1.<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
He didn\u2019t have a problem with whose son he was, but whose son he was meant a great deal to the Russians who were pointing their cannons at Kyiv\u2019s Right Bank.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
2.<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
He titled it \u201cA Letter Without an Envelope\u201d and published it in the winter of 1918, just as the Soviets were on the verge of occupying Kyiv. Serhii Yefremov, a writer and the \u201cgodfather\u201d of the Ukrainian People\u2019s Republic, was glad that his friend, perhaps the most tender-hearted Ukrainian writer, Mykhailo Kotsiubynskyi, had died before he could see his son Yurii siding with those who boasted about turning Kyiv into rubble, and \u201chad, in part, made good on their boasting.\u201d He was glad that from his grave on the Desna River, where Yefremov himself had laid flowers, the writer did not see his son \u201cbombing the beauty of our land and burying the young Ukrainian freedom.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Nadiia Surovtsova, an employee of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Ukrainian People\u2019s Republic, the Hetmanate and the Directory \u2014 and a contemporary of Yurii \u2014 recalled that he never took revenge on Yefremov for that letter. In her opinion, that alone is enough to give one pause. But why? She recorded this memory of him while she was already in the camps.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
3.<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
Being \u201ccommander-in-chief\u201d of the Soviet army in 1918 meant that 22-year-old Yurii Kotsiubynskyi would have had to issue orders to shell Kyiv with artillery. From one such attack, the house of Mykhailo Hrushevsky, who had repeatedly supported Yurii\u2019s father financially, caught fire, writes researcher Kulbytskyi, who was the first to compile the life stories of the writer\u2019s children into a single book.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
As sympathetic researchers would say, Yurii was not only the son of writer Kotsiubynskyi but also \u201ca son of his time\u201d \u2014 the time of all-promising communism. And those could have been very different sons.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
4.<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
Tracing the route of the Soviet Russian Army\u2019s advance on Kyiv in the winter of 1918 can offer a lesson.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A Bolshevik army unit captured Brovary, advanced into Darnytsia and reached the left bank of the Dnipro, breaking through Ukrainian defenses at the Railroad Bridge. Its remains now lie submerged beneath the river on either side of the modern-day Darnytsia Bridge.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Prymakov, Yurii\u2019s friend and brother-in-law, crossed the Dnipro on the ice, advanced toward Vyshhorod, passed through Pushcha-Vodytsia and Kurenivka, and entered Podil, where he engaged in battle with Ukrainian cadets. After a prolonged defense, the Ukrainian army withdrew to Khreshchatyk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The last forces of the Ukrainian People\u2019s Republic retreated from Kyiv via the Brest Highway \u2014 the very same road along which, on the morning of February 24, one hundred and four years later, thousands of cars would flee westward from Kyiv, once again threatened by Russian troops<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Afterward, the Russians seized the city and began doing what they do best: killing and looting. In 2022, the Russians failed to capture Kyiv. Instead, they carried out massacres in its outskirts, where they managed to establish control. Nothing new under the sun? Nothing new.<\/p>\n\n\n\n In reality, Yurii hardly made any decisions. Although he was named commander-in-chief, he barely commanded that offensive \u2014 it was actually led by Russian Lieutenant Colonel Mikhail Muravyov. So what was he needed for? To make it seem like it wasn\u2019t the Russians who conquered Kyiv.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Look, there he is, the son of a Ukrainian writer, leading his own people to claim their own land. This is a civil war!<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n Formally, it was Yurii who captured Kyiv for the Soviet authorities, but in the 1930s, those same authorities removed this \u201cson of his time\u201d from all his posts. Yurii Kotsiubynskyi was sentenced to death in about 15 minutes. He was accused of planning terrorist attacks, and a confession was extracted from him during interrogations, just as it was from thousands of others. To this day, no one knows where his body is.