Jenya and Egor - Christmas 2022 and last week
It's been a while since I last updated you on the book I've been writing, tentatively titled "My Ukrainian Daughter".
For those who don't recall, I started writing the book in late 2023 to capture some of the magic I experienced with Jenya and her son Egor, who spent a year in Roanoke as refugees from the war in Ukraine. My hope was to get the book published and that any proceeds from sales of the book could help defend Ukraine or, eventually, help rebuild it.
When I put them on a plane back to Ukraine in August 2023, I had no idea that their story was really just beginning—or how it might end. I had envisioned a happy ending for them, and the book. We're still waiting for that happy ending. In the meantime, here's an update.
Jenya and Egor were excited to be reunited with their family in the late summer of 2023, especially Jenya's husband Maksym, her mother, sister, and the rest of the family, including Maksym's parents.
They found a nice apartment in Zaporizhzhia, a city in southeastern Ukraine. The war was uncomfortably close, but they seemed relatively safe. Jenya worked from home, and Egor returned to school. Egor studied hard and developed an interest in IT and robotics, eventually becoming the youngest member of his school's robotics team, which competed against other schools. He trained in Taikwondo, and earned his blue belt. I sent him a guitar for Christmas, and he started taking lessons. Despite the war raging around them, they seemed to be thriving. Life was beginning to feel almost normal again. But normal doesn't last long when your country is at war.
In 2024, American support for Ukraine became a major issue in the U.S. presidential election. The Biden administration provided substantial financial and military assistance, but never enough to give Ukraine a decisive advantage. Much the same could be said for Europe and NATO. Everyone seemed to be hedging their bets, providing enough support to keep Ukraine fighting but holding back from doing what might be necessary to win.
Trump promised he could end the war in a single day. Some people believed him. I didn't. To me, it sounded like another empty campaign promise designed to win votes from Americans who were tired of hearing about the war. Jenya wasn't particularly interested in American politics. She just wanted the war to end so her family could live in peace.
By 2025, drones had become a dominant feature of the battlefield and attacks on Ukrainian cities and infrastructure like power and water plants. They brought death and destruction to places once considered relatively safe. Meanwhile, American news coverage increasingly focused on the war in Gaza and other conflicts. The war in Ukraine dragged on, with no clear end in sight, and much of the world seemed to be losing interest.
Following Trump's inauguration, his administration began shifting American policy toward Russia and away from Ukraine, increasing pressure on the Ukrainian government while reducing U.S. support.
Jenya continued working, Egor continued studying, and life went on. But the war was getting closer, and it was becoming obvious that the happy ending we hoped for would not be coming anytime soon.
Russian attacks on Ukraine's energy infrastructure brought increasingly frequent power outages. There were many days without electricity or heat. As fall turned into winter, everyday life became harder and harder.
Then, in the opening days of 2026, things took a terrible turn. Frequent power outages had damaged the water heater in their apartment. Maksym went to a hardware store to buy parts to repair it. While he was out, he was conscripted into military service. He barely managed to send Jenya a text message telling her he wouldn't be coming home. Just like that, her husband was gone and headed for the front lines of the war. Jenya called Maksym's father and asked if he could help repair the water heater. He traveled two hours to their apartment, fixed the problem, and headed home. He made it about a block before suffering a massive heart attack. He died that day.
Maksym couldn't even attend his own father's funeral. His mother, Jenya, Egor, and the entire family were devastated. I can only imagine the grief they experienced, made even worse by the circumstances of a war that had already taken so much from them.
In early summer, Jenya's landlord knocked on her apartment door. He was there to evict them. The landlord's father's home had been destroyed in a Russian attack, and his father needed somewhere to live. That meant Jenya and Egor had to leave. They were given just two days to pack up and move. Think about that for a moment. A mother and her young son, already separated from their husband and father, suddenly had 48 hours to find a new home in a city under attack.
Somehow, Jenya managed to do it. She found another apartment, although it was smaller and more expensive than the one they had been forced to leave. Such is life when your country is at war.
By the end of summer, Zaporizhzhia had become increasingly dangerous. Russian forces were pounding the city day and night with drones, missiles, and glide bombs. Glide bombs are World War II era conventional aerial bombs modified with wings and guidance systems, allowing Russian aircraft to launch them from considerable distances. They can carry enormous explosive payloads, and their impact on apartment buildings and other civilian structures is devastating.
Jenya and Egor decided they had to leave again. This time, they moved to Dnipro, farther from the front lines and, they hoped, beyond the reach of the the glide bombs. Shortly after their move, Jenya received horrifying news. The apartment building they had been evicted from had been destroyed in a Russian attack. They had lived on the fifth floor. That was where the strike hit. Imagine learning that the building you called home just months earlier had been destroyed. Imagine thinking about your former neighbors, many of whom may have been killed or injured. Now imagine realizing that, had your landlord not evicted you, you and your child might have been there when the bomb hit. The eviction that had seemed so cruel and unfair had saved their lives. How does anyone begin to process something like that?
This is the reality of war. Not the maps and arrows we see on television. Not the political arguments or the endless debates about military aid. It's ordinary people trying to go to work, send their children to school, fix a water heater, and find a safe place to sleep. It's families being torn apart, homes being destroyed, and lives being changed forever.
As fall turns to winter, I find myself increasingly angry and disappointed with recent events and policy decisions that align the U.S. with Putin and Russia. To myself and many others, that represents a profound betrayal of American values and a country fighting for its independence and survival. It's hard for me to understand how America, a nation that prides itself on defending freedom, can turn away from people fighting so desperately for their own.
Ukrainians are remarkably strong and proud people. But strength and pride alone won't keep the lights on, heat their homes, or stop Russian bombs. They need our support. They need our prayers. And I believe they desperately need a change in American policy.
So, what about the book? When I started writing “My Ukrainian Daughter”, I thought I was telling the story of a remarkable Ukrainian mother and son who came to Roanoke, became part of our lives, and eventually returned home to rebuild their own. I thought it was a story about friendship, family, and the kindness of strangers. It still is. But it has also become a story about courage, loss, uncertainty, and the extraordinary resilience of ordinary people caught in circumstances they never asked for and cannot control.
I haven't finished writing it because their story isn't finished. Will it have a happy ending? I don't know anymore. But I continue to hope and pray that it will. Winter is coming.
This is the toughest blog post I've ever written. These aren't strangers in a faraway country. They're people who took me into their lives and their culture in ways large and small. They matter and I worry about them every day. Many others do as well. May God bless them and keep them, and heal them and their nation of the ongoing trauma and loss they are dealing with.
Have you or someone in your family ever served in a war or lived through circumstances like those Jenya and Egor are experiencing? If war came to our shores, would you leave to protect your family, or stay to defend your country? What would you do if you had to make that choice?
I'd really like to hear your thoughts in the comments. I hope we can have a thoughtful, respectful, and productive conversation.
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Thank you for reading—and for walking this road with me. And please, go vote.
