There were a lot of miracles in this story.
In the first days of the war, dad absolutely did not want to leave Irpin — it was cozy, homey, comfortable, he did not hear volleys and explosions, he wanted to get a haircut and to finish typing the book. Later, understanding the way events were unfolding, after the detonation of the bridges and Hostomel’s hell, I categorically demanded him to pack a bug-out bag and to keep the phone near all the time so as not to miss the Zero Hour. For three days I did not have the approval of evacuation, on the fourth I have been called and given 10 minutes to pack. Answering my call, dad said — well, you should have told me that was an emergency, I had not packed yet. That was the first time I have lost the remnants of my good manners and tried to explain what will happen if he doesn’t pack in 10 minutes.
In half of an hour, he rushed through bumblefuck land to Kyiv, and over the car, the aircraft fighter was hovering.
Obviously, dad had put in the suitcase three jackets, but had forgotten toothbrush and paste, glucometer and passports.
When I met him, he asked in surprise, why I cannot dart back for passports by taxi. The next day instead of Poland he went to Lviv, as I was afraid to send him abroad without documents by himself.
Today he had gone for a walk around the city, passing the philharmonic hall, and was surprised by the absence of concerts.
He came back home with the bucket of pierogi given by the volunteers on Rynok square.
Tomorrow my sister is coming and taking him to Toronto.
There he will get his haircut and visit a concert.
Here for obvious reasons, I can not tag everyone whose feat helped to save my father, to transport him safely, and to settle comfortably in Lviv, but a bit later I will do this.
I don’t know where and when we will meet again.
But I do know whose nervous system I have.
The nerves of steel are definitely the key to victory.
Ukrainian Text by Maxim Khramov. Translated into English by Ukrainianvancouver team – March 11, 2022