Mariya Gorpynych, age 76, lives alone in the village of Opytne in Eastern Ukraine. She holds a chick delivered by the Red Cross, a service for elderly people who live alone; it allows them to raise chickens for some income. She speaks with tears in her eyes about the death of her son, Victor, who died at age 48 when their home was hit by shelling in 2016. He died in her arms. Her husband died in the same year from a heart attack caused by the stress of living too close to the frontline. Mariya refuses to leave: “I have nowhere to flee, my whole family is buried here. I got used to the continued shelling.” Opytne is on the contact line, and only 43 people are left. (Photograph by Paula Bronstein)

Photojournalist Paula Bronstein has spent much of her career documenting the victims of forgotten wars, beginning with the more than 15 years she spent photographing families trapped in the endless turmoil of post-9/11 Afghanistan to more recently the heartbreaking plight of the Rohingya refugees caught in a constant and violent shuffle between Myanmar and Bangladesh.

“I look for the people that nobody knows, the people that are off the front pages after 24 hours, because the bomb goes off, the suicide bomber strikes somewhere else, and the attention shifts,” she said. “But there are always people left behind, whose lives are shattered and they have to deal with the aftermath. No one cares, no one cares who they are, but I do.”

In her latest project, Bronstein, a Massachusetts-born photographer now based in Asia, went behind the frontlines of the unrelenting war in Ukraine, largely absent from the headlines but raging nonstop since 2014, where she turned her lens on the plight of the elderly, scores of whom are cut off from society because of a battleground that is constantly shifting and where average Ukrainians are caught in the middle.

Mariya Ivanovna, age 85, has been living in a bomb shelter for four years. Her pension is the only source of income for the whole family. She has suffered two strokes. “I remember the WW2. There is no difference between these two wars,” she says. “Back then we had nothing to eat and nowhere to hide. It’s very difficult to call an ambulance. They don’t come because of the shelling.” (Photograph by Paula Bronstein)

Some 800,000 civilians live in homes on or near the frontlines of the war in the eastern part of the country, in a region known as Donbass. An estimated 100,000 live in the region, which many describe as the gray zone between positions staked out between the Ukrainians and Russian-led separatists seizing land in the former Soviet republic.

The ongoing conflict has resulted in a border that is often shifting, cutting right through neighborhoods on the outskirts of Donetsk, one of the major cities in the region. While it’s still possible for residents to cross, it’s tremendously difficult, given the shelling and gunfire that often breaks out in the middle of the day.

And for the elderly, crossing the border “is almost next to impossible,” Bronstein said. Though they can do it with help, many older residents of the region have been cut off from family and friends and now live alone — their only guests an occasional visitor from the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC), one of the humanitarian groups working in the region.

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Vladimir Mamoshyn, age 65, lives alone in the village of Avdiivka, about half a mile from the contact line where daily shelling and gunfire can be heard. His wife died in 2010 and his children abandoned him. In 2016, Vladimir lost his leg due to a vascular disease; the area has poor access to health care. After having a heart attack in 2017, he lost the use of his left hand. He now must use a wheelchair and depends on family and friends to help him. (Photograph by Paula Bronstein)

For some, it’s more than just the loss of companionship. In what is already an impoverished region, many elderly Ukrainians living in the area now controlled by pro-Russian forces have been cut off from their pensions — their main source of income. The Ukrainian government requires those who receive pensions to come across the border to pick up their checks — a journey that older residents often cannot make.

Others have lost their paperwork and other documents that offer proof of their pensions when their homes were burned or destroyed in the ongoing conflict. Some have suffered grievous injury, losing limbs to mines and bombs, while many are sick with debilitating illness, unable to leave the house and suffering, with little help.

Raisa Petrovna and her husband, Stanislav Vasilyevich, live in the village of Opytne, which is often caught in the crossfire between Ukrainian and pro-Russian separatists. Raisa, age 80, says that tanks were driving in front of their home in the first year of the war, and they have learned to live with the sound of shelling and gunfire daily. “We were sitting at home, screaming at them not to kill us!” Riasa said. Her husband was injured twice by shrapnel, once in his abdomen, requiring surgery. He has a hernia that keeps on growing, and he suffers from dementia. “I have to treat him as a child, I am so sorry that he is like this now, I am afraid to leave him even for a moment,” Raisa says. Their two sons live on the other side of the contact line, unable to visit often because of the war. (Photograph by Paula Bronstein)

“The elderly are certainly the most vulnerable, more vulnerable than children,” Bronstein said. “They are impoverished, they can’t get their pensions. … They live in the homes where they grew up or where they used to live with their families, and beyond all of that, they are alone.”

Last winter and again over the summer, Bronstein visited the region, where she crossed the frontlines to photograph elderly Ukrainians as they struggle in their day-to-day life. She found women living in homes with no heat, a man who had lost a leg and was fumbling in a wheelchair in his home alone. Many lived in squalor — with no money to repair their homes that had been damaged in the war. Some had lost toes to frostbite as they stood in line trying to cross the border, trying to get their pensions. Others had suffered multiple heart attacks because of the stress they live under.

Valentina Streltsova, age 68, lost her toes due to frostbite. She was found by International Red Cross workers, abandoned, and was taken to the Druzhkovka nursing home, which takes care of many elderly people who are left behind and poverty stricken due to the war. (Photograph by Paula Bronstein)

For some, their only joy is the few warm months of the summer, when they can go out into their gardens and tend to the berries and flowers that continue to blossom, season after season, after nearly five years of conflict. But as one woman gave her a tour, showing off all the beauty, Bronstein was startled to hear gunfire erupt nearby — a surreal reminder that her subjects reside in the center of a battlefield.

