On July 21, sixteen Greek soldiers finally made it home.
Their return didn’t make front-page news here in the States. There were no crowds, no big headlines. But in Nicosia, Cyprus, the atmosphere was heavy. Not dramatic, just steady. Focused. After fifty-one years, the remains of these men were repatriated and laid to rest with military honors.
They were members of ELDYK, the Hellenic Force in Cyprus, a Greek military unit stationed on the island to support its defense during a turbulent period. These sixteen soldiers died during the Turkish invasion of 1974. Some were buried at the Tymvos military cemetery in Nicosia. Others will be returned to their families in Greece. Not in the way anyone would have hoped, but returned nonetheless.
The Deputy Minister of National Defense, Thanasis Davakis, attended the ceremony. He gave a short speech, stood beside the coffins, and spoke with relatives of the fallen. One encounter stood out. He mentioned meeting the daughter of one of the soldiers. A woman who had grown up without a father. A woman who had waited, not knowing if her father had died in battle, been captured, or simply vanished. That kind of uncertainty doesn’t leave a family. It becomes part of their story.
The ceremony itself was quiet. A trisagion at the church of Hagia Sophia. A wreath-laying. A military burial. President Nikos Christodoulides of Cyprus was there. So were clergy, officers, government officials, and family members. No grand gestures. Just presence. Just recognition.
Here in Philadelphia, events like this don’t always make it into our daily conversations. But they’re part of our story too. Many of us have family who served. Some from Greece, some from Cyprus, some who remember 1974 firsthand. Others who only know the basics. Turkish invasion. Partition. Missing soldiers. Lost homes. Families scattered. Relatives who never came back.
This was a reminder that some of those soldiers had names. Faces. Parents who waited. Children who never knew them. Their remains had been identified, their stories confirmed. Now, they’re no longer among the missing.
Davakis said that their return is not only about closure, but about responsibility. Not to turn the past into a symbol, but to teach it plainly. These men didn’t die for abstract ideals. They died defending positions, following orders, trying to hold a line during one of the most chaotic and painful moments in modern Greek history.
It’s not about glorifying war. It’s about finishing a sentence that was left incomplete for too long.
For the families, this week was about presence. Being there. Saying goodbye properly. For the rest of us, especially those living outside Greece and Cyprus, it was a moment to remember that the stories we hear in our communities aren’t distant. They’re still unfolding.
Fifty-one years is a long time. But the truth still matters. And for sixteen soldiers, the story now has an ending.
They are home.
Image courtesy of the Hellenic Ministry of National Defense (Υπουργείο Εθνικής Άμυνας).
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