The anniversary

Kris’s text popped up on my phone.

Kris:

“It’s our first anniversary"

Halina:

“????”

Kris:

“A year ago, we met on Zoom for the first time. I think I was wearing a green sweater.”

I searched my computer. There it was, the screenshot I took on October 22, 2023 of our first video call; Kris in his home in Warsaw, Poland, me in my home office in Nova Scotia. And yes, Kris was wearing a green sweater.

Halina:

“OMG!”

I stare at the screenshot, so happy he remembered, so happy he reminded me. My heart floods with joy at the memory of how Kris Zebrowski, my cousin and great nephew, contacted me for the first time, a year ago, when I was searching for my father, Stanislaw Zebrowski.

My mother had left my father when I was 4 years old. She cut him out of every picture in our photo albums. She never talked about him. When I accidentally found out Stanislaw was my birth father, she refused to discuss it. But that was the start of my 60 year search to find him, or at least to find out about him. It was a search that led me, in 2022, to his unmarked, pauper’s grave in Northern Ontario; a search which led to that video call last year, and to a meeting this year in Poland with Kris and other members of my father's family.

On a whim, a shot in the dark, I had written to the Municipal Offices in the village in north west Poland where my father was born. I was asking if anyone might remember the family name.

On October 14, 2023, I received long email with a key sentence: “My name is Krzysztof, and my grandfather's brother was Stanisław, he was your birth father. It is my utmost pleasure to meet you virtually!”

Since then, Kris and I have communicated almost every day. I went to Poland. I met his partner, Siarhei, and their dog Abricos. Through Kris I met many of my relatives. I was surrounded by family and welcomed with love. For the first time in my life I had a sense of belonging: I belonged to them. They were part of me.

This summer Kris and Siarhei came to Canada. We gave them a warm Nova Scotian welcome. We talked and talked and talked. We were amazed at our similarities, despite country and age differences.

One night, clearing up the dinner dishes, Kris and I burst into song, both singing at the top of our lungs Edith Piaf’s “Non, je ne regret rien.”

“Auntie where have you been all my life?”

“Looking for you.”

When it came time for them to leave, I wasn’t sad because, as Kris said, “Auntie, Uncle Neil, we will be back.” And we will return to Poland too. Perhaps for the second anniversary. Or even before then. Who knows where life takes us?