I made a vow to myself: if my mum’s no longer here, I’ll follow her…
I was only a few years old when I first heard the word “challenge.” Back then, I didn’t understand what it meant, but now, at 44, I can confidently say my life has been a series of challenges, each more difficult than the last. If it weren’t for my mum, I would have given up long ago. Without her, I’m no one. So, I made a decision, which might sound crazy to some, but it’s mine: if she goes, I go too.
My name is Sophie. When I was born, the doctors gave my parents no hope. I had a rare form of systemic arthritis, which would gradually restrict my joints more each year, taking away my freedom of movement, abilities, and hopes. When I was three, I realised I was different. Other kids could run, jump, and climb. Meanwhile, I sat on a bench and watched. Sometimes, I’d try to stand up, but the pain would pierce through me until I cried.
My parents decided against having another child. They dedicated their entire lives to me. Dad, a brilliant mathematician, left his academic career and took on any job he could find so Mum and I never wanted for anything. He worked twenty-hour days to buy us two flats—one to rent out and one to live in. He built a holiday home and became a co-owner of a company with his brother, all to secure my future.
He passed away when I was twenty, leaving Mum alone. The only one left. Strong. Unyielding. A beautiful woman who never complained. Our days began with exercises, followed by breakfast, treatments, therapy, doctor visits, translations, meetings, phone calls, consultations—she was by my side through it all. Not for praise, not out of obligation, but out of love.
I studied from home. Eventually, I mastered English, German, Italian, and French. I work as a freelance translator. Online. Occasionally, I get invited to seminars, and Mum is always with me. We are one. She’s not just a mother; she’s my entire universe.
Yes, I’m in pain. Yes, every movement is an effort. No, I will never have children. I won’t marry. I won’t play Chopin. I won’t become a doctor as I once dreamed. But I live because Mum lives.
We never talk about the future. It’s our unspoken agreement. I know that one day she will go. Life is like that. And I know my cousin Emma will be tasked with taking care of me—Mum has discussed everything with her, organised the paperwork, the will, the flat. I found out by accident. But I didn’t say anything because if I spoke, I’d have to tell the truth. And the truth is: I don’t want to live without Mum.
I’m not afraid of pain. I’m not afraid of loneliness. I fear the emptiness. And that emptiness will come with her last breath. Then, I’ll make my choice. There are many ways to leave this world with dignity, without pity, without a scene.
But as long as Mum is here—I’ll keep living. For her. For her smile. For her to know every morning that I’m still here. That’s the whole point.
