I promised myself that if my mother were to leave this world, I would follow her…
I was only a few years old when I first heard the word “ordeal.” At that time, I didn’t understand what it meant. But now, at 44, I can confidently say that my entire life has been a series of challenges, each one tougher than the last. If it weren’t for my mother, I would have surrendered long ago. Without her, I’m nothing. So, I’ve made a decision that might seem crazy, but it’s mine: if she were to go, I would as well.
My name is Sophie. When I was born, the doctors gave my parents no hope. A rare form of systemic arthritis that would, year after year, increasingly restrict my joints, robbing me of my mobility, abilities, and hopes. I was three when I realized I was different. Other children could run, jump, and climb on playgrounds. But I just sat on a bench and watched. When I tried to stand, pain pierced me to tears.
My parents gave up on having another child. They devoted their entire lives to me. My father, a brilliant mathematician, abandoned his academic career to take on any job he could find, so that my mother and I would never be in need. He worked twenty hours a day to buy us two houses: one to rent out and the other for us to live in. He built a cottage, became a co-owner of a business with his brother—everything to secure my future.
He passed away when I was twenty. Mom stayed. Alone. She’s strong. Unyielding. A beautiful woman who never complains. Every morning starts with exercise, followed by breakfast, treatments, doctor visits, phone calls, consultations—she’s by my side through everything. Not for recognition, not because she has to, but because she loves me.
I was homeschooled. Later, I learned English, German, Italian, and French. I work as a translator. Online. Occasionally, I’m invited to seminars, and mom is always by my side. We are inseparable. She’s not just my mother; she’s my entire world.
Yes, it hurts. Yes, every movement is an effort. No, I will never have children. I won’t get married. I won’t play Chopin. I won’t become a doctor, as I once dreamed. But I live because my mother lives.
We never speak about the future. It’s our unspoken agreement. I know that one day she will leave. That’s how life is. And I know my cousin, Amy, will be the one to care for me—mom discussed everything with her, arranged the documents, the will, the house. I stumbled upon this by accident. But I didn’t say anything. Because if I did, I would have to tell the truth. And the truth is: I don’t want to live without my mom.
I’m not afraid of pain. I’m not afraid of loneliness. I’m afraid of emptiness. And that emptiness will come with her last breath. Then I’ll make my choice. There are many ways to leave with dignity—without pity, without drama.
But as long as mom is with me—I will keep living. For her. For her smile. For her to know each morning that I’m still here. That’s the whole point.
