A few years ago, we were waiting for a video call from our family in the United States—some cousins ​​and their parents—who wanted to catch up and get to know my nephew, Aarón, better; we took the opportunity to snap a few photos while we waited. Then came the call, and we spent quite a while chatting about how everyone was doing. I don't recall the specific details, but the conversation was rather long—lasting over an hour—which I remember because Aarón got restless at one point; in fact, while one person was talking, someone else would keep him entertained or walk him around other parts of the house.

It has been years since we last video-chatted with those relatives—at least on our end. Perhaps it is because they dislike seeing my mom in her current condition, or simply because our schedules rarely align, though she does communicate quite a bit with one particular cousin. The bright side is that we captured moments with my mom before Alzheimer’s took a severe toll—seeing how moved she would get whenever one of her nephews wrote to her or connected with her. She practically raised several of them and loved spending time with all our relatives; I think that joy really shines through in her smile. It is sad that she no longer remembers them, but I can assure you that she holds every moment shared with them—and the experience of having been part of their lives—deep in her heart with great affection; she even used to tell a couple of them that she viewed them as her own children.