Well… the day we were all expecting, but didn’t really want to arrive… has come. Today, April 22nd, at 11:15 p.m., my mother, Carmen Soria Fernández, better known by everyone as “la yaya”, passed away at home, surrounded by her daughter, her son, and her grandchildren.

I started these chronicles to tell you everything without filters, because you know how I am… and that’s exactly what I’ll do in this second-to-last post I’ll write. The very last one, I’ll leave for the anniversary of her passing, to see how I’ve made it through.

For those of you who haven’t read the chronicles, don’t worry—you can start from the beginning or from here and go backwards… it really doesn’t matter. If you’re reading this, it’s because you follow me or you followed my mother, who honestly I think ended up being more popular than me. My TikTok account has over 24k followers… and most of them are because of her.

Let me tell you: this past year, as you know, my mother barely wanted to eat, she slept all day, she didn’t speak anymore and was completely disconnected. She was like a baby. We would wake her up to feed her, change her diaper, and put her back to sleep… and that was the routine for every meal. We tried to lift her and take her to the sofa, but it became harder and harder. She was so thin that moving her from one place to another was very difficult… and we were hurting her.

These last few weeks, we knew the end was near. She was eating less, sleeping more, and her breathing became deeper. The palliative care doctors told me the end was approaching and that if I needed to call any family members, I should do it soon. So I called my brother, who was at the airport traveling between cities in the U.S., and I told him what was happening… he completely froze. He had to go back home, change his suitcase, grab his passport, and come to Spain.

My mother was already in the final stage, and they left us a sedative in case we saw that she was suffering. They explained everything to me, but I was unable to process the instructions. They told me it was better to wait for my brother, because if we sedated her, it could be just a matter of hours.

My brother arrived around 9 p.m., and a doctor friend came to the house to help us sedate her, since her breathing was very heavy and we could see she was suffering. My brother said goodbye to her and went to rest from the trip.

I stayed by her side the whole time, talking to her and saying goodbye. I told her how much I loved her, what a wonderful mother and grandmother she was, and how much I would miss her. Some of my friends came to say goodbye to her, especially her caregivers: Yoli, Daniela, and Andreína, who loved her so much. Some friends called on the phone to say goodbye, others sent voice messages for me to play to her. She had her favorite music playing the whole time.

I held her hand and told her that she could go now, that we were okay, and thank you for everything. I looked at her hands one last time, those unique hands with her four fingers… I didn’t want to forget them. I kissed her and I didn’t want to cry. I wanted her to know I was okay and that she could leave in peace. And at 11:15 p.m., she stopped breathing.

Honestly, when it happens… you don’t know what to do. Even though they had given me all the instructions, in that moment you just freeze. We called 112, the ambulance came, and then the insurance doctor came to certify the death. It was all very surreal… the coroner was very peculiar, trying to explain everything, and at one point it even made us laugh a little. My brother and my kids had to leave the room because they didn’t want to laugh.
In the end, they took her away in a plastic bag… and I thought: how sad, my God… is this how we all go?

The night was very long. I don’t think any of us really slept. The next day, I was surrounded by family and friends who came to say their final goodbyes. I had a few arguments with the funeral insurance, because after my mother paying all her life, we found out that since she wanted to be cremated, they only covered that—and not a niche in the cemetery…

We didn’t want to attend the cremation and we collected her ashes the next day. I was sure I wanted to bury her in Madrid, where I know she would have wanted to be. In the car, on the way from Alicante to Madrid, my brother and I had to decide where to lay her to rest… and we weren’t sure if a traditional cemetery was the right choice, besides how expensive it is.

Searching online, we found a place called Recordarium, and after seeing their website and reviews, we called… and they treated us with so much kindness.

We prepared everything, and the next day we held her farewell by planting an olive tree that we know will grow forever. We left her there, facing Ávila, where her father was from. I hope she likes it… I will go as often as I can to visit her, take care of the olive tree, talk to her… and bring her a little beer, a vermouth, or a flan.

Rest in peace, mom. I love you.