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Many years later, Yurii was rehabilitated and his bust installed on the Alley of Heroes in Chernihiv. After the Revolution of Dignity, the head was knocked off it. His family took it to his father\u2019s museum \u2014 after all, it\u2019s his family\u2019s home. They also took the bust of Prymakov, his friend and brother-in-law. After all, he\u2019s part of their family, too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He was born a frail child, and made up for his physical fragility with books. His family entrusted him with managing the family library \u2014 his first leadership role and perhaps his most successful.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Yurii led the way \u2014 in his career, in the revolution, in the catastrophe. Roman followed him with the loyalty of a younger brother who lacked his own identity.<\/p>\n\n\n\n When Yurii came under persecution in 1934, Roman was appointed director of the museum dedicated to his father in Vinnytsia. He was tasked with banishing all the \u201cUkrainian and nationalist\u201d ghosts from there: Hrushevsky, Yefremov and every single one of his father\u2019s friends, now inconvenient for the Bolsheviks \u2014 cleansing his father\u2019s museum of their taint with his own hands.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Was he already frightened by then? Most likely. Most likely, he didn\u2019t want the system to grind him down too, because it\u2019s quite a natural desire \u2014 the desire to survive. Roman had a young wife and a small son. But the system\u2019s millstones make no exceptions: they swallowed him whole and spat him out dead.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Some time later, his sister Iryna would ask the authorities for a meeting with her brother \u2014 though she knew of Yurii\u2019s death, she knew nothing about Roman\u2019s.<\/p>\n\n\n\n All that remained was his young son, Yulii, who ended up in Ukrainian \u2014 by then Soviet \u2014 orphanages, and from there, in Russia. He knew almost nothing about where he came from.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Mykhailo Kotsiubynskyi died before World War I began. His wife, Vira Deisha, knew full well whose wife she was and what a significant figure she had accompanied throughout her life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n As she prepared to evacuate from Chernihiv, she gathered all of her husband\u2019s belongings: inkwells, pens, manuscripts, a folding cane-chair that she herself had commissioned and given to him as a gift, original photographs, hundreds of volumes from his library and even his tableware \u2014 she donated all of it to the historical museum.<\/p>\n\n\n\n After Vira\u2019s departure, the house stood empty. In the turmoil of war, new occupants kept moving in. None of the newcomers tended the garden, now overrun with weeds; no one repaired the broken windows.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Vira took her belongings with her. So, little remains of her in the house-museum today: only her annotated Bible \u2014 an atheist\u2019s Bible. Vira probably didn\u2019t want to have an inventory number of her own. Her children were already scattered here and there, either resisting their era or abetting it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n In the 1930s, the Soviet authorities effectively seized the house and everything in it in order to establish a museum dedicated to the writer Kotsiubynskyi. After all, a dead writer is one perfect Bolshevik.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She shot a bow and arrow, rode horses bareback, played the piano and wrote poetry. What kind of poetry she wrote remains unknown.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n But Kotsiubynskyi\u2019s daughter was supposed to have a bright future in literature \u2014 at least one of his children was. Though she had most likely read neither her father nor his contemporaries.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n Legends whisper that Tychyna was in love with her, but those rumors don\u2019t hold up when looking at their age difference. We know for certain that Oksana was in love with Vitalii Prymakov, a friend of her brother Yurii, both of whom were already deeply involved in the revolution. And she rushed in after them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Researchers repeat from article to article that she was a Bolshevik spy in the Central Rada, citing Sofia Rusova, an educator and Rada activist, who allegedly wrote an indignant note about it. But not a single source contains even a single quote.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Oksana died pregnant at age 22. It is believed she hit her head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Prymakov \u2014 also somebody\u2019s son and a son of his time \u2014 outlived her by seventeen years. In the end, he would be carried out of an interrogation room on a stretcher, his face covered in blood, one eye gouged out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She was the only one in her family to survive and weather the repressions. They say she had quite the temper. Where could that have come from?