Welcome to the Exclusive Content from Caregiver Chronicles

Thank you for reading my book and for wanting to learn more about our story. On this page, you’ll find photographs, videos, family memories, and exclusive content that expands on the book and that I’ve chosen to share with you from the heart.

Here you’ll discover unpublished photographs, personal videos, family keepsakes, and additional material related to Caregiver Chronicles, the book in which I share our journey and everything I learned while caring for my mother until she passed away in April 2025.

You’ll also find content from another important chapter of my life, including the videos we shared on YouTube c and TikTok , as well as “This Virus is a Ruin”, where I recount how we lived through the COVID-19 lockdown together.

This page will continue to grow with new photographs, videos, memories, and resources. Feel free to visit again anytime to discover new content.

Photographs from her childhood, teenage years, and early adulthood, long before she became a wife, mother, and grandmother.

Madrid, 1935? I wanted to begin this album with a photograph of my maternal grandparents, Serafín and Maruja. I’m not completely sure of the year, but I’ve always thought it was a beautiful picture. They both looked so elegant.

Madrid, 1935? Another photograph of my grandparents when they were courting. Not long afterwards, my mother would be born.

Madrid, 1937. This is the earliest photograph I have of my mother. The most remarkable thing is that she drew in the missing fingers herself because she couldn’t bear to leave the picture “unfinished.” She was a perfectionist, even as a child.

Madrid, 1946. My mother and her sister on the day of their First Communion. They were always impeccably dressed because my grandmother was a dressmaker and made all of the family’s clothes.

Madrid, 1953? My mother with several of her school friends. As I explain in the book, this was one of the final years of her education before she started working.

Madrid, 1956? One of the many outings she enjoyed with her group of friends. They travelled to places such as Altea and spent time in the countryside. She always remembered those years as some of the happiest of her youth.

Madrid, 1958? My mother enjoying another day out with friends. She loved escaping to the countryside and organising little adventures, memories she always looked back on with great affection.

Madrid, 1961? Two of the passions I talk about in the book come together here: my mother attending her painting class at the Madrid School of Fine Arts and singing with the choir. She always insisted she stood in the front row—and, much to our surprise, she was right.

Madrid, 1962? At Retiro Park, enjoying the swings with a friend. What catches my eye most, though, are the headscarves and the wonderful fashion of the time.

Madrid, 1963? My mother wearing a look that would still feel stylish today. Those sunglasses, her blonde hair… she was always incredibly elegant.

Madrid, 1960? My mother posing with her sister, her brother-in-law and a cousin. I love her outfit in this photograph—it perfectly captures the style of the era.

Madrid, 1966. My mother and father when they were dating. My mother was four years older than my father, although you would never guess it from this photograph.

The years she devoted to building a family and caring for the people she loved most.

Madrid, 1966. This is one of the photographs that best represents my mother. I can’t really explain why, but this is exactly how I will always remember her: beautiful, kind, and with the warmest smile.

Madrid, January 1968. Her wedding day. It was a very cold day, so my grandmother made this beautiful hooded fur coat especially for her. I still have her wedding dress. It’s so tiny that not even my daughter can fit into it.

Madrid, 1968. Here she is with my father on their wedding day. Weren’t they a beautiful couple? As I mention in the book, my father was nicknamed “The Cuban,” partly because he was so tall and handsome.

Madrid, 1968. My mother posing with her parents on her wedding day. These photographs are priceless to me. Every time I look at them, I remember the three of them with so much love.

Madrid, 1968. My mother with my aunt and uncle on her wedding day. My aunt had been married just a year earlier.

Madrid, 1969. My mother wearing a black wig. Apparently, wigs were quite fashionable at the time. And the little girl she’s holding in her arms is me.

Madrid, 1970. A family photograph with my maternal grandparents, my paternal grandmother, and one of my mother’s aunts. I believe it was taken at my brother’s christening. I’m the baby in my grandmother’s arms. I’m not sure where my paternal grandfather was—perhaps he was the one taking the picture.

Málaga, 1972. My mother with my brother and me. I believe this photograph was taken in Málaga. We lived in Torremolinos for about seven years, and I still remember how close our home was to the sea.

