Separated by time and distance, two Ukrainian vets remembered

As the late-morning sun began to peek past the clouds, Cole Wasiuta knelt in the grass and took out a small box. While his cousins watched, he carefully lifted out five medals and a handful of military patches, tokens of his grandfather’s service in the Second World War.

One by one, he laid the medals and patches on the grave, beside his grandfather’s name: William “Gus” Wasiuta, 1923 to 2021. The man from Elma had volunteered for the Canadian Forces as a teen, served in Europe, came home, married his sweetheart, had two children and lived a blessed long life.

Now, every Remembrance Day since his passing, his children and grandchildren gather in his honour. This year, they began the day at East Kildonan Centennial Park, where they joined a small crowd solemnly standing before the cenotaph, reflecting on those who had served before.

“Knowing that we had a family member that was involved, and honouring the memory of those that served in the past and are now currently serving, is important, especially in a world where we make everything else more of a priority,” says Kylie Wasiuta Elias, Cole’s sister.

Then they went to the cemetery, carrying his medals. But this year, there was something a little different. Three more mementoes to display. Three more tokens of an extended family’s sacrifice. Old war and new; close family and distant. Memories of the past, mixed with the grief of the present.

In November 2024, to mark Remembrance Day for the Free Press, I travelled to Western Ukraine to meet Vasyl Vasyuta, a decorated Ukrainian soldier and his family. Vasyuta, who’s always lived in Ukraine, is a relative of the Manitoba Wasiutas: they share a name, just transliterated differently.

Although distance had separated the family for generations, they had maintained ties. Vasyl’s brother had kept in regular contact with Canadian veteran Gus Wasiuta while the latter was alive; the cousins had gotten to know each other on social media, using Google Translate to reach past the language barrier.

So, when Russia launched its full-scale invasion of Ukraine, the Wasiuta family in Manitoba was gripped with fear for their relatives in Ukraine. Vasyl was in the Ukrainian army, as were three of his sons.

It didn’t take long for the worst of those fears to become reality. On Feb. 27, 2022, just three days into the full-scale invasion, Vasyl’s youngest son, Dmytro Vasyuta, was killed while trying to rescue compatriots from an encirclement. At age 20, he was then the youngest of the fallen; reporters from across Ukraine and the world came to his funeral.

Their story struck me, painting a stark picture of how war and sacrifice binds generations. And when I left the Vasyuta’s home in Ukraine that day, Vasyl gave me several of Dmytro’s military patches. I promised I’d give them to their relatives here in Canada, to add to the stories of service they can pass down to their children.

Almost exactly one year and 8,000 kilometres later, those patches joined together. One set, belonging to a brave young man who was born in Canada, stepped up to defend Europe from the Nazis and survived; the other, to a young man who shared the same last name and bravery, but who will never get to grow old.

Gus never got to meet Dmytro, but they had much in common. And on Tuesday, their relatives in Manitoba got to lay their patches side-by-side on Gus’ grave, thinking about how much has been given, so that the world might someday know peace.

“It really puts it into perspective,” Cole says. “Even though we’d never met, he’s family. Knowing what they’re dealing with and what they’re facing … it hits home, and yet we’re still disconnected. We’re safe here. A majority of Canada, I think especially in the younger generations, takes a lot for granted, until you’ve experienced it or seen it.”

melissa.martin@freepress.mb.ca