My grandfather Andrei, nicknamed Phoenix for stepping up in hopeless situations, is remembered in poor light. That doesn’t do justice for the world he lived through.

Born as a Jew in Nazi Germany in 1939, at only one day old, his mother left the hospital on a boat to Estonia.

That boat would be the last one to leave Germany without being turned around.

They made it to Russia, and the family was split, with Andrei being left with his father. At age five, his mother went to Israel and hired a man to kidnap him; but since Andrei no longer knew his own mother, he didn’t cooperate. Clinging onto a pole at a train station screaming for help until others intervened, he was left on his own to make his way back to his father. Whether it was at this point or later, Andrei developed several mental illnesses, including PTSD and bipolar disorder, but kept it together.

He grew up and got a PhD in physics, and his research contributed to some of the earliest flash drives. His wife had a post-doc in physics, and they lived in a research town where their two kids would get the most excellent education. But due to the lack of employment opportunities, they looked elsewhere.

A few years before the USSR collapsed, they immigrated to Italy, then Spain, and finally landing in Canada. My uncle describes my mother as cursing the family out for betraying the USSR during this time. But for Andrei, he was doing anything he could for his family.

Andrei became depressed; years later, they found electric shock therapy worked for him. He would phase in and out of it, attempting to startup various businesses… Until one day he snapped.

He was put in a mental institution for 6 months, and upon release, my grandmother described him as aging 15 years. His red hair went entirely grey. His face was old.

While my parents worked, Andrei took great care of my siblings. But retiring peacefully was out of the question; Andrei wanted more. He left his wife, sold his assets, and bought a huge truck. He drove it down to my parents place, ripped up their lawn, disappeared for a few months, showed up at my uncle’s place in the US, ripped up their lawn, and proceeded to do this on and off sporadically for around a year. Everyone disavowed his actions, but I felt differently.

One day, he called me up to work on his new business in the basement of a house he was renting. Clearly off the rails, and told me to hide under my mother’s skirt when I declined. A few months later, he was hit by a car while crossing the highway at night.

My mother said she felt bad for whoever hit him.

But I still feel differently. People didn’t appreciate Andrei. He lived a life of pushing forwards, despite his background - footsteps I respect and intend to closely follow. He helped his family. He never gave up. He didn’t waste his final years in bed. He drove a truck until his adventures killed him.

Andrei’s passion is commendable. He turned bipolar disorder into a pendulum for swinging forwards. He may have gone insane, but there were never excuses. That’s what made him great. Let this post be a memory for that.