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Prokhorova, Lyudmila
Written by Леонид Сандлер, двоюродный брат   
Воскресенье, 07 Ноябрь 2010

Age 64, from Moscow, Russia.

1Lyudmila Isaakovna Prokhorova — Lyudochka as we always called her — was a Muscovite, born there on September 12, 1938. After high school she enrolled in one of the most prestigious and «closed» of schools in Moscow — the N. E. Bauman Technical University, or MVTU-Bauman. It was «closed» because, during that «black» time, they did not gladly allow representatives of all peoples into such institutes of higher learning. To get into and study at Bauman was not easy, but Lyudochka was a persistent and purposeful person.

 
On becoming an engineer she worked many years at one of the aviation enterprises in Moscow, the Uspensky Aircraft Construction and Test Bureau, then later at the Computer Center. She was busy with her work, and we often talked on technical topics, as well as work in related organizations.
 
In those early years Luda met her destiny — Boris Maksovich Prokhorov — and they married and had a daughter, Natasha. Lyudochka become a caring and loving wife, and a kind and affectionate mother.
 
Luda and Boris regularly went to Moscow, to the theater, concerts, and museums. They showed particular interest in the productions of the Vakhtangov Theater. They loved to travel and go out into nature. We often met them in Moscow, when we went there from Leningrad-Petersburg, where we lived, and Luda, Boris and Natasha liked to visit with us in the northern capital and admire the beauty of our city, suburbs and museums.
 
Everyone who knew Lyudochka Prokhorova — we, her family, her neighbors, and her former colleagues (she had been retired for the past few years) — loved her cheerful nature, kindness, commitment and a willingness to provide assistance and support to anyone who needed it. They always had an open house and everyone, not just close friends, who came to Moscow were welcome at their home on Bolshaya Polyanka.
 
I remember that as a young girl she read Kaverin's novel, «Two Captains», and she fell in love with the protagonists. And this girl from an educated family in Moscow, an admirer of beautiful and courageous people, Lyudochka always remembered the book's motto: «To strive and seek, to find and never give up», and she not only remembered it, but sometimes even acted like Kaverin's heroes. When they began to prepare for the musical «Nord-Ost» in Moscow, which is based on that novel, the desire to attend this performance grew within her. And on that fateful day Luda and Boris were there at the Theatrical Center on Dubrovka. From Boris's terse phrases we know that even there in the auditorium she tried to cheer up those who were sitting next them, and it seemed that she would be saved.
 
Boris, fortunately, survived that Hell, but he was ill for a long time. On the first day after the assault, Natasha found her father in a hospital, in serious condition. His first question was about Luda, about which he knew nothing, because the terrorists at some point made them change seats. For three days Natasha searched for her mother, along with Georgy, Luda's brother. They were only able to identify her by special signs, since she was otherwise impossible to recognize. Meanwhile we, who were across the ocean, kept hoping for a miracle, and that somehow Luda would be still alive. But, alas, no miracle occurred. And today, eight years later, it is unbearably painful to think about it, and experience it, all over again.
 
Eight years have passed since the tragic events at Dubrovka. And for us, Lyudochka's family, we can only remember this bright and dear person, and ask God to judge those who made the decision to carry out an assault with the use of gas, killing 130 hostages. This tragedy has taught the authorities nothing, because later there was Beslan, etc.
 
 
Written by her cousin, Leonid Sandler.

***

“Klaas’s ashes pound against my heart,” -
These words can only mean:
Memory cannot disappear, or be erased,
Memory does not let the dead be forgotten.


The memory of ‘Nord-Ost’ beats like a hammer,
Day and night, through the hours,
Eternally, continuously, silent, and without end
And does not let the dead be forgotten.

Tamara Faifel


Views: 7959 | E-mail

  Comments (1)
1. Written by Нина Романова (Кац), on 12-11-2010 08:12
Вновь звучит знакомый мотив,
Мне слезами душу омыв.
Снова и снова я вспоминаю
День, за которым — словно обрыв.
Нет страшнее этих минут:
Как находят близких — и тут
Гаснет последний проблеск надежды,
В дом опустевший скоро войдут.
Сколько было в жизни потерь,
Что же нам осталось теперь?
Счастье былое не возвратится,
Крепко закрыта в прошлое дверь.
Ночь проходит, день настает…
Эта рана не заживет.
Только надежда не умирает,
Только надежда силы дает.


Я вышла на эту страницу благодаря передаче Ксении Лариной, посвященной «Норд-Осту», вернее, благодаря отклику на нее одной из участниц форума на сайте «Эха Москвы». Поэтому я решилась оставить это стихотворение как комментарий именно здесь.

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