simulionisDon't cry mother, that your young son
will go to defend his dear Homeland!
That, having fallen down like a mighty oak tree,
he will wait for the last day of his trial.

Ignas Šimulionis, our son, this song by Maironis is about you. On the 17th of December you turned 17. You were in the 12th grade at Vilnius secondary school Nr. 34. Your father, Rimantas, a Department head at the Vilnius Institute of Construction Planning, said that you were a perfect driver, and that you liked music, humor, and reading books. You were preparing to enter either Vilnius University or the Police Academy. You probably would have gone to the Academy, as your patriotic duty to your Homeland had been getting stronger as of late.
You also liked fishing. When you were in 11th grade, you wrote the most beautiful composition about a summer holiday that you had spent with your father. The teacher read it to the whole class. Who knows, you might have written someth¬ing that all of Lithuania would have read.
Mother Nijolė, an exile from the age of eight, and now a professor at a pedagogical school, said that you were obedient, careful and fair. You never left to visit your friends or go to school without kissing your parents goodbye. You weren't difficult to please, and you never asked your parents for extravagant clothes or an expensive radio. And not because you were poor - your parents had no regrets for their only son.
It was January 10th, 1991. Your mother, returning from school in the middle of the day, met you and your friends standing in the doorway. You were going to the television tower because the occupants' tanks were already there. When you returned in the evening, you said that the soldiers were good guys - they even let you touch a bullet-proof vest. You still didn't believe that their fingers could pull the trigger of a gun and shoot someone their own age. When the paratroopers took over the Press House, you rushed to the television tower again. You returned, but you had become more serious and intense. Then Saturday came. You were there again. You returned in the evening, and not even taking off your coat, you fell down on the sofa and stared at the ceiling, not uttering a word. You were thinking about something. That was your last stare that your parents memorized forever, and your last thoughts that only God knows.
After a few minutes you left again. Your mother just managed to say:
- Son, dad and I will come to meet you.
They came. Amidst the huge crowd chanting „Lietuva! Lietuva" (..Lithuania! Lithuania!") they couldn't single out your voice, as it had become one with the united voice of protest and freedom of all the patriots of Lithuania.

Lithuania, 1991.01.13 : documents, testimonies, comments. - Vilnius : State Publishing Center, 1992, p. 61.