POST 7: FINDING DAD

In 2007, I received a message from my father. It was out of the blue, after years of silence, and for a moment, I didn’t know how to feel. Part of me wanted to brush it off—What do you want? You weren’t around when I needed you. But another part of me felt that strange spark, that pull I’d felt as a kid, wondering what it might be like to have him in my life. I stared at the screen, not knowing what to say, feeling every ounce of anger, curiosity, and confusion rise to the surface. In some twisted way, it was like I Hope You’re Happy—a double-edged sentiment that summed up everything I felt toward him.

He reached out to remind me that I had a younger brother and encouraged me to connect with him. I took his advice, and soon enough, I’d made contact with my brother. As the months passed, my sister and brother convinced me to go to Moscow to see our father in person. Part of me wanted to, but another part held onto the anger. I had an entire lecture planned out in my head, every word laced with years of resentment and pain. I imagined standing there, looking him in the eyes, and finally letting him know how much he’d hurt me, how his absence had left a hole I’d been trying to fill my entire life.

I was ready. Ready to confront him, ready to finally get the answers I’d been waiting for. But as I walked up those four flights of stairs to his apartment, the anger started to fade, replaced by a knot of nerves. I didn’t know what I’d say when I saw him, or even if the words I’d prepared would still come out. But I knew this was a moment I’d remember for the rest of my life.

I stomped up those stairs, lingering behind my siblings, ready to burst into flames with all the anger I’d been holding onto for so many years. My mind was racing with every word I’d planned to throw at him, a lifetime of pain packed into a single speech. But when they knocked, and he opened the door, everything changed.

He was just standing there, a man I barely knew, with tears in his eyes. He didn’t say a word; he just wrapped all three of us in a bear hug. We stood there in the doorway, huddled together, and for the first time in my life, I felt that empty place inside me fill up. The anger that had been burning so fiercely vanished, replaced by a wave of love so overwhelming it was almost too much to bear. In that moment, I felt like I finally had the father I’d been waiting for all my life.

My daughter was with me, and after he let us go, he bent down, looked her in the eyes, and asked her name. ‘I’m your grandfather,’ he said, and as he picked her up, she hugged him back. It was such a tender moment, a scene I’d never imagined but had dreamed of for so long. We all just stood there, not ready to let go, until his wife gently reminded us to come inside.

That visit felt like Christmas had come early. We talked and laughed, covering so many things in the little time we had. I wanted to know everything about his life, and I wanted to share mine. I thought, Next time, I’ll get him to myself; next time, I’ll finally hear his story. But that chance never came.

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