<\/p>\n\n\n\n Yes, yes, she had a temper. Sure, one might call it \u201ca temper\u201d that Iryna would try to correct everything she considered to be \u201cwrong\u201d: for instance, she redrew the garden plan, which had changed significantly after her parents\u2019 death under the influence of her uncle Khoma, the museum\u2019s first director. She restored it to how she remembered it from her childhood. She also accused Khoma of stealing certain items and even of turning Yurii over to the authorities.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Iryna tried to remove certain figures from history \u2014 for example, Oleksandra Aplaksina, her father\u2019s mistress \u2014 but that\u2019s a whole other can of worms. Perhaps Iryna wanted only those who shared her blood to remain in history, but in a century like the one they\u2019ve all inherited, an entire sea of blood was raging.<\/p>\n\n\n\n As a child, she often played by herself \u2014 Yurii and Oksana were busy with their own affairs, and Roman was too young. Iryna would wander around the garden, humming to herself, dreaming of a home with luxurious furniture and beautiful tableware. She was always the first to sit down at the dinner table, admiring the napkins while the family gathered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She grew up and married Avram Danishevskyi, the son of one of Chernihiv\u2019s wealthiest families. She could have had it all, but the 1930s spared no one. When Yurii was arrested, followed by Roman, Iryna kept only the surname Danishevska \u2014 her double surname had become dangerous. She testified that she had practically no contact with her brothers and knew nothing of their plans. She worked as a cashier at a photo studio.<\/p>\n\n\n\n What followed was baffling. The sister of two executed \u201cenemies of the people\u201d joined the Party, graduated from law school on the eve of World War II, became a prosecutor and then a judge.<\/p>\n\n\n\n This mystery will never be solved.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Their first son died in childhood. Only Florian remained. He became a sculptor. He sculpted Mayakovsky, Lesia Ukrainka, and the busts of both Yurii and Prymakov. He sculpted a bust for Kotsiubynskyi\u2019s grave on the banks of the Desna. He erected the \u201cSavur-Mohyla\u201d memorial complex on a burial mound in Donetsk Oblast, where fierce battles between Russian and Ukrainian forces would rage in the new century. We can still admire his \u201cPeace\u201d sculpture \u2014 a figure of a woman with doves above the bridge across the Dnipro in Kyiv.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But he was not the one Iryna wanted to pass the family legacy on to.<\/p>\n\n\n\n After Stalin\u2019s death, Iryna devoted herself to rehabilitating her brothers. Having succeeded, she crossed the threshold of her childhood home once again \u2014 this time as the museum\u2019s director. There it was, the very same table where she used to be the first to sit for dinner. The very same bedroom she shared with Oksana. Her parents\u2019 desk. The tableware she used to admire as a little girl. But all of this was now museum exhibits. She was both the mistress of the house and not its mistress. The director of her own childhood. She could sleep and live in her childhood bedroom \u2014 no longer her room, but the director\u2019s office.<\/p>\n\n\n\n There was one thing she did that undoubtedly turned out to be a defining moment for the entire family. She found Yulii, Roman\u2019s son. He was raised in Soviet orphanages, became a mechanic, fell in love with Yesenin\u2019s poetry and didn\u2019t know how to speak Ukrainian.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Iryna also wrote in her diary about something that could easily have been lost in the whirlwind of history \u2014 the plants in her parents\u2019 garden. Spirea, boule de neige, pink almond, jasmine, lilac, lily-of-the-valley and periwinkle. Hyacinths \u2014 white, blue and pink. Red lilies \u2014 so vivid that all other colors paled in comparison. Roses, dahlias. And behind them \u2014 apple trees, linden trees, maples, walnut trees, pear trees, cornel trees and a timid young oak. Plums, cherries and sweet cherries \u2014 so delicious to bite into.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Pavlo Tychyna held him in his arms \u2014 a baby just a few months old.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Yulii Kotsiubynskyi was born in Kharkiv in 1934. Three years \u2014 that was all the time he had to live with his father, Roman, the writer\u2019s youngest son. When his father and mother were arrested, Yulii was sent to Soviet specialized children\u2019s institutions. His mother later found him and, in order to survive, married a Russian man, the director of a plywood factory. Yulii took his mother\u2019s surname \u2014 he became Pysarevskyi.