Two years ago, we hadn’t thought about moving. I loved my house. I’d lived in it for 34 years. Al loved his house. He had added a family room and a den. It was a good size to raise his boys. He had lived in it for 54 years. After we met, we decided to stay in our own homes because we loved them.
For 30 years, one night he would cook dinner at his house and I’d stay over; the next night, I’d cook dinner at my house and he would stay over. We went on vacations together. It seemed like we would just keep doing that until something happened to one of us.
Then one day my sister, who is four years younger than I am, drove to an intersection near her house and didn’t know where she was and didn’t know which way to turn. Soon after, she began to wake up in the night in a panic and did not know where she was even though she was in her own home.
One of her grown children had to stay with her each night and comfort her and tell her she was in bed at her own home. But they couldn’t do that easily. They had families and worked and didn’t live very close by. My sister’s children had to find an assisted living facility for her. There was a bell for her to pull in the night if she was frightened, and help would come to reassure her. She no longer drove.
My sister and her family talked to me about their experience. I considered what they said and then talked to my friend Al. He remembered he had been to Paradise Valley Estates to visit friends. He contacted them, found out about all the good things there, especially the fact that we would be taken care of for the rest of our lives.
We decided to move. So here we are, settled, happily together at last!