Aleksandr Dulichenko

It’s hard to believe we’re saying goodbye to Aleksandr. He left us peacefully on March 8th, 2026, at the age of 84, leaving behind a world a little less vibrant, a little less curious, and a whole lot less filled with his infectious laughter. Most people knew him as Professor Dulichenko, a brilliant linguist and the guiding force behind the Slavic Studies department at the University of Tartu, but to those of us who loved him, he was simply Aleksandr – a warm, witty, and endlessly fascinating man. I remember once, years ago, he was explaining the nuances of a tiny, almost forgotten dialect to me, and he got so animated, gesturing wildly with his hands, that he nearly knocked over a stack of books! He just grinned, apologized with a twinkle in his eye, and launched right back into the intricacies of the language. That was Aleksandr – passionate, a little chaotic, and utterly captivating. Aleksandr’s life was a testament to his love of language and connection. His dedication to Esperanto, and his deep dive into those fascinating Slavic microlanguages, wasn’t just a career; it was a genuine passion. He believed in the power of communication, in bridging divides, and in understanding the beauty of every voice, no matter how small. He poured that belief into his students, inspiring generations to appreciate the richness and complexity of the world’s languages. And he was a devoted family man. He cherished his wife, Elena, with a quiet, steadfast love, and his pride in his children and grandchildren shone through in everything he did. Family dinners at his place were legendary – filled with lively conversation, delicious food (he made the *best* borscht!), and that characteristic Dulichenko warmth. Beyond his academic pursuits, Aleksandr found joy in simple things: a good book, a challenging crossword puzzle, a walk in the Estonian countryside, and a lively debate about… well, just about anything! He had a mischievous sense of humor and a knack for finding the absurd in everyday situations. He collected antique maps, fascinated by the stories they told of exploration and discovery. He was a generous friend, always ready with a listening ear, a helpful suggestion, or a perfectly timed joke. He had a way of making you feel seen, understood, and valued. Aleksandr’s legacy isn’t just in the academic papers he published or the students he mentored. It’s in the countless lives he touched with his kindness, his intelligence, and his genuine love for humanity. He will be deeply missed by his wife, Elena, his children, grandchildren, colleagues, and all who were fortunate enough to know him. May his memory be a blessing, and may his passion for language and connection continue to inspire us all.