The beginning of the war

I’m originally from Mariupol, but moved to Kyiv seven years ago. I still work and live here. My entire family remained in Mariupol, among them my two grandmothers, my older sister and my parents, who have been divorced for almost 17 years. After the war broke out, their survival pretty much depended on me.

On February 25, I called my mother and she said that Mariupol had been retaken by the Ukrainian army. I knew it would happen, because it happened 8 years ago, even though our army wasn’t as well equipped back then. I was somewhat relieved.

The next day, electricity was cut in the area where my father lived and we lost contact with him. The shelling couldn't have been worse, with shells falling 30 meters from the entrance to my dad's house. The street he lived on was shelled intensely from the very beginning.

Very soon they blew up the only operational bridge connecting the Left and Right Banks of Mariupol. Since my family has always lived on the Left Bank, the area closest to the DPR, they were essentially cut off from the world. The few evacuation buses only took passengers from the Right Bank.

On March 2, electricity went off in the entire city, so I lost contact with my mother, too.

Searching for dad

Occasionally, I managed to get through to my mom, but I knew absolutely nothing about my father and grandmother for the next 47 days.

My father suffered two strokes, and has been paralyzed for 9 years. The first one happened when I was 15 years old. Grandma raised him alone and when dad fell ill, she once again became his carer. The damage from the first stroke was manageable, only the left side of his body became paralyzed. But overtime, he succumbed to severe depression, gave up and became completely bedridden. At the same time, he has an absolutely clear mind and an excellent memory.

I did everything I possibly could to find my father. I contacted local volunteers, but there was nothing they could do. On March 1, I called the police, they promised to pass the request further but honestly admitted they couldn't promise anything – because most people who leave the Left Bank are already dead.

While looking for dad, I found out that his house had partially burned down. I was terrified that he and grandma burned down with it. I even started discussing with my therapist how to accept the death of your loved ones when you don’t know anything about their fate at all.

Let's face facts – my grandmother turned 88 on March 8, my father is a bedridden stroke patient. We’re not even talking about a direct hit here. One explosion in close enough proximity would’ve been enough. So I was sure they were both dead.

April 19 marked my father’s birthday, and it also marked 52 days since we last spoke. That day, I received a message on Viber that my dad was alive and that he had been evacuated to some medical facility in Novoazovsk. I completely broke down because it was an absolute miracle.

I got a chance to call my dad and talk to him for about three minutes. And after that I was told that he was being transferred to a hospital in Makiivka, in the Donetsk region, for a permanent stay. He was supposed to let me know as soon as he arrived there.

But a week went by with no news. I started looking for him again and that's how I found out there's now a "Ministry of Health of the DPR". Through them, I got the contact information of the hospital where my father was sent to, and began to look for people who could visit him. Because of poor connection, we could only exchange voice messages.

15 days later, my mom got in touch with me and said it was her who evacuated my father to Makiivka. She went to his house several times to look for him, but couldn't find him anywhere.

Until she came one last time and found him in the hallway.

She came in with a flashlight and saw dad. He was lying on a mattress on a concrete floor, half-dressed and dirty. No wonder – who would want to take care of a paralyzed stranger? Mom visited him several more times, brought him things, food.

On April 17, she found some volunteers and sent dad with them to Novoazovsk. Before they left, she gave him a copy of his passport, which she'd found in her documents, and wrote my phone number on it. Saying her goodbyes, she added, “Oleg, don’t worry, Yanina and I will find you no matter what.”

She is definitely a hero. Before the war, it was a half an hour walk from her house to my dad's. How she managed to make her way there over and over again during the war, I can’t even imagine.

Dad's evacuation

First, I managed to evacuate my mother, sister and grandmother from Mariupol to Riga. They had to go through Donetsk, where they stayed for three days. On their last day there, mom visited dad in the hospital. So she kept her promise.

The thought that my father could die at any moment was killing me. But I didn't dare to evacuate him. After I took all the women in our family out of Mariupol, I felt exhausted and depressed. But then I managed to find my second wind.

At first I turned to local carriers who evacuated people with disabilities, but their services cost a fortune, thousands of dollars. Then I decided to get in touch with Helping to Leave. I tried to contact you once before, when my mother was in Donetsk, but at that time I was told it wouldn't be possible to help with leaving the territory of the DPR. But I took my chances and tried again.

I didn’t get any response for a while. I knew this was due to the massive amount of requests, but I needed those answers so I kept writing again and again through every possible channel.

Finally, the volunteers answered that they could help me, but first they needed to take my dad to Ukrainian territory. I stayed in touch with the wonderful coordinator Lisa, who was completely immersed in my case. She put me in touch with volunteers, and I also found someone myself. Plenty of nurses, carriers and volunteers got involved to help get my dad out of the hospital in Makiivka. Then the volunteers drove to Berdyansk, where they got stuck for several days. Which turned out to be a blessing in the end, because the trip took a toll on dad. He rested there a bit and then finally came to Kyiv.

Meeting in Kyiv

A week before dad's arrival, I found a good nursing home for him and we agreed that he would move there. I was worried sick about that.

Then dad arrived, and they immediately took him in, found him a bed and washed him. He was wary at first, but then realized that he was finally at a place where he was really taken care of, where he could relax. He apologized to me and started crying.

Dad also got frostbite after all the time he spent in the hallway, so his toes had to be amputated.

Right now, it's incredibly difficult for my dad to talk about what we went through. But he promised to tell me everything one day. Because his experience is truly unique and exceptional.