<\/p>\n\n\n\n His mother, Olena, played the piano, had a great singing voice and knew many songs. And she held onto all of it despite repressions, about which Yulii knew nothing for a long time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n During World War II, when he was still little, he and his mother were evacuated to Stalingrad. Very soon, they had to flee from there as well. The parents remained in the city, while the children would get evacuated by plane deeper into Russia. Days before Yulii was set to continue his journey, his mother asked to leave work early so she could tell him something. \u201cThe family you come from\u2026 Maybe you won\u2019t understand everything I\u2019m about to say right now, but later\u2026 No one but you must know about this.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n They wouldn\u2019t see each other again for another eleven years. Yulii would spend all that time searching for her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n In 1947, he read a children\u2019s story by Kotsiubynskyi, and told his friend from the orphanage that his grandfather had written it. The girl just laughed. The caregivers took issue not with the fact that he was the writer\u2019s grandson, but with the fact that he was the son and nephew of \u201cenemies of the people.\u201d After that, Yulii spoke nothing of it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The first time Iryna visited him was at the prison in Kyiv, where he had ended up trying to figure out who he really was. \u201cI came today to find out who you are.\u201d And once she found out, she told him who he really was.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She didn\u2019t go into details, because \u201cfor now, it\u2019s better to keep quiet\u201d \u2014 just as Yulii\u2019s mother had said 10 years earlier. Instead, Iryna gave him her son\u2019s clothes and sent him care packages.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Yulii became a mechanic. He studied in Moscow. He found his mother.<\/p>\n\n\n\n One day, Iryna called and asked\u2026 No, Iryna never asked \u2014 Iryna ordered him to come home \u2014 that is, to the museum \u2014 and build on the family\u2019s legacy. Not his father\u2019s, of course. Only his grandfather\u2019s.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And so Yulii Pysarevskyi became Kotsiubynskyi.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He was 25. He was already an adult. Iryna sent him \u201cto study\u201d under Tychyna and Rylsky. Yulii first enrolled in Russian philology \u2014 after all, he didn\u2019t speak Ukrainian. A year later, he transferred to the Ukrainian program \u2014 in his first dictation, he made over a hundred mistakes. Rylsky and Tychyna said it would be both embarrassing and difficult, but Yulii would overcome it. Indeed, he eventually became a distinguished philologist and a leading scholar of his grandfather\u2019s legacy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Upon returning home \u2014 a place he never lived \u2014 Yulii set out to unravel the Soviet-era influences imposed on his grandfather by the authorities, and to some extent, by his own children.<\/p>\n\n\n\n On May 15, 2000, Yulii Romanovych Kotsiubynskyi died suddenly. He was 66. It was time for his son, Ihor \u2014 Kotsiubynskyi\u2019s great-grandson \u2014 to take up the mantle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I don\u2019t know if he looks like his great-grandfather. I don\u2019t think so.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I first met him as a teenager on a field trip to the Kotsiubynskyi Garden, where we were offered apples from a tree planted by Kotsiubynskyi himself, and jokingly offered each other the chance to pet a black-and-white cat sitting near the agaves, because they said that Kotsiubynskyi himself had raised it, too. I didn\u2019t know that Kotsiubynskyi\u2019s actual great-grandson was walking right past us. Maybe if we\u2019d known back when we were twelve, we would have laughed at that, too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Ihor definitely looks a lot like his grandfather Roman \u2014 the same deep-set eyes with dark circles beneath them, which make his gaze more expressive. But those are Vira Ustymivna\u2019s eyes, not Kotsiubynskyi\u2019s. <\/p>\n\n\n\n From Kotsiubynskyi this branch of the family inherited sensitivity and a love of literature.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n No one in the family writes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Ihor, however, knew full well whose son, grandson and great-grandson he was. In fact, he knew more than almost anyone else, yet felt no pull toward the museum, which was no longer his home. Kotsiubynskyi? Hrushevsky? Tychyna? The great-grandson of a great writer? What a joke.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIn a Chernihiv school during the Brezhnev era, where teachers spoke Russian and anything Ukrainian was ridiculed, the fact that I was a \u2018great-grandson\u2019 meant nothing,\u201d Ihor recalls now. \u201c\u2018Who needs these Ukrainian writers?