Rosa Ammama was someone who made any place feel like home. She never married. She spent her whole life living with her sister, Ammachi, and pouring all her love into her family, especially her two nephews, who meant the world to her. When her nephews were little, Rosa Ammama loved playing with them. One day during a game of hide and seek, one of them hid under her bed. She searched everywhere, calling out, "Where are you?" but she never found him. It was just a small moment, but somehow it stayed with her forever.

Later in life, when Rosa Ammama was around seventy-five, she started showing signs of Alzheimer’s. Even as her memory faded, that one hide and seek memory stayed clear. Whenever she could not find someone, she would tell everyone, "He’s under my bed," like she was still stuck in that sweet, playful afternoon from years ago.

Before Alzheimer's, Rosa Ammama was quiet, calm, and soft-spoken. She was the kind of person who could make you feel loved without saying much at all. But as the disease got worse, her personality shifted. She became more outspoken, more demanding, and if things didn’t go her way, she was not afraid to show it. It was like a whole new side of her opened up — louder, bolder, but still full of love.

Pink was always her color, from the softest blush to the brightest rose, just like her name. It suited her perfectly.

Even when she forgot names and faces, Rosa Ammama never forgot how to love. Her questions slowly changed from "Where are you?" to "Who are you?" but the kindness in her heart never went away.

She passed away in the summer, surrounded by family. Even though she is no longer here, the warmth and love she gave to the people around her is still felt every day. Rosa Ammama's story is one of pure love, from beginning to end.