For the past several weeks, Serhii Samoilenko has been savoring every second of his life. The 38-year-old has not felt as happy as he is now ever since the start of the full-scale invasion.

In August, he finally reunited with his two little daughters, whom he hadn't seen for over 1.5 years.

"They have grown taller and become a little more mature," Samoilenko told the Kyiv Independent.

"And I have missed that."

After escaping Russian occupation in Kyiv Oblast last March, Samoilenko put his wife and their girls — then four-year-old Solomiia and nine-year-old Yaroslava — on an evacuation train to Europe.

Samoilenko could not leave Ukraine with his family. All men of draft age (18-60), with some exceptions, are not allowed to leave the country during martial law as they may be called up for military service.

It was a heartbreaking goodbye, he says.

At that time, Samoilenko did not even think when he would be able to see his loved ones again. He just wanted them to be safe.

But days apart soon turned into months, with only short phone calls once a week giving him a chance to reconnect with his daughters.  

"We used to communicate when playing and doing something together," he says. "Phone calls can never replace that."

Thousands of families separated is one of the numerous bitter consequences of Russia's full-scale invasion.

According to the latest report by the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), over 6.2 million Ukrainian refugees have been recorded globally since Feb. 24, 2022.

Among them are primarily women, children, and the elderly.

To save their children from Russia's brutal attacks, numerous Ukrainian mothers took them to Europe and other countries far from the war zone while their fathers stayed in Ukraine.

For many Ukrainian men, school breaks have become the only time they can reunite with their kids. And this summer, many of them have met with their loved ones for the first time since the full-scale invasion started.

"I missed them a lot,” says Samoilenko. “I feared we became strangers or that they no longer needed me.”

"One and a half years is very long (separation) for parental relations," he adds.

Life is hopeless without them

Samoilenko's voice still trembles when he recalls saying goodbye to his family standing at a train station in Lviv in early March last year.

Seeking to flee the Russian war, they took a long journey to the western Ukrainian city after leaving their home, Nemishaieve village in Kyiv Oblast, which then was already occupied by Russian forces.

As their car broke down just on the outskirts of Lviv, Samoilenko called a taxi for his loved ones to send them to the train station as fast as possible, knowing how long the lines to get on the evacuation train were.

To Samoilenko's surprise, his wife called shortly, saying they got on the train and would depart soon.

"I took a taxi rushing to them but got stuck in a traffic jam a couple of kilometers from the station," Samoilenko recalls.

"I jumped out of the taxi and ran towards the station looking for them," he goes on.

He thought it could be the last time he saw his loved ones: "I was in shock and thought I would join the military and might not survive (at the front line), so I was saying goodbye for good.”

Lost and heartbroken, he wandered across Lviv for a couple of hours after the train with his dearest people had left. Samoilenko's family settled in Germany soon, and he began delivering humanitarian aid across Ukraine after being rejected to join Ukraine’s Armed Forces due to a high number of volunteers.

When he returned home upon the liberation of Kyiv Oblast in the spring of last year, Samoilenko felt incredibly lonely.

"Our house is relatively big, so it felt empty without them," he says.

https://kyivindependent.com/i-fear-they-no-longer-need-me-how-war-separated-ukrainian-fathers-kids/