When I was in my late 30s, I lived with my parents, two aunts and our dog in a house in Medellín, Colombia. Then, in less than two years, my dad and my aunts died, and it was just me, my mom and the dog. The losses hit her very hard. We moved to an apartment and had a very dependent and affectionate relationship.

She was in her 70s and in decline. She had fractured her hip. Suffering from arthrosis and osteoporosis, she also started to lose her sight. Three illnesses, very quickly. She was medicated with opiates for the pain, but it was not enough. Most troubling for her was the blindness. She cried all the time.

I was also coming to a crisis. I was a schoolteacher, so my life was basically going to work and taking care of my mom. I didn’t like my job. I was feeling like ‘‘Who am I?’’ Although my brother often came to visit, I didn’t have a partner, children or ties to anyone else.

She spent a lot of time alone, in a lot of pain. This went on for several years. She continuously expressed her desire to die. She complained every day. She kept saying: ‘‘When will God remember me? I don’t want to live.’’