\u2019 We used to say at school: \u2018Eating gravel is much better than Tychyna\u2019s words and letters.\u2019 So what if Tychyna grew up under Kotsiubynskyi\u2019s wing?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n But in the end, after military school, Ihor, like many in his family before him, crossed the threshold of the family museum as its director.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCall it fate.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Ihor\u2019s departed from the museum on March 17, 2014 \u2014 the Russians went to war against Ukraine, just as they had a century ago. Ihor had to step away from his duties to go to the front. The museum community raised funds to buy him a bulletproof vest, a sleeping pad and medical supplies.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThe question of whether to go or not didn\u2019t even come up. Some people were hiding from draft notices. But I understood: if we don\u2019t defend ourselves, those tanks will come here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Serhii Yefremov was ultimately right when, at the end of that angry letter, he told Yurii that the seeds Yurii had sown in his own land would not yield what he had hoped for. What grew was yet another war by Russia against Ukraine \u2014 a war of extermination. And now, dear Yurii, your grandson must go and defend this land. But how could Yurii have known? Perhaps he couldn\u2019t. Different times raise different sons.<\/p>\n\n\n\n While Ihor was at war, his wife Nataliia ran the museum. She is yet another woman in the family who fully understands the significance of the surname she also bears.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Of course, they talked about it more than once. They imagined it and even dreamed about it a little. This house, this garden, this table and these bookcases (now filled with relatively new books \u2014 everything truly valuable and original had been evacuated from here, because it takes a Russian ballistic missile between one and three minutes to reach Chernihiv and the museum) \u2014 all of this could have been their direct inheritance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCan you imagine,\u201d said Nataliia, \u201cwaking up in the morning, brewing coffee, stepping out onto this terrace, taking a sip while gazing at the garden? Why wouldn\u2019t you want that? Who wouldn\u2019t want that?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n They did want it. Yet, they always ended this conversation with the understanding that the public good takes precedence over their private comfort.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Their legacy is to preserve the memory. The house itself will never belong to them, but they will always belong to this house \u2014 all of them: the living, the dead, the buried, the unburied, the unborn and even the bronze busts.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n When he left for the war in the east, Ihor said he had to go and defend because the Russians would come here \u2014 that is, to Chernihiv. He did defend, but they came anyway. In March 2022, partly following in the footsteps \u2014 quite literally \u2014 of Yurii Kotsiubynskyii and Muravyov. Ihor was already retired. He and Nataliia immediately packed up their belongings and came to the museum. They came here to live, to protect the writer\u2019s legacy from fire, shelling, vandalism and theft.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And so, what they had sometimes talked about came true. On a quiet morning amid Russian planes carrying 500-kilogram bombs, Nataliia brewed some coffee; she and Ihor stepped out onto the very terrace where Mykhailo Kotsiubynskyi spent evenings with his family, where little Oksana picked a rose for young Tychyna, where Iryna used to walk, where Yurii and Prymakov used to talk, and where Roman used to read books.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Ihor and Nataliia\u2019s daughter is named Iryna. Yet another Iryna in this story.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Her parents were adamant that she not take on this family debt of devoting herself to the museum. Iryna is neither a philologist nor a museum curator.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWe didn\u2019t insist,\u201d says Nataliia. \u201cMy husband lived with that burden his whole life: he had to, because it was a family matter, and the collective always took precedence over the personal. So we\u2019ve accepted that our family\u2019s involvement here may end with us.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n But who knows?<\/p>\n\n\n\n Kotsiubynskyi\u2019s daughter, Iryna Mykhailivna, who was a lawyer and a judge, returned and took charge of this museum after she retired. Yulii wasn\u2019t even supposed to end up here at all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A Nagant revolver, serial number 4379. Roman Kotsiubynskyi kept it as a memento of his years with the Red Cossacks. It was likely confiscated during his arrest in December 1936.