August M
In Lviv, the consequences of a prolonged war are etched not only into headlines but into the city’s physical space. As fighting continues and prospects for peace remain distant, Ukraine’s cities are confronting an unavoidable reality: the dead are accumulating faster than the living can accommodate them.
One cemetery in particular has become a stark measure of that cost.
Space under strain
The burial ground known historically as the Field of Mars has reached capacity. According to reporting by The Kyiv Independent, the fear of running out of space is constant, as new graves appear with relentless regularity.
Banners near the site read: “War is names.” Each marker represents a fixed place for memory in a conflict where loss feels endless. City officials are now debating how the cemetery should be reshaped, a discussion that has stirred painful disagreements among families of the fallen.
Ritual without rank
Since February 2022, Roman Kharivskyi has coordinated military funerals here. Each follows the same rite, regardless of rank or background. “We bury every hero by the same ceremony,” he says.
For Kharivskyi, the cemetery is not only a site of mourning but also of resolve. “People should come here not to cry, but to gather strength,” he says, even as he acknowledges the emotional toll. “Every day I look into a mother’s or a wife’s eyes, and there is emptiness there.”
A working calm
Those who tend the grounds often describe a sense of quiet that contrasts with the violence that brought people there. Dzvinka Balynska, an employee at the cemetery, says the atmosphere feels unexpectedly warm.
“There are people here who voluntarily gave their lives for Ukraine, and I feel calm here,” she says. “When the wind blows, all the flags flutter, but inside, there is no coldness.”
The land itself has long been shaped by conflict. Balynska explains that it has served as a military cemetery since the First World War, surviving shifting borders, fallen empires, and repeated wars.
Private grief
For families, that calm offers little relief. Lilia Dorosh, whose only son is buried at the site, says, “My son is buried here. He was my only child. Everything I had.”
Much of his short life was consumed by war rather than plans for the future. Dorosh says she dreams of traveling to Spain with his portrait so he can “see the world through her eyes.”
Witness to loss
Photographer Anastasiia Smolienko, who visits several times a month, describes the cemetery as an immediate reckoning. “This is a place where you immediately see the price of this war, of Ukraine’s resistance,” she says.
As long as the fighting continues, the Field of Mars will keep expanding in meaning, if not in space. It stands as both a place of ritual and a warning that the toll of the war is still being written, one name at a time.
Sources: The Kyiv Independent
