Age — 26; Russia, Moscow.

Dmitry Dmitrievich Puzikov. He was born in Moscow on April 16th, 1976. In 1993 he graduated from literary, multifaceted school center for esthetic education. In 1999 he entered the Moscow Institute of Energetics (technical university), in the college of electro-technology.

Dima… Dimochka… You were the best in this world, yes, and in the next world as well. You always were and always will be. And we all love you very, very much.

He was a caring son and father, a loving husband, and a successful businessman. He did not know how to despair, even when things were very bad, Dima always said to me: “Wait my dear. We love each other. We’re together. Everything will turn out all right.” But on that terrible day, October 23rd, things did not turn out all right.

The moment that the terrorists broke into the auditorium, Dima somehow understood it already. He hugged me to him so tightly, as if he wanted to protect me. When they started to seat us in different places, he hugged me, and kissed me, and ran his hand over mine. With his eyes full of tears he whispered for me to go, that if they let the women go, and anything were to happen to him, to change my last name to his – Puzikova (I had kept my maiden name) – and that I took care of our son. Later we were only able to meet each other’s glances.

We first met at the institute, where we shared a desk. We stole furtive glances at each other, and later everything began to spin about with dizzying speed. And here we were, husband and wife. After finishing the institute we worked together as information technologists, later starting our own business. We were always, and everywhere, together.

They say that people quickly tire of each other – this is not true. To see each other 24 hours a day was, for us, happiness. We were as one; we lived with the same goals, matters, and deeds. Even now, when he has been gone for unbearably long, I judge all my deeds and acts according to his point of view as well.

Many friends always surrounded Dima. He was a rare type of sociable person, happy and sharp-witted, he found it very easy to meet people and valued true masculine friendship highly.

Dima knew how to be demanding with his subordinates, but he was always gentle and affectionate at home. And even romantic. Once, when I woke up on the morning of my birthday, I could not find my husband at home. When I looked out the window, however, I saw my name on the sidewalk, written in roses, and my happy, smiling Dima next to it. He also loved his mother very much, and his brother and our son Artyom… And the forest, and the roar of the sea in the morning… And life.

People like Dima cannot die. They live within us, within those who love and remember them.

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