Sergeant Levon Mirzoyan’s unfinished service
Editor’s note: This interview is the first in a five-part series by journalist Shushan Papazyan, with photography by Nare Arushanyan, documenting Armenian soldiers killed in service of their homeland. Through the memories of their families, the series explores their lives, dreams, loves and the enduring weight of grief. This exclusive series will be featured in the Armenian Weekly over the coming weeks.
On April 7, 2015, one year before the Four-Day War, 19-year-old conscript Levon Mirzoyan was killed during an Azerbaijani sabotage attempt at a military unit in Askeran, Artsakh.
“My brother was killed in peaceful conditions. His comrades tell us that thanks to Levon, a sabotage attack was prevented. He had been a soldier for only a year and had earned the rank of sergeant. Exactly 10 years ago, Levon was among the first casualties in our district. At that time, we were not yet ‘accustomed’ to hearing about fallen boys every day. It was very difficult for us to come to terms with his loss,” recalled Levon’s sister, Lyudmila Mirzoyan.
After the final depopulation of Artsakh in 2023, the Mirzoyan family was only left with a few photographs, some sports medals and a handful of soil from Levon’s grave to remember him.
“My parents took the death of their middle son very hard,” she explained. “After leaving Artsakh, they now live with my younger brother, David. To this day, I remember how we buried Levon. There was a large crowd. At that time, sabotage attacks were rare and we had no casualties. Exactly one year after our tragedy, the Four-Day War began. My father was a soldier. We feared he would not return from the front. He always said he had revenge to settle. Fortunately, nothing happened to him.”
“During those war days, my mother and I were in a very difficult state. Perhaps that was when we truly began to understand what war meant,” she said.
Lyudmila still struggles to hold back tears when she talks about life in Artsakh. Despite trying to overcome grief after her brother’s death, she says there was never peace.
“During all these years, we have been forced to struggle—not only in wartime but also in so-called peaceful conditions. We never lived peacefully. You cannot even imagine what it means to see your child hungry and exhausted.”
She was only 21 when she lost Levon, her closest sibling—the two were only two years apart.
“Levon never acted like the middle child. He always tried to take care of us. When he was killed, my other brother, David, was only 10. He probably did not understand what had happened,” she remembered.
In the living room, Lyudmila’s eldest daughter, Anna, played quietly. Lyudmila recalled how, 10 years ago, she had to explain Levon’s death to her younger brother, and later, pretend that the war had not started to ease her own children.
“On September 19, 2023, when the war started, my husband quickly put on his military uniform and went to the positions. I was left alone with my two children. We went down to the basement, where there were many children and everyone was crying. I had to tell my children we were playing a game and that everything would end soon.
A corner of the living room is dedicated to Levon, filled with photographs from his service years. His sister gazed at them often, alongside their childhood photos.
“What I regret most is that I no longer have the opportunity to visit his grave. Before leaving Artsakh, we visited him one last time. We never imagined we would be forced to leave.
Lyudmila remembered the last time she saw her brother—January 2015, when he returned home briefly. “The last time we hugged and kissed, he said there was little time left before he had to return and that everything would be as before.”
She learned the details of his death from Levon’s comrades.
“My brother was a position commander. He did everything to make us proud. His friends tell us that on the morning of April 7, he instructed them to call him if they noticed anything suspicious. Soon, Levon noticed the enemy trying to advance. He managed to prevent it, but was shot in the head in the process,” she explained.
Lyudmila was at home preparing dinner with her family when the news came.
“Dad came home, stood at the entrance, leaned against the door and exclaimed: ‘Levon!’ I cannot describe what we all felt. It was strange to know he was no longer there. I had bought new clothes to wear that day. I never wore them, and it took several years before I wore anything other than black.”
Levon dreamed of a sports career
In the Mirzoyan family, it was a tradition to celebrate Levon’s birthday with a big gathering. After Levon’s death, they would convene at the cemetery to honor him. Following the displacement, family members scattered, making commemoration difficult.
“It pains me that we have no place to lay flowers in Levon’s memory. On every occasion, we go to Yerablur to visit my cousin’s son’s grave, at least trying to ease our pain,” Lyudmila said.
Levon Mirzoyan was posthumously awarded the Medal for Combat Service by the Republic of Artsakh for completing his combat mission. During his service, he also earned the badges “Excellence of the Armenian Army,” “Brave Warrior” and “Best Soldier-Athlete,” which his mother now keeps with care.
According to relatives, Levon had hoped to continue his athletic career after service.
“He had many dreams. He wanted to do everything to make the family proud of him, to achieve great heights. Who would have thought it possible to lose one’s life in peaceful conditions?”
