Liviu Andrei Gheorghe TP in Romania
Light from the shadows: a mother, a destiny, an inspiration
Every summer, my mother would ask me if I wanted to stay with them permanently. And every time, my answer was the same: I’m not ready. Years passed, and the cycle remained the same: school in Romania, sum- mers in Italy. Until one day, the day that changed everything. My moth- er was diagnosed with cervical cancer. You never truly understand fear until you realize you might lose your mother. Until then, she had worked tirelessly, neglecting herself, her needs, and her health. Life had been nothing but sacrifice, nothing but effort, and her body gave in. When I found out, my world collapsed. I couldn’t imagine life without her. And at that moment, I knew I couldn’t stay in Romania any longer. There was no more “I’m not ready.” I had to be there. The treatment period was brutal. Radiotherapy. Chemotherapy. My mother, the woman who had always been my pillar of strength, was now weak and drained of energy. I saw what exhaustion looked like. I saw what it meant to be brought to your knees. And yet, even in those moments, even at her weakest, she was the one giving us hope. That was when our family transformed. We learned to support each other differently and care for one another in a new way. We changed our diet, eliminated sugar, started eating healthy, and treat- ed our bodies with respect. And more than anything, we learned to live differently, not just for work or obligations, but for ourselves. When my mother recovered, she was not the same person. It wasn’t just a return to normal; it was a rebirth. We started using essential oils and supplements, maintaining a balanced lifestyle, and exercising. We allowed ourselves to dream bigger, to aim higher in every aspect of life. And my mother led the way. Today, looking back, I realized that my moth- er didn’t just give me life, she taught me how to live it. She showed me what sacrifice means, what strength truly means, and what it means to rise again. Because of her, I know life is about how much you live.
I don’t remember much about March 25, 2001, but I know that was the day I chose to be born. It was early, far too early, just seven months. I weighed only 960 grams, and the doctors didn’t give me much chance: too fragile, small, and underdeveloped to survive. But they didn’t know I had a mother who would keep me in this world through her presence, love, and strength. She was always there and, somehow, knew that I fought. My mother and father left for Italy when I was still a child. My father left when I was just one year and three months old, and my mother when I was four and a half. They left for me, for us, for a better future. At that age, I didn’t understand what it meant to leave everything behind, swal- low your tears, and go to a foreign country to give your child a better life. I stayed behind, but their hearts never truly left. The first money they earned was not for themselves, for clothes, better food, or an easier life. It was for us, for connection: a telephone, then a computer. They were far away, yet somehow, they were always close. Maybe the time we spent together was short; maybe I only saw them once a year for a few days, but when they were home, it felt like they had never left. Still, the hardest moments were always the goodbyes. I remember standing at the fourth-floor window, crying and calling out for them as they left. I watched them walk away, but I could never truly imagine the pain they felt inside. I was just a child, but they were parents, and their pain must have been infinitely greater. As I grew older, I began spending summers with them in Italy. I only saw them in the mornings, evenings, and weekends, but it was enough. Just knowing they were near was all I needed. I spent my days at a sum- mer center, where the language barrier didn’t matter—children don’t need words to understand each other. Over time, I learned Italian.
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EXAMPLE OF RESILIENCE
LETTERS TO MOTHERS
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