Málaga, 1975. My mother and I on the balcony of our home. I remember the planes flying so low overhead that it felt as though we could almost touch them. We loved sitting there and watching them.

Málaga, 1975. I love this photograph of my mother, my father, my brother, and me. I have such happy memories of those years. In the book, I also explain why I believe they weren’t always as easy for my mother as they seemed.

Málaga, 1975. Another photograph that feels like yesterday. I’m with my father and some family friends who, if I remember correctly, had come to visit us. And just look at how blonde I was!

Madrid, 1976. My brother’s First Communion and mine. This photograph was taken in Retiro Park with my mother, my aunt, and my cousin. And yes, my cousin really was a redhead!

A chapter filled with travel, friendships, celebrations, and unforgettable memories.

Miami, 1980. We had crossed the Atlantic in 1977, and this photograph was taken during Christmas in Miami. My mother was always changing her hairstyle and hair colour. She loved experimenting… I think I inherited that from her.

Miami, 1980. Here she is with my grandmother, who came all the way from Spain to visit us. We had a wonderful time together, and my mother was heartbroken when it was time for her to return home.

Miami, 1983. During our trip to Disney World. My mother enjoyed it as much as a child would. This photograph always makes us smile because she had just started learning to drive and was so excited to pose in a car.

Miami, 1984. Here she is receiving her diploma from English school. She really enjoyed those classes with her new friends and was very proud of her achievements and of wearing her graduation cap and gown.

Miami, 1984. In our apartment in Miami. We loved posing together for photographs. I remember those years with so much affection. We were always shopping together, and my mother made every one of my friends feel welcome in our home.

Miami, 1986. The day I graduated from high school, with my mother and my paternal grandmother. What wonderful memories… If I could relive one moment from my life, this would certainly be one of them.

Miami, 1988. My mother loved dressing up. She was the kind of person who threw herself into every celebration with enthusiasm. Here she is with one of my friends, both of them having the time of their lives.

Miami, 1990. My mother treated herself to a Glamour Shots photo session, which was incredibly popular in the United States at the time. They did your hair, your makeup, and took professional studio portraits. She loved looking her best and thoroughly enjoyed the experience.

Miami, 1993. My mother with my brother and me at a wedding. I honestly can’t remember whose wedding it was, but I do remember how smart we all looked. And once again, my mother had a brand-new hairstyle.

Calpe, 1998? I’m not completely sure about either the year or the location. What matters to me is what this photograph represents. After her divorce, my mother began travelling frequently with her friends and enjoyed one of the happiest periods of her life.

Madrid, 2000. My mother, my grandmother, and I at my grandmother’s home. Years later, the house became my mother’s, and after she passed away, it was one of the hardest things for me to let go of. Another moment I would relive in a heartbeat.

California, 2001. My mother travelled to Los Angeles when my son was born. She stayed with me for several months, helping me through those first precious weeks. Saying goodbye when she left was incredibly difficult.

California, 2001. During that same visit, we took her to see composer David Foster’s home. She even had the chance to sit at his piano. It was an experience she absolutely treasured and talked about for years afterwards.

Alicante, 2008. My mother with my children and me at a family First Communion celebration. She helped me enormously as a single mother, and my children adored her. They were lucky enough to grow up with a very special grandmother.

Alicante, 2010. My mother with my daughter. I always felt they were kindred spirits. They both loved drawing and singing. It seems that those talents skipped a generation!

Madrid, 2011. We loved travelling to Madrid to spend time with my mother. The three of us always had such a wonderful time together, accompanied by our beloved little dog, Luna, who is no longer with us.

Madrid, 2016. This was probably one of the happiest periods I shared with my mother. My children were grown up, we were both divorced, and we did everything together: going to the cinema, the theatre, shopping, or simply enjoying a drink together. None of us imagined that, just a couple of years later, those precious moments would slowly begin to disappear.

Madrid, 2017. My mother at one of her many lunches and celebrations with friends. She was always elegant, perfectly coordinated, and beautifully dressed. I have to admit… I’ve never been quite as glamorous as she was.

