many left behind seem to die every day.

BESLAN, Russia - Indira Tokhieva buried her son Amzat a year and a half ago. Since then there have only been three days she has not come to this cemetery in Beslan, North Ossetia, to grieve.

"My life is over," she says. "It ended when he died. I'm living like I'm in a circle and I can't get out. I don't want to believe he's dead."

Amzat was one of 331 people killed — half were children — after a hostage situation at a Beslan school ended in chaos and tragedy.

Islamic militants connected to Chechen guerrilla leader Shamil Basayev seized Beslan School #1 on Sept. 1, 2004. It was the first day of the new school year.

The 32 militants captured over 1,100 students, teachers and parents, killing most of the men outright and moving the rest to the school's gymnasium, which they rigged with booby traps and explosives.

They held their captives without food or water for two days, until Russian security forces stormed the building. In the resulting gunfire and explosions the gymnasium roof also caught fire and collapsed.

In the aftermath, not only the militants were blamed. The federal and local governments were also seen as culpable for bungling both the negotiations and the rescue attempt.

But while the anger still remains, it is the grief that seems to endure without respite.

Natalya Salamova lost her 28-year-old daughter Alena, a teacher, in the siege. Now she's raising Alena's three-year-old daughter by herself.

Natalya Salamova

"I remember that day Alena left for school," says Natalya. "My granddaughter ran after her to say goodbye, but Alena didn't stop. She just turned around, smiled and waved goodbye. That was the last time I ever saw her."

Natalya touches the headstone with Alena's picture etched on it. She rubs the marble with her hand, talks to her and trembles with tears — tears spilled so many times every day since her death.

Indira is married and has another son, but she says she has lost all purpose in her life.

"Each minute, I remember my son. He was so beautiful and good," Indira says. "He would write me little notes where he would tell me, 'Mother, I never want to see sadness in your eyes.' I had to identify his body at the school, and I can't even be sure that the body that is buried in his grave is actually his."

Indira says her relationship with her husband also has changed for the worse.

"I don't want to talk to anyone anymore," she says, "I just want to come here. My [other] son is 16; soon he'll be a man, get married and leave the house. Then I can be alone with my sadness."

Not far from the cemetery, the Beslan school gymnasium has become a kind of shrine to the tragedy. The entire school has been vacated and will be demolished, except for the gymnasium. For now, a plastic roof has been erected where the real one once was, but the shattered walls and windows are open to the winter weather.

The Beslan school gym

Pictures of each of those who died there are attached to the walls. Even now there is a small but constant stream of people leaving flowers, stuffed animals, candles and printed Bible verses on the wooden floor. Basketballs sit in the holes where the militants' explosive charges blew away deep divots.

On this crisp and overcast day, the pictures flutter in the afternoon breeze, seeming to remind those walking by not to forget them. They are faces, somehow still alive in that frozen moment. But now, to those left behind, they are already a long time gone.

There is graffiti on the walls, some of it pledging prayers of love and remembrance, some of it swearing revenge.

While the events of that day took the lives of 331 people, it affected many more.

The International Committee for the Red Cross has began an intensive series of psycho-social relief services, focused on helping the survivors.

They've created a large community center, providing educational and recreational programs open to the entire community, but with the intention of drawing in those directly affected by the Beslan tragedy.

The center offers computer and English classes, a full gymnasium and dance studio designed to re-engage those that receded into themselves following the death of their loved ones.

Beslan's "Children's Park"

To further rebuild the community, the international aid organization World Vision invested $350,000 to renovate a children's park in Beslan to help aid the healing process.

The Red Cross also has a full-time psychiatrist on staff and 20 nurses who make regular weekly visits to 230 families determined to be "at risk" by a social and mental health survey after the incident.

Ludmila Kargieva is one of those nurses. She says the families she visited were in shock and deep depression even a year after the siege, but now she is starting to see some improvements.

"There was one boy whose mother was killed taking him to school for the first time," she says. "He was crippled in the siege as well, but blames himself for his mother's death. He would never leave the house for the first six months. But now he's starting to come to the center with his cousin and actually play with the other children."

But Ludmila says there are those who can't or won't be helped.

"There are those who live in the memories, that keep going back to the cemetery and not letting go of their grief," she says.

Indira Tokhieva willingly admits she is one of those. She says she doesn't want to talk to a psychologist, nurse or anyone else — that it won't do any good.

"I'm tired," she says, standing in front of Amzat's grave, the image of his face smiling from the marble while his mother's is in tears. "I don't want to live long. I wish I could be with them."

She points to the graves. "I hope God will take me soon."

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