The lights of New York City glowed against the windows of a small restaurant. Paulina Ospina was only eleven, tugging at the edge of her menu, when sudden shouting from the street turned heads. Two men were fighting, their voices sharp and unsettling. But what caught Paulina’s attention wasn’t the fight—it was her grandfather’s confusion. He muttered about a past night in New York, even though they had just arrived. Her mother’s eyes filled with tears. At that moment, Paulina realized something was deeply wrong, though she couldn’t yet put a name to it.
That night was the beginning of Paulina’s understanding of Alzheimer’s—a disease that would change not only her grandfather’s life but her entire family’s. What started as small, strange lapses soon grew into something unavoidable: forgotten names, lost money, and the slow fading of the man her mother adored most. For Paulina, the journey has been both painful and formative, shaping her perspective on illness, family, and resilience.
Paulina remembers being too young to fully grasp what was happening at first. “I think I was about 11 years old and since I was very young at the time, I didn’t really know what Alzheimer’s meant,” she said. What she did understand was her mother’s reaction. As tears streamed down her face during that New York trip, Paulina realized something serious was unfolding.
It wasn’t until a few years later that the full weight of the disease became clear. By the time Paulina was around 13 or 14, her grandfather could no longer manage his finances. “He wasn’t allowed to have his wallet or just carry cash because he would spend it and not know where it went,” she explained.
For Paulina, that moment stood out it marked the shift from small lapses to undeniable reality. She paraphrased the experience, saying that Alzheimer’s “started out as something small and grew into something big,” a progression she has had to witness piece by piece.
Watching her grandfather fade has been hardest because of how deeply it hurt her mother. “My grandpa was my mom’s favorite person,” Paulina said softly. “It has killed her to see my grandfather slowly losing his essence and who he is” [12:34].
Her grandmother, on the other hand, has shown remarkable strength. Paulina described her as “dealing with the situation extremely well, considering the circumstances.” Her uncle has also tried to stay positive, focusing on the fact that Alzheimer’s doesn’t cause her grandfather physical pain. As Paulina put it, the disease affects the people around the patient far more than the patient himself [15:02].
That contrast between her grandfather’s peaceful unawareness and her family’s grief has shaped how Paulina processes the illness. The progression, though painful, has given her time to adjust. “I feel like it’s better that it’s progressive because you have more time to process it,” she said.
Paulina’s story reflects a truth many families face: Alzheimer’s is as much about memory as it is about identity, and the burden often falls hardest on loved ones. In Colombia and around the world, families adapt not just to caring for relatives but to mourning them slowly while they are still alive. Paulina’s resilience—and her family’s determination to find positives in the pain—show how love persists, even as memory fades.
When asked what advice she would give to others just starting this journey, Paulina didn’t hesitate. “You need to focus on the positive things,” she said. For her, the lesson is clear: even when memories vanish, the love behind them does not.