Why I photographed my family. This story begins when I was three years old. It was then that my father died as a result of a long illness. The memories I have of him are like motionless dreams, like photographs I strove to fix in my mind and which I never forget. To tell the truth, this story does not begin when I was three, but before I was born, with the account of my grandparents' death. Tradition has it that my grandmother was ill with breast cancer. By the time it was detected she had only a couple of months left to live. My grandfather could not take it and he died of a heart attack before my grandmother did. Three is also the age my daughter is when I take these pictures. Illness strikes my family once again. This time my wife is the afflicted one.