“She didn’t flinch,” Bronstein recalled. “Just like we have learned to ignore the sounds we hear every day, sirens and traffic, they are numb to it. … It’s their reality.”

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See the photo captions to read their individual stories.

A cemetery full of tombstones that have been hit by gunfire in a devastated neighborhood near the Donetsk airport. (Photograph by Paula Bronstein)

Raisa Andreyevna, age 72, walks home from a market area that was destroyed in 2015. She works as a janitor, which pays her enough to survive. Originally from Russia, she now lives alone. Her children and grandchildren have all moved away to safer areas. “I have told them to move out, I am not afraid to get killed because I have already lived my life, but they have children they have to take care of,” she says. Since the beginning of the war, she has been unable to receive her Ukrainian pension of $50 a month. (Photograph by Paula Bronstein)

Ivan Ivanovich, age 65, has no memory of how he lost his legs. He was brought to the Druzhkovka nursing home by health care workers, abandoned by his family; his daughter lives in Russia. He used to work as a coal miner. (Photograph by Paula Bronstein)

Aleksandra Losipovna, age 91, from Kramatorsk, was brought to the nursing home by her only relative, her grandson, because she lived alone and he was afraid she could harm herself. There was no medical treatment provided besides painkillers. Aleksandra died at the nursing home in May. (Photograph by Paula Bronstein)

Varvara Arkhipovna, age 81, lives alone on a small pension in the village of Katerinovka, which has a population of less than 300 because the village is exposed to sniper fire as the contact line is just over the hill. Varvara lives with a puppy that was recently given to her by a health worker in order to improve her mental health; she suffers from depression and high blood pressure. Her family lives in Pervomaisk, a village in the Lugansk region on the other side of the frontline. She hasn’t been able to see her three grandchildren in four years even though they live less than two miles away. (Photograph by Paula Bronstein)

Raisa Petrovna, age 80, can’t afford new shoes so she wears the same old slippers every day. She her husband, Stanislav Vasilyevich, live in the village of Opytne in the Donetsk region, which is often caught in the crossfire between Ukrainian and pro-Russian separatists. (Photograph by Paula Bronstein)

Galina Mikhailovna, age 79, waits for customers at a secondhand market on a cold February day in Donetsk. She sells used goods that others give to her. She has no pension; she never went to Ukraine to register. She says she can’t afford to travel to the other side every 57 days, which is required by the government. She is in debt and can’t afford to pay for heat and water in her apartment anymore. (Photograph by Paula Bronstein)

Mariya Gorpynych, age 76, lives alone in the village of Opytne. She speaks with tears in her eyes about the death of her son, Victor, who died at age 48 when their home was hit by shelling in 2016. He died in her arms. Her husband died in the same year from a heart attack caused by the stress of living too close to the frontline. Mariya refuses to leave: “I have nowhere to flee, my whole family is buried here. I got used to the continued shelling.” Opytne is on the contact line, and only 43 people are left. (Photograph by Paula Bronstein)

Valentina Iosipovna, age 76, lies in bed waiting for staff to feed her at the Druzhkovka nursing home. (Photograph by Paula Bronstein)

Ludmyla Vasilevna, age 61, lives alone with her cats and a few dogs in the village of Avdiivika, very close to the contact line, where most have left due to the danger. Her son is in the Donetsk People’s Republic military. Her house has been damaged over the years, but she refuses to leave as she has nowhere else to go. (Photograph by Paula Bronstein)

Lyudmila Yevgenievna, age 64, from Chasov Yar in the Donetsk region looks through a window. All her relatives have died and she was left alone and couldn’t take care of the household and herself. The owner of the nursing home takes her to church every Sunday. Evgeniy Tkachev founded the elderly care facility with his own money. He bought two private houses across the street from each other — one for women, another for men. He says: ”I evacuate elderly people from the stress affected by the conflict. These people have nowhere to go. They have relatives who do not care about them. They cannot stay at the state-run nursing home either.” Fifty percent of the elderly here do not receive their pensions due to the loss of the documents. (Photograph by Paula Bronstein)

Marina Zelenina, age 64, lives alone in Zolote, Luhansk region. She is suffering from a lung ailment and is barely able to walk around her small apartment. Her neighbor does her shopping for her. A local nurse, Elena, visits a few times per week to provide her with medical assistance, which is scarce so close to the fighting. Her mother died from a heart attack after she had undergone severe shock caused by the shelling at the height of the conflict. Marina’s family left the city looking for employment and safety, and she has not seen them since. Now she talks with them over Skype. (Photograph by Paula Bronstein)

Nikolay, age 61, is homeless — his house was destroyed in old Avdiivka. He sleeps in an underground bunker in one of the apartment blocks in the city. He barely survives, has lost his passport and has no money for medicine. He is unable to receive a pension since his documents were destroyed. He collects garbage for recycling to earn a little money. Over the winter he got frostbite in his feet, causing an infection that won’t go away; he is in constant pain. (Photograph by Paula Bronstein)

Natalia Reshetnyakova, age 83, holds a portrait of her late husband, to whom she was married to for over 50 years. She lives alone now in Katerinovka, Lugansk. The only thing left reminding her of her husband is this portrait. Fewer than 300 people live in Natalia’s village, which is exposed to sniper fire as the contact line is nearby. (Photograph by Paula Bronstein)

Nadezhda Borisovna, age 76, from Dobropolye, died in the nursing home from diabetes and obesity. Her body had to stay in the room with two other sick elderly women, untouched for about two days, as the nursing home had no resources to deliver it to the morgue and the health care institution from her native town was delayed in picking up her body. Her neighbors took the responsibility to organize a funeral service for her as she has no relatives. (Photograph by Paula Bronstein)

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