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The case file of Yurii Kotsiubynskyi contains a list of confiscated items and clothing that ended up in a Soviet government warehouse. Coats, children\u2019s shoes, a tablecloth. When his wife, Olha, returned from exile, she asked for those items back, but she was simply given a small amount of money in exchange for all that property. So none of those items survived.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Roman\u2019s wife also wrote many requests regarding everything that had been confiscated from them. She asked for at least the photos to be returned. Nothing was returned.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Nothing remains of Oksana in this house. From Iryna \u2014 a pen, a small mirror and a powder compact.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Once, Mykhailo Kotsiubynskyi brought back a box of dried butterflies from Capri \u2014 it had been given to him by the artist Mykola Prakhov, whose family the writer had befriended on the island. Both men had four children each, and both were homesick. The box of butterflies was intended for Kotsiubynskyi\u2019s four children.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The kids were fascinated. They asked how they could do it themselves, and that summer they never went out to the Desna River without butterfly nets. Each one tried to catch the best butterfly so they could later pin it under glass. Their parents helped them: at night, by the light of a lantern, they could catch a large hawk moth and leave it on the table until breakfast. The children would come out for breakfast and be beside themselves with joy \u2014 such a large and beautiful butterfly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The little box with butterflies that now hangs in Yurii and Roman\u2019s bedroom isn\u2019t the very same box, but it still evokes a longing for a lost paradise. In this box, Yurii, Roman, Oksana and Iryna remain forever \u2014 their childhood antics and innocent eyes, moments unburdened by future storms.<\/p>\n\n\n\n As a child, I loved this box on the wall of the \u201cboys\u2019\u201d (the tour guides referred to them exclusively as \u201clittle brothers\u201d) room more than anything else. Back then, we were told only that the children loved to catch butterflies and put them under glass. No one told us what darkness would later catch them.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" They are all descendants of Ukrainian classic Mykhailo Kotsiubynskyi. A family with a legacy that none of them could lay claim to, and a burden that none of them was obliged to bear<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":10141,"featured_media":160414,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2238,2232],"tags":[8827,8824,8825,8826],"class_list":["post-165634","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-reportages-en","category-reporters-en","tag-chernihiv","tag-heritage","tag-kotsiubynskyi","tag-world-war-i"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/theukrainians.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/ALA_Kotsiubynski35.jpg\")
<\/figure>\n\n\n\n5.<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
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Roman. The younger son<\/strong><\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n
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The things their mother Vira preserve<\/strong><\/strong>d<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
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Oksana. The older daughter<\/strong><\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n
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<\/figure>\n<\/figure>\n\n\n\nYulii. The grandson that shouldn\u2019t have existed<\/strong><\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n
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4.<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
5.<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
Great-grandson Ihor and his wife Nataliia<\/strong><\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n
1.<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
![\"\"](\"https:\/\/theukrainians.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/ALA_Kotsiubynski08.jpg\")
<\/figure>\n\n\n\n\n
2.<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
3.<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
4.<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
5.<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
\n
6.<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
Daughter<\/strong><\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n
![\"\"](\"https:\/\/theukrainians.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/ALA_Kotsiubynski48.jpg\")
<\/figure>\n\n\n\nRevolvers and butterflie<\/strong><\/strong>s<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
1.<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
2.<\/h3>\n\n\n\n