It was 2070, and I was offered the most remarkable opportunity any human could ever receive. Yet I was frozen with indecision and heartache.

Back then, in the most revolutionary era of advancement humanity had ever seen, I was given the chance to be part of a team of seven astronauts who would undertake the first-ever manned mission to Mars.

As one of SpaceD’s 12 most acclaimed space physicists, I was continually striving to improve my knowledge and skills, to fuel my curiosity and spark my passion.

And Mama was ill. Really ill.

Two years earlier, when I was 25, she had been diagnosed with cancer. To my greatest relief, it was believed to be non-invasive. However, ten months before 2070 arrived, the diagnosis proved to be wrong; it was invasive after all. This was discovered when she became drastically ill, and I stayed by her side for months without going to work. However, when she started recovering after treatment, no matter how slowly, she insisted that I return to work, to the place where I had found my passion.

It was in June 2070 that her health declined once again; the cancer had returned. And I was about to sign the final documents for the mission to Mars.

Every muscle in my body ached with nervous tension. Maybe I should leave, I thought. Mama had always been the one encouraging, motivating and supporting me to follow my wild dreams, dreams of becoming an integral part of every new step humanity took into the vast universe and beyond. My heartbeat doubled and adrenaline rushed through my veins as I imagined being part of this historic achievement: setting foot on Mars.

But when I returned home, that same heart seemed to drop into my shoes. My heartbeat doubled again, this time not with excitement, but with deep sorrow, partly mixed with self-reproach. I saw Mama lying in bed, the house wrapped in eerie silence. She seemed at peace, though in pain; content, yet lonely.

Every day, I would tell her about everything that had happened and how my performance at work was improving. Each day, she simply smiled, but she grew weaker and paler with every passing day. Sometimes, I was so exhausted when I got home that I would greet her and then fall asleep, forgetting the docbots’ daily visit. My cat would remind me by repeatedly meowing and nudging me towards the door.

Two days passed in utter confusion until I found myself standing outside the SpaceD Research and Aeronautics site. I had to submit the documents that day.

The documents remained in my workbot store application as I worked throughout the day. At 11:30 pm, it was time to leave. Suddenly, my hands moved towards the store application on the screen… and stopped.

Images of my childhood came rushing back like waves crashing onto the shore. It was as though God had placed a mirror before me. I remembered clinging to Mama on countless occasions, one particular moment standing out vividly in my mind: when a small earthquake had struck and she had responded to my panic by holding me tightly, answering my cries with the quiet assurance that I was safe.

Whenever I had been frightened or alone, in every one of those vulnerable moments, I saw the same figure in my memories, the one who had selflessly chased away every worry – Mama.

Then the image of her lying alone in bed flashed before me, and my heart sank with such pain and agony that I thought it would be crushed inside my chest.

I stood up and left. When I reached home, I ran to her room, trembling. I sat beside her and took her frail hand.

“Mama…” I whispered through my tears. “I am here. Now I will stay by your side.”

I tightened my grip. A tear rolled down her cheek, but she smiled. This time, a little more brightly.

It was then that I realised the loss I had been about to suffer would have been greater than missing any mission humanity could ever undertake. And the choice I had made was worth far more than any achievement humanity could ever accomplish.

Published in Dawn, Young World, July 11th, 2026