Alicante, 2017. My mother loved spending long periods with us in Alicante. She adored the sea and always asked us to take her to Altea and Calpe, where she could relive so many happy memories from earlier years.

The memories we shared during my mother’s journey with Alzheimer’s, until we had to say goodbye.

Madrid, 2019. One of the last musicals we saw together. My mother absolutely loved musicals, and she passed that passion on to me. We saw countless productions in the theatre, watched them on television, or simply spent hours listening to our favourite songs.

Alicante, 2020. Then the pandemic arrived. We were confined to our home, but we chose to make the best of it. We spent hours on our terrace, enjoying a beer, laughing together, and recording videos.

Alicante, 2020. Almost until the very end, my mother insisted that the only thing she wanted to drink was beer. She used to joke that “water is for fish.” As her illness progressed, her diet was eventually reduced to little more than beer, custard, and very little else.

Alicante, 2020. During the pandemic, we recorded hundreds of videos and TikToks. My mother loved dressing up and had always enjoyed painting and singing. I inherited the passion for dance, but she was always happy to join in and have fun.

Alicante, 2020. We had such a wonderful time together. Makeup, costumes, music… any excuse was good enough to laugh. I truly believe those TikTok videos kept my mother entertained, while they helped me cope with the challenges of caring for her. We built a wonderful community of followers who supported us every step of the way—although, like anyone on social media, we also had to deal with a few haters.

Alicante, 2020. Always with a beer or a glass of wine in hand, dressed up, laughing, and enjoying ourselves. Although my mother had already begun to lose many of her memories, she still knew how to enjoy the present moment. That’s what I remember most about those days.

Alicante, 2021. During the six years I cared for my mother, it wasn’t all about funny videos and costumes. Every day I tried to keep her mind active with exercises, painting, music, and any activity that could stimulate her and bring her happiness.

Alicante, 2022. This photograph means so much to me. My father, my brother, my mother, and I were reunited after many years. By then, my mother barely recognised who my father was, but I’d like to believe that somewhere deep inside, she still knew him. At least they had the chance to say goodbye.

Alicante, 2022. My children helped me tremendously throughout the six years I cared for my mother. My son could always make her smile with his jokes, and he would play the piano while she sang along. Those are memories I will treasure forever.

Alicante, 2023. Duna came into our lives and became my mother’s loyal companion. Although she had always been a little afraid of dogs, Duna won her over with nothing but love. I think she even forgot she had ever been afraid.

Alicante, 2024. Until the very end. Although my mother could barely remember anything, hardly ate, slept most of the day, and struggled to move, she could still give me a smile. And that smile was worth more than any memory.

Alicante, April 2025. Rest in peace, Mom. I like to believe that wherever you are, you’ve found all your memories again and are smiling just as you always did. Thank you for everything you taught me and for all the love you gave us. You will always be a part of us.

During the years I cared for my mother, I wrote dozens of journal entries documenting our daily life, the small victories, the challenges, and the emotions we experienced along the way. If you’d like to discover our complete story, you can read them all here.

If this story has touched your heart, you’ll find the rest of my books here. Each one is inspired by a personal experience and written with the hope of supporting, inspiring, or helping others through real-life stories.

Throughout my mother’s illness, we recorded hundreds of videos to share our everyday life. Filled with music, costumes, laughter, and precious moments, they show that even in the face of Alzheimer’s, there was always room for joy.

On our YouTube channel, you’ll find an even larger collection of family videos, memories, and special moments. A treasured archive of smiles and stories that helps keep my mother’s memory alive.

If you’ve read This Virus Is a Ruin, or you’d like to learn more about that chapter of our lives, you’ll find the videos we recorded during the pandemic here. They perfectly complement the book, showing—with honesty and humour—how we managed to get through those incredibly difficult months.

Alzheimer’s support services vary from country to country. If you or a loved one has recently received a diagnosis, I encourage you to contact your local Alzheimer’s association or healthcare provider for information about the resources available where you live.

Thank you for taking a few moments to learn about my mother’s story. If this project has brought you comfort, offered support, or touched your heart, then it has fulfilled its purpose.