Today, September 29th, my son Nurmagomed would have turned 30 years old. Throughout my life, I placed great hopes on him, dreaming of seeing him as a general, a father, a poet, a man who would lead others. He became all of those things – but he didn't have time to grow old.
Son, I wanted you to be happy. You were happy in your family, in the sky, in the mountains, in your poems, in your service. You chose the airborne troops, Ryazan, Syria, and then your final battle. You didn't give up, even when surrounded. You left this world as a true officer and a man should. For me, you were always a hero, but above all, you were my son.
I keep your poems, your letters, your name alive. Your daughter, Teimiya, is growing up, and your wife, Madina, and I will tell her about the kind of father she had. As long as I live, your name will be spoken – everywhere, in our family, in the hearts of people. Forgive me if I was ever too strict. Thank you for having been.
Happy birthday, son.
Eternal memory and eternal glory.
⚡️Two Majors
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