Some stories we choose to write.

 Others choose us.

Long before I drafted my first book, long before Elm Brook Manor or The Sandman’s Mark, there was a story unfolding quietly behind the scenes — a story with no clear beginning, no satisfying ending, and a thousand unanswered questions.

It is the story of my missing father.

I grew up without him.

 No birthday calls.

 No Christmas visits.

 No shared laughter, no awkward teenage conversations, no gentle guidance.

 Just a name, a handful of photographs, and a longing that clung to the edges of my life.

For decades, that longing became its own compass — unspoken but ever-present.

 And eventually, it pushed me to begin the search.

I created a Facebook page dedicated to finding him, piecing together clues and fragments of his life like a detective trying to solve a case with half the evidence missing:

 👉 https://web.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61571807092914

I even recorded a podcast episode — because some truths hurt too much to leave invisible. In it, I speak openly about the journey, the discoveries, and the heartbreak, including the incredible moment I found my half-brother and half-sister:

 🎧 Finding Gilbert Ross: My Journey to Reunite with My Lost Father

 👉 https://open.spotify.com/episode/1ykCwe1xFHoyFrJKXpgKpv

And if you’ve read my memoir, Growing Slowly Nowhere, you’ll already know how much this absence shaped my childhood — and the man I became:

 📘 https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DD4FLJH9

One of the greatest blessings of this search was meeting someone who shared my longing — Ilana, his daughter.

 We spoke often.

 We connected deeply.

 And before she passed away earlier this year, she told me something I will never forget:

“Don’t stop looking. Find him. For both of us.”

So I continue.

Because a story like this doesn’t end until it ends — and my heart refuses to believe the trail has gone cold.

One day, I will write the full journey.

 The tears.

 The searching.

 The hope.

 And, I pray, the final chapter — when I finally find him.

Until then, I share these memories — these photographs frozen in time — and I keep turning the pages of the greatest mystery of my life.

Because somewhere out there…

 he must be.

And I’ll keep searching until I find him.