There are moments in life when things don’t go the way I planned—when something falls apart, when I feel overwhelmed, or when I question whether I have the strength to keep going.
And in those moments, I think of my father.
My father immigrated from the Soviet Union in 1989, as the Iron Curtain was lifting. He left behind everything he knew in Odessa—the “Pearl by the Sea,” a beautiful city along the Black Sea, full of life, history, and connection to the world beyond. He left behind his past, his friends, and the life he had already built.
He did it for one reason: to give his children a better life. A life with freedom. A life with opportunity.
He came to the United States with nothing—no connections, no safety net—just responsibility and determination.
He worked whatever he could to build a life for us. He drove a cab. He worked as a limo driver. Long hours, exhausting days—doing whatever it took to provide, to move forward, to create something from nothing.
I remember when my brother was born. I would take him out for walks so my father could sleep before his night shifts.
Sleep was a luxury he rarely had.
One day, he came home with an injured back after lifting heavy suitcases while working. The pain was so severe he could barely walk.
And I will never forget what I saw.
To get home, he had to cross the railroad tracks—but he couldn’t stand upright. So he got down on his knees and slowly made his way across, just to get back home.
That image stayed with me.
It still does.
There is another story in my family that I believe shaped him just as deeply.
When my grandfather was in the hospital, my father had to leave him to go to work. And when he came back, his father had already passed away.
He never got to say goodbye.
My grandfather himself had endured unimaginable loss—his first family was killed during the war. And yet, he continued. He rebuilt. He moved forward.
I believe that strength was passed down to my father.
Because no matter what he went through, he always carried one belief:
Everything will be okay.
Years later, while working in a hematology-oncology clinical research unit, I met a patient I will never forget.
He was going through chemotherapy when I first met him. I came to speak with him about a clinical trial. He listened quietly, taking everything in.
He chose to move forward.
After he enrolled, we spoke often. He told me he had been a photographer—someone who saw life through moments, through beauty, through places he had traveled.
He knew he would be in the hospital for a long time.
So he brought his photographs with him.
He covered the walls of his room with images he had taken—places, memories, pieces of his life beyond illness. What was once a sterile space became something alive.
A story.
A life still unfolding.
A future he still believed in.
He, too, was an immigrant. Different background. Different life. And yet… so familiar.
He believed he would get through it.
“I’ll finish treatment,” he told me. “And then I’ll travel again. I want to take more pictures of beautiful places.”
There was no hesitation in his voice. Only vision.
He had hope. He had a future in his mind that still existed beyond that hospital room.
And no matter what he was going through, he would always say:
“Everything is fine. Everything will be okay.”
And in that moment, I realized—
I had heard those words before.
From my father.
The same belief.
The same quiet strength.
The same decision to keep going, no matter what.
In my life, there are moments I know I would not have overcome without what my father gave me—not materially, but internally.
His resilience became mine.
His mindset became my foundation.
And today, I see the results of everything he worked for.
My sister got into law school.
My brother became a successful dentist at a young age.
And I built my path in clinical research—helping bring treatments to patients who are still holding on to hope.
Different paths.
One foundation.
The belief he gave us—
that no matter what happens, everything will be okay.
And now, it is something I carry forward.
Something I want to pass on to my daughter.
Because sometimes, what carries us forward is not certainty—
It’s belief.
Papa… thank you so much.
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This Post is republished on Medium.
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Photo credit: iStock
