Papa

Yesterday, 28 December 2020, about 21:00 Moscow time, you left us.

Another priceless life taken by COVID-19. We’re still deeply shocked by how fast this tragedy unfolded. Less than a month ago you were perfectly sane and strong, albeit somewhat tired.

Then you were hospitalised into the Nikolayev hospital, whose hotline would repeatedly report a “good and steady progress” on you. Two weeks later you were dismissed from the hospital, but no one cared to explain to us you’d suffered 60% lung damage and still had developing pneumonia.

After that you spent a few days at home, weakening and fading, almost speechless, until we realised something was terribly wrong. Then we rushed you to a private hospital, for there was no single spot available in any of the regular ones.

We were told you were in a very, very poor condition. They gave you at most ten days. You managed to live eight.

You were just four months short of your 85. You passed away on the darkest day of the grimmest year. You went in peace and without pain. Perhaps, the best way to go.

You taught me everything I know. You were unparalleled in perseverance, meticulousness, and patience. You’ve been doing you morning exercises daily since you were 16. You once told me you trained your endurance by forbearing to eat and drink.

You’ve always been on the move. You left Kherson for Siberia in the 1960’s. Then, in the eighties, we moved to Tyumen. Then, on the break of the new millennium, to Belgorod. And, finally, to Peterhof four years ago.

You defended your Ph.D. thesis in 1980, then the well-earned doctoral thesis in 1992. I remember how proud you were of that achievement. You’ve written a few books, with the latest being the course of physics published last year. A decade ago you asked me to make a website on paradoxes of electromagnetic induction. To be honest, I can barely comprehend things it explains.

You never complained, even when everything would go haywire. You only regretted you didn’t get great-grandchildren. You’d never say an unnecessary word or ask an unnecessary question. And we could always rely on you, without a doubt.

We’re feeling sad and devastated at the moment. On the other hand, I think I’m lucky since this is the worst thing ever happened to me. Of course, it’s inevitable. And the life carries on, only without you.

Farewell, my beloved dad, the stubbornness champion. Rest in peace.

P.S.