Vicky Ryan remembers the moment her world quietly cracked open—long before doctors gave it a name.

In 2016, Vicky’s father was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease and died a few years later in 2020, but the truth is, she felt something was wrong even before the diagnosis arrived. There were subtle changes, missed cues, moments of confusion that lingered too long. Her dad was slipping away in pieces, and he was doing it silently. By the time he became a resident in a nursing home, the disease had already taken so much from him and from her.

Just one year later, heartbreak struck again. Vicky’s younger sister was diagnosed with early-onset dementia. The word early felt especially cruel. Dementia wasn’t supposed to arrive this early. It wasn’t supposed to keep knocking on the same family’s door. But it did.

Seven members of Vicky’s family have now been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s or other forms of dementia. Seven. Each diagnosis layered new grief onto old wounds, turning fear into something constant and something lived with, not escaped.

What hurt most in those early days was the loneliness. Vicky wished there had been more advocates in her local community when her family first entered the Alzheimer’s journey with more guidance through the maze of medical decisions, financial strain, caregiving responsibilities, and emotional exhaustion. Instead, she learned as so many caregivers do, by stumbling forward, grieving as she went, and refusing to look away from the suffering.

Vicky turned her pain into purpose. Last year alone, she, her family and team contributed $15,000 toward the fight against Alzheimer’s, and over time, they have raised nearly $40,000. But the numbers, while impressive, only tell part of the story. Behind every dollar is a memory, a loss, a refusal to let this disease win without resistance.

Her family now shows up in force—33 members strong—at the DuPage Walk to End Alzheimer’s. They walk not just for those they’ve lost, but for those still fighting, still remembering in fragments, still holding on. Vicky proudly serves as a yellow and purple Walk flower holder, a visible symbol of love, loss, and hope. Yellow for caregivers. Purple for those living with the disease. She carries both because her life has been shaped by both.

One of Vicky’s most powerful moments comes every year at the Walk, when she looks out and sees a sea of flower holders stretching as far as she can see. Hundreds of stories. Hundreds of losses. Hundreds of people who understand. The sight overwhelms her every time, bringing tears she doesn’t try to hide. In that moment, she knows her family is not alone and neither is she.

Her team, Team Tony, is named with love and intention for her dad. They don’t just walk; they speak. They educate. They share the raw, uncomfortable truth about how devastating and complicated the Alzheimer’s journey can be. They talk openly about the confusion, the financial strain, the emotional toll, and the exhaustion of loving someone who is slowly disappearing before their eyes.

Vicky and her two sisters are also actively involved in Alzheimer’s research studies and contributed suggestions and information for a roundtable discussion in Channahon, Illinois, one that even includes the city’s mayor. They lend their voices not just as advocates, but as daughters and sisters who have lived this reality firsthand. Their message is simple and urgent. 

Vicky Ryan never asked to become an advocate. She became one because love demanded it. Because silence nearly swallowed her father whole. Because her sister’s diagnosis shattered the illusion that this disease only comes later in life. Because too many families are still walking this path alone.

Find out more on your local Walk to End Alzheimer’s at www.alz.org/Walk.